Chloe's Guardian (The Nephilim Redemption Series Book 1) (33 page)

Horatius hoped he would not disappoint him. “I have no halo, no. Those are more of an aura that full angels have for having been in the presence of
They
. Of God. I have not been there. I do have wings, but not as spectacular as the Pure. But you might find them to your liking.” He could not help but try to lower Billy’s expectations so he would not be let down—because all at once it was very important to him that Billy be pleased with him.

Billy crawled up onto the mule’s neck and faced Horatius. He put his hand up on Horatius’ cheek. He rubbed the whiskers back and forth.

“What are you doing?”

“Does it hurt?”

“What hurt? You touching my beard?”

“Growing hair out of your face. And scraping it off every few days.”

“Does growing the hair on your head hurt? Or a haircut?”

“Sometimes a haircut hurts, if the knife is dull.” Billy’s hair had seldom seen a knife, that was obvious. And when it did, Billy probably did it himself, with a dull, hacking blade.

“I never touched anybody’s beard afore. I wondered what it felt like. It is rough and scratchy.” His hand slowed down, then dropped in his lap. His eyes were very pensive. “I bet halos are an annoyance
.
’
Tis all right with me that you have not been to the highest heaven. You dinna have to feel bad about it. If we can just go where the birds do, that will be good with me.”

Billy rubbed the line between Horatius’ eyebrows. “Why so worried? It will work out.”

“I am thinking of Chloe and Kaitlyn. We cannot delay a moment once I am restored. They might be in danger for their very lives this second.”

“I know. As soon as Hugh is done, we will take off. Bethesda can wait here for us. She willna mind. There is a lot of grass. We can come back later and get her.”

Billy’s heart would break if he knew he was not coming along. Horatius would wait until he was restored and just leave. He could not risk putting Billy in danger like he had with Chloe and Kaitlyn. Billy would understand. In time. He hoped.

“What is taking so long?” Horatius said, not wanting to chance Billy reading his mind about leaving him behind.

Billy jumped down. “I will go check.”

“No!” Horatius didn’t mean to shout. But he didn’t want Billy out of his sight with the strange old man around. Something about him didn’t sit well. And if Horatius was stuck on the back of the mule, he wanted Billy close. “He should be back soon.” It was difficult to keep his voice from showing alarm.

They waited. And a pigeon walked around the side of the hut, its head thrusting forward with each step. Then two more followed shortly after it.

“Are those doves?” Billy said.

“They are filthy pigeons. That one doesn’t even have all of its feathers. And the other has a wing gone.”

“Hugh must keep the doves inside since they are pure.”

Horatius’ uncertainty about Hugh grew each moment.

“Climb up here with me. I want to take a look out back.”

Billy hopped up without question. He coaxed the mule to start walking and they went back behind the hut. There was a small stable built up in the hillside, invisible from the front. The mule went straight in as if it were its own barn. Horatius was on edge, worried something would jump out and he’d be useless to protect Billy.

The stable was empty. It was clear there had been some animal recently dwelling there, for on the floor was a pile of soft, smelly manure.

Billy jumped down and ran toward the hut.

“Billy, stop. Do not go in there alone.” But he was already through the back door.

Horatius struggled to get the mule turned around. He was still yelling and weakly kicking it when Billy reemerged from the hut. His posture was wilted, hunched over almost as far as the old hunchback had been.

“He is gone.”

Billy coming back out in one piece surpassed any care about the hunchback.

“And he took the money. There is no sign of it.”

“Of course he took the money. He’s a crook.”

Billy’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Now how will we get your sacrifice and save the lasses? And I willna be able to fly through the air like the birds.”

CHAPTER
43

We’re leaving? Right this second?
Chloe wanted to slam the door in Agnes’ face. But when Kaitlyn picked up the viola and prepared to leave, Chloe restrained her panicked impulse to be rude and left the door open. She followed Kaitlyn’s lead by scooping up the cello.

Trailing after Agnes, they went outside to the waiting wagon. Chloe tried to walk slowly so she could ask Kaitlyn what they should do, but Agnes kept slowing to wait for them. She was talking about how excited she was to have the girls play their music for her family back at her home. She wasn’t ruffled at all by the sudden night departure.

At the wagon, Agnes was helped in first, and then an attendant took the girls’ instruments.

As soon as Kaitlyn’s hands were empty, she said in a rush, “I have to do something. I’ll be right back.” She skipped off toward the prison building using the trotting gait she’d perfected in her close-hemmed skirt.

She toddled past the door, through the main room, and didn’t stop until she waddled down the stairs and landed in front of Pan’s cell.

“Cello and I are leaving now. They’re taking us to Agnes’ castl—”

“You canna be here,” yelled a guard running down the steps. “There is a proper procedure!”

“You have to come find us there. You have to get us back to Cello’s house and save her family from the fire.”

“She is causing no harm,” Pan said in a lazy voice. “She just wishes to say goodbye.” He shifted close to the bars. “Do not worry, dear. I will see you soon. And then we will see Denver. You have my word.”

