Blood Moon (17 page)

Aslyn sat up, pushed the covers away,
and moved the edge of the bed, dropping her face into her hands.
Oh, for the luxury of lying in the bed, clutching his pillow and
weeping till she could weep no more!

She shook the urge off and rose.
Dressing quickly in the woolen gown Kale had brought her, she
rolled the quilt and tied it, then looked around. In truth, there
was little she needed to take and the less the better. She had no
use for the beautiful gowns Kale had brought, though the temptation
was great to take just one.

She dismissed it and moved to gather
food into a small bundle, tying it at her waist as she did her bag
of medicines. Donning her cloak, she slung the blanket roll over
her shoulder and moved to the door of the cottage, easing it open
no more than a crack so that she could look out. It was still dark
out, though light had begun to filter through the darkness, lifting
it sufficiently that she could see almost to the center of
town.

The streets appeared
deserted.

She slipped outside, closing the door
firmly behind her and moved quietly to the edge of the
road.

She needed a horse.

She could release it once she’d gained
some distance and allow it to find its way home, but she had to
cover as much distance as possible as quickly as possible if she
was to have any chance of winning free of the place.

It was dangerous even to consider
stealing one, and yet even more dangerous to try again to leave
without one. She could not take a chance that Kale might decide to
come by the cottage to check on her and discover her gone. She had
to make certain, this time that she was far away by the time he
discovered her gone, too far for him to find her.

The livery was on the next road over.
As loathe as she was to pass by the Halard’s cottage after what had
transpired there the day before, she had little choice but to do
so. Otherwise, she would have to follow the main road to the center
of the village, cross over by way of the crossing road and back
track—or worse, cut through a cottage yard and risk running into
someone out to visit their necessary, or someone’s dog.

She crossed the road in front of the
cottage, moving briskly, but as quietly as possible. Within
moments, she’d reached the next road. After peering down it to make
certain no one was about, she made the turn and focused upon the
livery nearly halfway down the road, glancing neither right nor
left until she neared the Halard’s cottage.

She could not resist looking as she
neared it, however, and her heart nearly leapt from her chest as
she did so.

The door was standing wide.

She stopped abruptly, staring hard at
the dark opening. As she did, she saw the door was not open. It had
been shattered. The oak panels lay in splinters just inside. She
moved closer, certain her eyes must be playing tricks on
her.

It was not, as she had more than half
hoped, a trick of the uncertain light and shadows. The door had
been shattered inward.

The pack had returned for
Halard.

Aslyn broke into a run. There was
little doubt in her mind that the entire family had been
slaughtered, and none that the village would become a raging mob
the moment someone discovered the attack. They would be coming for
her.

She slowed as she neared the paddock of
the livery, knowing she might spook the horses if she rushed them.
Only two stood in the paddock behind the livery. Stopping only long
enough to still her pounding heart and slow her breathing, Aslyn
moved slowly to the paddock, speaking softly, coaxingly. The horses
lifted their heads the moment she came within view, snorted,
stamped the ground.

It took far more patience to coax the
nervous beasts than she felt like allowing them, but she had no
choice. Finally, she managed to get hold of one, slipped her
blanket roll around its neck, and leapt onto its back. There was no
time to gather saddle and tack, and she had no desire to run
additional risk by going into the stable.

For all that, she was not accustomed to
riding bareback, had never tried it before, and wondered for
several moments if she would even be able to stay on the animal’s
back. In truth, she had not ridden in so many years that she was no
longer accustomed to riding at all.

Finally, she managed to guide the horse
to the gate and open it. She made no attempt to stop the other
horse from slipping out as she rode out. With any luck at all, it
would lead anyone who tried to follow her in a different direction
entirely. Grasping the blanket roll tightly, she nudged the horse
with her knees until she had it pointed in the direction in which
she wished to go and gave him his head. In truth, she had no
destination in mind. She simply wanted to travel in the opposite
direction from which Kale had gone.

She had managed to reach the edge of
the village when the first hue and cry went up. She had no idea
whether it was due to her theft of the horse, or if someone had
discovered the Halard family massacre. She pulled the horse to a
stop when she reached the edge of the forest, turning to look back.
Smoke was wafting from the far end of town.

They had set her cottage ablaze. Either
they thought she was still inside and had not yet discovered the
missing horses, or it was out of pure malice.

She nudged the horse once more,
allowing him to follow the road until the first rays of the rising
sun touched the road before her, banishing all shadows. She urged
him off the road then, into the forest, winding her way
southward.

She had decided upon a destination. She
was going home.

The horse began to tire before they had
gone many miles. She allowed him to walk for a while, to rest and
then urged him to move a little faster. For all that, the going was
slow in the deep snow. She did not stop to rest the horse, or eat,
when the weak winter sun rose to its zenith. She was hungry, and
tempted by her stomach’s clamoring to try to eat while she rode,
but a very little thought dissuaded her. It was all she could do to
remain on the horse as it was. She had no desire to risk falling
off only because she could not wait to eat.

When the sun slipped at last behind the
tops of the trees on its downward path, Aslyn dismounted. She was
stiff from riding so long and her legs gave out beneath her as she
touched the ground.

It had been her intention to point the
horse toward Krackensled and give him a sharp encouragement to find
his way back. She didn’t get the chance. The moment she fell, the
horse bolted. She watched his departure in some dudgeon, for she
had not had the chance to retrieve her blanket roll from around the
horse’s neck.

