The Bet

by Rebecca King

  What do you want? She screamed in her head, but the words still wouldn’t be spoken. The hag’s cottage was visible behind two of them, a place of refuge and safety, but she knew it wasn’t. It was somewhere she shouldn’t go – should she? Confused and disorientated, Estelle felt the world begin to swirl alarmingly. Pain began to build in her neck. She tried to break free of it but it wouldn’t relent. Her fingers clawed into talons of desperation but couldn’t move the restriction. Her swallow was instinctive but hurt, dreadfully so. So much that…..

  Estelle’s eyes popped wide. She stared into complete darkness and gasped for air. Her heart thundered heavily in her ears but there was another sound; one that was not made by her. It was a deep hissing, the tone as dark and menacing as the hands that tried to steal her life. Her mind latched onto that sound while she clawed for breath. The dream she thought she had been having now been made terrifyingly real by the feel of the smooth cloth wrapped tightly around her throat. Whoever it was behind her was strong; their fury unrelenting as they tried to strangle the life out of her.

  Panic, fear, desperation warred with the determined need to survive. There was so much she had to do yet, so many things she wanted to try, and too many adventures she wanted to experience. It couldn’t be her time yet; it simply couldn’t. Beneath that pervading horror that death might claim her was a gnawing denial fuelled by an inner core of rage that appeared out of nowhere. She knew that if she surrendered to the fear that clouded her mind and her vision she would surrender her soul in a way that would end her days. She had to break free. She would not be denied the chance to spend more time with Myles.

  She lifted one hand and tried to claw at the face, to make them pull away but they wouldn’t budge. The heavy weight on her back pinned her to the bed and rendered her useless to find any strength to dislodge them. She wriggled and squirmed, but couldn’t unseat them and found that each movement made breathing even more difficult. Stars danced at the periphery of her vision. The world started to fade. She felt herself begin to float somewhere off in the distance. It was so surreal it was more terrifying than losing her ability to breathe. The world started to turn black and fade into the distance. She tried to reach out to hold onto it but couldn’t touch it. The feeling of floating out of her body began to build. She knew she was going to die.

  Suddenly, the image of Myles appeared in front of her. Like a talisman, she held it before her and thought about everything that might have been. She knew that if she gave in to the need to float away she would lose the precious opportunity to experience the things that mattered. As if to reinforce that, her grandma appeared beside him. Those two people were the most precious people in the world to her. The need to see them again was so strong that it began to bubble deep within her. Like molten lava overflowing from an exploding volcano, it overflowed and solidified to form the solid foundations of renewed determination to survive. Foundations on which she built strength, tenacity, ferocity, and a deep well of abiding love she had never experienced before. With it she found an inner core of fury that burgeoned into something white hot and impossible to ignore. With a low moan she wasn’t sure came from her she growled as her fury grew. A force unlike no other she had ever experienced in her life gave her the strength to push herself upright. As she did so she twisted around.

  Her eyes widened in horror when she saw a hooded figure behind her. Unlike the figures in the road, this one was wearing black. Jet black, from head to foot, it – he or she – looked like the Grim Reaper. Shaking, she sucked in a huge breath and tried to wriggle free only for the figure to try to put the ligature around her neck again. Her eyes fell on the only thing she hand; a lantern. Reaching out with desperate fingers, she tried to grab hold of it but was too far away. Aware of her vulnerability if she kept her back to the killer for much longer, Estelle twisted around again, this time slamming a pillow into the murderer, then wriggled forward some more. The killer was busy regaining his balance, and was temporarily distracted enough for Estelle to reach forward and grab the lantern off the small table beside the bed. She didn’t stop to think and twisted around again and slammed it hard at the killer’s head. With the killer temporarily blinded by the hood of their cloak, Estelle yanked her legs up to her chest, free of the confines of her blankets, and slammed them hard into the killer’s body. The soft ‘oomph’ of the air leaving the murderer’s lungs was satisfying, and gave Estelle the strength to redouble her efforts to roll free of the bed. With nothing but a vase close to the bed, she lifted that and threw it at the figure now struggling to get off the bed. Terrified that the killer was going to come at her again, Estelle did the only thing she could think of and screamed at the top of her lungs.

  It was a piercing, unrelenting scream that came from the very depths of her soul. It was loud enough to wake the dead, and thankfully, woke Myles in the bed chamber next to hers. Within seconds, she could hear the sound of running footsteps, some of which were the killer’s as they raced for the door.

  Estelle stared at the closed door, her chest heaving with exertion as her body drew in the much craved air it needed. Her trembling knees wouldn’t hold her up. She slumped to the ground in a petrified heap; tears flowing steadily down her face. It was difficult to comprehend what had just happened, or why, but she knew that if there was ever a part in her life when she had a close brush with death it was now. A deeper part of her refused to believe it, but each time she swallowed her throat ached in protest and proved it to be true. She touched her bruised neck with trembling fingers, then cried out croakily as she recoiled in fear when the door suddenly burst open and Myles stormed into the room, his gun pointed skyward.