“Okay. Don’t take too long,” Kaitlyn said over her shoulder as she trotted back toward the stairs. “We’ll be waiting.” She smiled at the distraught guard. “I’m done. No worries.”

She trotted back to the wagon and jumped into the compartment, right past the footman, who stared at her like she’d made some horrible mistake in protocol.

“I had to tell Pan goodbye,” she said out of breath as she plopped down on the bench next to Cello. “I didn’t want him to wonder where we’d gone.”

“Very well, then. Shall we be off? That is, if you are not going to suddenly run away again,” Agnes said.

“Oh, no. I’m done now. Thank you, though,” Kaitlyn said.

The wagon set off, and Kaitlyn took Cello’s hand and gave her a squeeze to reassure her it would all be okay.

They didn’t get to Agnes’ castle until the darkest, stillest time of night.

“Are we there?” Kaitlyn asked when the wagon took a sharp turn and lurched up a steep incline.

Agnes looked out the window past Chloe. “Aye, there is my home.”

“I can’t see anything. Is it a big castle?”

“
’
Tis the most defensible citadel in all of Scotland. It is a wondrous sight in the light of day. For now, the wagon will take us as close to the entrance as possible, then we must enter on foot, for there are many stairs to traverse to reach the summit. Come, the wagon has stopped.”

The door opened and a footman helped them each down.

After Agnes, Chloe stepped down into the ring of light cast by lanterns on the wagon. Several guards stood around them carrying torches that lit the area. One torch bearer led the way, and the three women, with Agnes at the front, followed him.

After many steps, they went through a narrow passageway with close, stone walls surrounding them. They passed through the first gate and a guard called out, “Open the portcullis.” They waited while a giant iron lattice gate was lifted. They proceeded through several more gates, beneath stone archways, up and down steps—many more up than down—ever working toward reaching the top. Kaitlyn flitted up the steps, using her perfected trot to negotiate the steps. When they finally reached the end of the long, winding entrance, Chloe was breathing heavily, ready to stop.

Three servants, aroused from sleep, greeted them when they emerged onto the plateau. 

“Are my parents sleeping?” Agnes said.

“A course they are
.
’
Tis the middle of the nigh’,” said one of the old servant women. “Only mischief and trouble are aboot this time o’ darkness.” Agnes tilted her cheek to receive a kiss from her. “
’
Tis good to see yeh again, though.”

“I am glad to see you, Tilda. I have missed you.”

“Are yeh hungry? I can ge’ yeh something.” The hard lines of her face softened and it was clear she was fond of Agnes.

“Nay, we just need to get abed. We will catch up on news in the morning. These are two friends who play beautiful music. I want Mum and Da to hear them. They need a bed for now.”

Tilda kept a straight face when she looked at their clothes, though clearly she had to work to do so. The servants collected the belongings that the footmen brought up from the wagon. They worked out the details of the accommodations for Chloe and Kaitlyn, and Tilda told them to follow her.

“I will come fetch you after we sleep. Relax and stay abed until then. It will be good for you,” Agnes called after them as Tilda led them away.

Their room was small but the bed was wide and tall. The heavy brocade curtain around it sealed them into pitch blackness. Chloe and Kaitlyn settled into the soft mattress and were asleep in seconds.

***

When she woke up, Kaitlyn stretched—or tried to but without much success because of her sleeves—and yawned.
Can it still be nighttime? It’s so dark.
Cello was asleep next to her, but she was invisible in the dark. Her breathing was even and raspy. Almost snoring. The sounds outside the bed curtains sounded like it couldn’t be the middle of the night anymore. Muffled voices from people talking in another room down the hall or in the room below them came through the wall or floor. A poor cow mooed way out in a yard somewhere and some dogs were complaining about being tied up. The smell of roasting meat somehow got through the thick bed curtains. The stink made her gag.
People eat so many animals here.

She scratched an itch on her elbow, moving in slow motion to keep from waking Cello, who was so tired from worrying about her family.
I want her to stay asleep and worry-free as long as possible
. It was hard to scratch away the prickle through the thick fabric. She hadn’t had the dress off since Horace put it on her.
Horace sure could make amazing clothes.
It didn’t get dirty, wet, or smelly. And the colors were so nice and bright.

Kaitlyn folded her covers back and slipped off the bed and through the curtains as quietly as she could. The room was bright with sunshine that made the orange and aqua blue polka dots on her dress almost glow. The spots were varied in size, from nickels to coasters. At least one hundred tiny little buttons, alternating in blue and orange, went down the center. Well, almost the center. They swerved now and then like the seamstress’s glucose had dropped too low. The neckline was high, but it was lower in back. Cello said Horace had put it on her backwards. But the pockets were on the front, though they were hard to use because her sleeves held her arms down. With the puffy tops, she had
some
room to move, but not enough to lift her elbows to get her hands into the pockets. She could get her phone in and out, until Pan took it from her, so they had worked for something. The purple cape that hung down in back was nice. It danced and swirled around when she walked, especially outside in the wind.