Apparently, the horse thought the
bouncing roll was something attacking it, for it careened wildly
through the trees, floundering in the snow several times in its
panic to outrun whatever it was that had it by the neck.

“Fool!” Aslyn snapped, sorry now she
hadn’t gotten the chance to whack it a few times with a tree
branch.

There was no hope of retrieving the
blanket roll. She could only hope the stupid beast managed to free
itself of the thing before it was found. Otherwise they might track
it back to her.

She was going to freeze without a
blanket.

She sat, pulled the small bundle from
her belt that held her food and ate enough to quiet her stomach’s
protests and then bundled the remains once more and set out. The
days were short. She had a couple of hours, perhaps as much as
three, to find shelter for the night.

She didn’t waste time trying to cover
her tracks. She could not spare it, and, in any case, she had
decided to go home. She could not afford to change directions
several times to throw off pursuit. She had to make her way to the
coast and cross the channel as quickly as possible.

Once she crossed into Norandy, she was
fairly certain she would be safe from any and all pursuit. Until
then she risked death at any turn.

There were many times during the trek
that she cursed Algar, and even more times that she cursed the
fates. If she had to be a werewolf, why could she not have the same
ability as Algar apparently had, to shift at will into a beast more
capable of traveling through the snow?

It was a waste of energy. She was as
she was. She could not change it, however much she wished she
could.

As she fought her way through drifts of
snow, tangles of leafless briars, and staggered up rises and
slipped down dales, she wondered what sort of reception she might
expect when she returned home.

Would her father be glad to see her,
alive and apparently well? Or would he send her away? Would he slay
her when he discovered what she’d become?

She would have to tell him, whatever
the outcome, else she would be a danger to everyone she cared for
when the full moon rose and she was taken by her beast. Dismal as
the prospect was of being locked in the castle dungeon during those
times, it would have to be done. She could not trust herself. She
certainly could not expect her father to trust her.

It was almost dusk when she came upon
an abandoned cottage. A sense of hope, relief, and nervousness
assailed her when she first spotted it, but she realized quickly
enough that no smoke rose from its crooked chimney and no smoke
meant no one would be inside, waiting to attack her.

Still, she approached it cautiously,
stopping to listen every few feet, checking the cottage and the
area around it. When she finally reached the door and peered
inside, she saw that the cottage had evidently been abandoned for
quite some time. Much of the thatch had rotted and fallen in, aided
by the weight of the snow. The door had also fallen in. The
interior of the cottage was bare of anything save snow, dusty
cobwebs, and rotting poles and thatch.

It would not make much of a shelter,
either against the elements, or the wolves if they had tracked her,
but it was all there was.

With an effort, she stood the door
upright and propped it against the door frame. She stared at the
hearth doubtfully for some moments, wondering if the chimney would
even pull, wondering if she could build a fire in it without
catching the roof on fire, and if she even dared risk it when she
knew she was being hunted, but she finally decided she would need
to take the chance of building a fire if she was to survive the
night.

It was full dark by the time she
managed to find enough branches to build a modest fire. By the
fire’s feeble light, she cleared the debris inside the cottage far
enough from the hearth that it would be less likely to catch fire.
An almost constant breeze wafted through the tiny building, finding
its way through every crack, but it was tiny puffs, not gusts. The
dirt floor was free of snow near the hearth, and dry. She curled up
as close to the fire as she dared and warmed her hands until the
stiffness left her fingers, then opened her pack of food and ate a
small portion.

She was very nearly as miserable inside
the ramshackle cottage as she had been trudging through the snow,
but a full stomach, enough warmth to thaw her somewhat, and
exhaustion combined to make her eyes drift shut almost the moment
she curled up beside the hearth.

She wasn’t certain how long she slept,
but the howl of wolves woke her.

Chapter Thirteen

The sound was distant, indistinct. At
any other time, her exhaustion would have deafened her to so slight
a sound, but she’d been subconsciously listening for sounds of
pursuit since she had left Krackensled. She was instantly wide
awake, looking around uncertainly, wondering what had wakened
her.

It came again, a mournful cry taken up
by many throats.

Baying.

They had caught her scent.

Aslyn leapt to her feet, looking around
her. There was nothing to use for a weapon, of course, beyond the
branches she’d dragged in to make a fire.

She had not thought, when she had
stopped, beyond the immediate need to find shelter from the weather
for the night. The cottage offered little enough of that. It
offered no security. She would be no better off inside the cottage
than outside if the pack caught up to her. In fact, far worse off,
because she would be trapped, with no place to run.

The door was barely standing on its
own. There was no way to barricade it, nothing to use to fortify
it.

Pulling the door away from the opening,
Aslyn moved outside, stood in the clearing surrounding the cottage
and listened. When the sound came again, she turned slowly, finally
determining that the sounds were coming from the northwest, she
began to trot southward, hoping to conserve energy while still
maintaining enough speed to stay ahead of the pack.

The area was unfamiliar to her. If
she’d been a few miles further west of her position, she might have
seen landmarks she recognized. She might have remembered something
that might help her.

As it was, she could only strain to see
through the darkened landscape, searching for some place she might
hide and escape their notice, a burrow, or cave large enough to
conceal her, but still small enough she might have some hope of
barricading the opening to protect herself from attack.