  “Jesus,” Myles swore when he entered the room and saw Estelle in a heap on the floor. The raw terror in her eyes was something that would haunt him for a long time to come. He didn’t need to ask what had happened to her; the marks around her neck said it all. His gaze flew around the room, searching the shadows but he knew from that he was too late.

  With one eye firmly fixed on her, he stepped back out into the hallway. His frustration grew when he found it empty except for Barnabas, who was stumbling sleepily toward him, tugging his dressing gown on as he went.

  “Get back into your room and lock the door,” Myles ordered.

  “What in the Devil’s name-?”

  “Do it,” Myles ordered. He glared at his father who stared at him for a moment or two before he retraced his steps and returned to his room.

  Estelle kept her gaze locked on Myles, and the wicked looking gun in his hand. It was clear he just left his bed. He hadn’t had the time to tie his shoulder length hair back, or don anything more than a pair of breaches and a billowing white shirt which was still open to the navel and revealed a muscular chest, lightly covered with dark hair. The sight of him was immensely reassuring, and helped ease the residual anxiety from her ordeal. To see Myles thus brought normality to the situation that eradicated the shadows and made her situation more domestic and less traumatic. She knew now that everything was going to be alright.

  It was then that it struck her that there was more to Myles than she had ever realised. Rather than being a sophisticated and wealthy man about town, he looked as wild and unkempt as she had been on the clifftop where they had first met. An inner part of her femininity recognised him as a mate; a like-minded soul who was just as willing to shake off the shackles of life as she was. When she had met him up on the bluff the other day she had penned him as nothing more than an extremely handsome yet pampered aristocrat. Seeing him thus, with a gun held far too confidently in his hand, ready to fight the demons within the house, gave her an entirely different view of him. She knew this was the real Myles. He was a man who would fight for those who mattered to him, and work hard to look after what life had afforded him. She suspected it was why she always felt safe whenever he was around. He was confident in his world, and she suspected there wasn’t much life could throw at him that he couldn’t deal with in some way. It was a good thi
ng too, given the dangers that surrounded them. They had a killer in their midst; a killer who now wanted to murder Estelle.

  “I don’t understand why they would want to kill me,” she whispered only to then realise he couldn’t hear her. He was busy talking to someone down the corridor, ordering them back to their room.

  She took advantage of his momentary distraction to study the length of his leg lovingly encased in his breeches. Without his stockings she could see that his legs were also covered with a heavy coating of black hairs which only emphasised his masculinity.

  Absently rubbing at her bruised throat, she shifted her thoughts away from him, and focused her attention on what had just happened. She wanted to blank it all out, but was compelled to look at the bed. A now familiar fear threatened to overwhelm her again, though, so she quickly looked away again.

  Once his father was safely locked into his room, Myles returned to Estelle’s bed chamber. He searched it before he made his way over to her.

  “What happened?” he asked but winced at the foolishness of the question. It was obvious what had happened to her from the ligature marks around her neck and the stunned look in her eyes. “He was here wasn’t he?”

  “He?” she whispered.

  He was about to say ‘killer’, but knew from the terror still lurking in her gaze, which continued to flicker nervously about the room, that she didn’t need scaring any more. Besides, he couldn’t just assume it was a man who had just tried to kill her.

  “The person who did this to you.” He touched the reddened marks around her neck gently. He studied her for any signs of pain or discomfort beyond bruising.

  Estelle sat perfectly still when she felt the tender touch of his fingers. Her gaze remained locked with his, right up until the moment that tears blurred her vision and she could no longer see beyond her despair. A low sob escaped her and turned into a small wail. Everything else was smothered by the hardness of his shoulder as he hauled her into his arms and held her tightly.

  Myles rested his head against hers and absorbed the feel of her against him. Thankfully, she had managed to escape this time, but he suspected that the killer wouldn’t allow her to escape for long. They had no idea how yet, or when he would try to take her life again, but Myles knew that the murderer would be back. Next time, he would be waiting for him. If there was one thing he couldn’t abide it was the thought of losing her: Estelle, the woman he suspected so easily and so very quickly, had stolen his heart.

  “When I first heard you scream I thought you had found something, or had just had a nightmare. You know, from the other night and the cloaked figures, or your experience in the woods,” Myles murmured quietly.

  Estelle shook her head. “I screamed because I had run out of things to throw at him.”

  “Was it a man?” He tipped his head to one side to look down into her face.

  “I don’t know. I think so. Whoever it was had a strength I struggled to fight.”

  “But you did,” he reasoned. “You managed to shake them off and they ran when you started to scream.”

  “Why would they want to kill me? I mean, I haven’t done anything to anybody. I haven’t ever met Gerald before yesterday morning. Why, I don’t know many people in the village. What grievance could anybody have with me?” she whispered.

  “I think someone who is inclined to want to take someone’s life doesn’t have to have a grievance, my dear,” Myles said. “If they want to kill they don’t care who they take, or where their victims are from. They just kill at will and try to reason it out afterward in their own maniacal way. Everyone is at risk in this house, I don’t doubt. Because of that, I don’t think you should be on your own from now on. While I should like to put a maid in here with you, I don’t think they are going to be of any help if the killer returns. In fact, it might just put them in more danger.”