Maybe the dress had kept her clean and smell-free while she wore it, but now her scalp itched. Cello still sometimes found a stray feather in her big, puffy hairdo. And her nest needed some freshening up. Its twigs were getting loose. She hoped to wash her hair but wasn’t sure how she would do it without bothering the nest.
If the birds come back, they’ll need a place to stay.

She tiptoed out into the hallway without a sound. The door closed silently, not a pop or squeak.
Good. Cello can keep sleeping while I go find the shower
. The stairs at the end of the hall looked pretty, spiraling around a middle post. She waddled down the steps, enjoying how they circled down. At the bottom, off to the side, was a room where two women were cooking. When Kaitlyn entered, they stopped talking midsentence and looked at her like her hair birds were already back.

“Hi,” Kaitlyn said.

They looked at each other then back to Kaitlyn. One said, “Good morning, m’lady. Thar is food in the hall, if yur hungry.”

The other said, “Unless yur unhappy with wot is thar. Did yeh need somethin’ else?”

“Do you have a shower?”

The two looked back at each other.

“A wot?” one asked.

“I need to wash my hair. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Yeh want to wash?” the other said.

“A bath? Is that wot yeh are looking for?”

“I guess a bath would be fine. I just really want to wash my hair.”

“Today?” The woman’s face looked like the idea was ridiculous.

“Is this…not a good day for it?” Kaitlyn asked.

“
’
Tis only September. No one bathes in September.”

The other woman elbowed her and scowled. “If yeh want to bathe, of course yeh can bathe.” From beneath a counter she pulled out a gigantic metal pot. It looked like a horse trough. After she removed a bunch of smaller pots from it, the woman dragged it over to the hearth, banging it and scraping it as she went. “We will get it filled for yeh.”

Kaitlyn sat on a stool and watched the two women fill pots with water and put them on the fire. They dumped three that were already hot on the fire into the trough to make room for more water to be put on to heat.

“I can help you bring in water,” Kaitlyn said. “I didn’t mean to make work for anyone.”

One woman snorted.

The other looked a little put out. Kaitlyn decided to stay on the stool, hoping to keep out of their way. In between dumping more buckets into the trough, the women chopped up food. Kaitlyn had to look out the window and focus on a distant building because the poor animal their knives were pulverizing made her throat tighten.

She gagged a couple of times before the animal and all its parts disappeared into another pot. It was a good thing they were fast workers. The relief was huge when she couldn’t see the flesh on the counter any more, and a deep sigh of relief popped out before she could stop it.

The women both looked at her with their eyebrows raised. Kaitlyn just smiled back, glad she hadn’t thrown up all over their kitchen.

“Yeh can get in now if yeh want,” one said, and hauled another bucket of water off the fire. She poured it in then dropped the bucket and wiped her hands across her tan apron. Finger smears of blood streaked across the apron. Kaitlyn gagged again and threw her hand to her mouth, afraid she might throw up after all.

The women pretended not to notice her retching. “Do yeh want me to help yeh off with yur dress, milady?” the other woman asked as she eyed her dress more closely. She smirked. “That is quite a gown yeh got thar. Is that from France?”

“I don’t know how to get it off,” Kaitlyn said.

“Where is yur chambermaid, then? I can fetch her, or help yeh meself.”

“I mean, I don’t think it
comes
off. I haven’t figured out how to get it off. That’s okay. I mostly want to wash my hair.”

The women looked at her confused, like that Babel Curse had turned back on.

“Do you have any shampoo? So I can wash my hair?” She couldn’t help it but she talked louder like they were hard of hearing. She probably slowed down a little too, though she didn’t mean to.

“Any wot?”

“Um, hair soap?” Kaitlyn said. “Or even regular soap?”

They both shook their heads at the same time.

“Never mind. This is fine. Thank you.” The whole thing now seemed like a dumb idea. Pan should be coming soon anyway and they’d go home. She felt bad for putting the women to so much trouble. She didn’t want to wash her hair anymore. Not without her apricot and mango shampoo.

The women stood near her looking uncomfortable and confused about what they should do.

“Can we help?” one asked.

“No, I’m fine. Thanks.” Kaitlyn said.

“I need to check the chickens,” one said. And she disappeared. The other more helpful one shrugged and followed her out.

Kaitlyn was glad they left. It was hard to avoid seeing the stained apron. Neither seemed to be able to track with her.

She kneeled down next to the trough and tried to bend over it. But her sleeves didn’t let her lift her arms high enough to reach her head. She tried several positions, bending and stooping everyway possible.
This isn’t working.
The only way to get her head wet would be to get in and sink down into the water.

Getting into the tub took plenty of patience and time because the dress didn’t let her ankles move apart. Teetering on the edge, she lifted both legs and swung them over into the big pot—and she actually did it without falling out or in.

The water was only lukewarm, but it was better than cold. She lowered herself in, gown and all. She pulled her knees up and scooted down to get her hair close to the water.