  “It might result in them being murdered as well, especially if the killer is taking lives randomly,” she whispered with a shiver.

  She clung to the voluminous folds of his shirt with desperate fingers, and couldn’t bring herself to release him again. She tried to force herself to unfurl each finger until she could release the material, but she could feel the warmth of his skin beneath the clothing. It was too reassuring to release, because she would then be left cold again and she couldn’t abide that. Still, she tried, if only to assure herself that her hold on him wasn’t necessary. When she did manage to loosen her grip, though, Myles hand covered hers to stop her from moving away. She looked at him.

  “I won’t let them get you,” he promised.

  Estelle looked deeply into his eyes and read the sincerity there. In spite of her attempts not to, the memories of what had just happened to her resurfaced. The desperation to see him, and the realisation of his importance in her life, prompted her not to waste a single moment of the time she had fought so hard for. She knew that if she did she would regret every second wasted. With that she leaned upward, toward him.

  Myles knew he should stop her. He didn’t want her to turn to him because she needed him to protect her. While he wanted her to consider him more than an acquaintance, and wanted considerably more than a friendship, he wanted her to want him – the man. However, when she looked at him with that raw need in her eyes, tinged with a little hope and expectation, he couldn’t deny her.

  He warned himself to take his time and not rush her. She had already had one fright today and, as far as he knew, was untried. However, when his lips touched hers and sparks flew he was engulfed in flames of desire which built rapidly and consumed them both. He couldn’t pull away. Common sense warned him not to let the kiss progress too far, but when one dainty hand slid into his unbound hair and tugged him toward her, he knew he was lost. A shiver swept down his spine that stole all of his restraint and replaced it with a hunger that refused to be denied. With a groan, his lips slid overs hers commanding her complete surrender.

  He wanted all of her. Not the timid, polite young woman who had sat at the breakfast table looking too afraid to converse with people, but the woman who had the strength to fight off a cold-blooded killer single-handedly, and still have the strength and determination to lay claim to him. That was what he suspected she was doing and he didn’t mind one bit. In fact, he was glad of it because it made his need for her a permanent part of who he was, what he was. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – deny it anymore. Not to her, and most certainly not to himself. At some point over the past day or two, past, present and personal circumstances aside, she had started to matter to him. Far more than any female had ever done before. While it worried him because he knew his growing adoration of her meant magnificent changes in his life, he also knew that his dedication to her was something he couldn’t deny. If he did so he would bring himself untold misery. If he allowed the killer to reap his reward Myles knew he would lose something most precious; something he knew he could never replace: Estelle.

  How long they stayed on the floor for he wasn’t sure. He lifted his head when the clock on the mantle chimed two. It was then that he realised she was wearing nothing more than a thin nightgown, and was growing colder by the minute. Although he was holding her as tightly as he could, it still wasn’t enough. Still, when he looked at the bed it held little enthusiasm. He doubted Estelle would have any wish to sleep in there again either. Before he could talk himself out of it, Myles slowly eased away from the curved temptation of her mouth.

  “We need to get some sleep,” he whispered regretfully. He watched her nod but then look at the bed doubtfully. It assured him that his decision was the right one. “Come on.”

  He nudged her to one side and helped her stand before he hauled himself to his feet. Without stopping to think he took a moment to yank a blanket off the bed and tucked it carefully about her shoulders before he caught her hand in his. Sweeping his gun off the floor, he tugged her toward the door.

  “Where are we going?” she whispered. The thought of having to leave the room was terrifying but
she knew she must at some point. She could not remain trapped in there forever. If she was honest, she didn’t want to be in the room anymore, but where else could she go?

  She had her answer soon enough when Myles carefully opened the door and peered out into the corridor.

  Cranbury was standing there in his nightgown, a candle aloft with a footman at either elbow.

  “Make sure the men are stationed in the corridors. Someone has been in her room and done this.” He pointed to Estelle’s neck. “Keep watch. I want a constant guard on the corridors morning and night, understand? Anybody caught out of their beds is to be confined in the cellar until they can be questioned. Nobody moves from now on throughout the night, do you understand?” When the men nodded, he turned around only to pause and look at them. “Make sure you are armed.”

  The men looked at each other but didn’t object. Myles waited long enough for them to go in search of weapons then he tugged Estelle relentlessly toward the door to his room.

  Estelle’s stomach flipped nervously as she stepped into the room and saw the rumpled bed facing her. The room was entirely personal to Myles, and reeked of masculinity. The walls were draped in landscape portraits of the grounds and house. The décor was deep oak, furnished with crimson brocade. While the room was neat and tidy, it was liberally adorned with gentleman’s paraphernalia; a cravat draped over a retiring screen, and a pair of riding boots beside the dresser over in the far corner of the room, together with a waistcoat, one she recognised from yesterday evening, draped over the back of a high-backed chair before the fireplace. It gave the room a cosy feel, in spite of its ostentation.