Winterset (4 page)

It had been impossible to ask her outright if she was in any sort of trouble. She would have thought him mad—and if he had told her about the dream that had sent him to Winterset posthaste, she would have thought him even more insane. He had no right to protect her; he had not even seen her in three years, and when last he
had
seen her, she had rejected him.

Worst of all, as he had stood there struggling through their awkward conversation, he had been aware of the fact that what he truly wanted to do was to pull her into his arms and kiss her. After all this time, despite her flat and unequivocal rejection of his proposal, he still wanted her.

What a fool he had been to come back here!
Reed could not help but wonder if what had sent him running to Winterset had been less certainty in the portent of his dream than the long-dormant, but obviously not-quenched, fire he had felt for Anna.

There was no hope for him with her; there never had been. Coming back here had just stirred passions that were better left alone. He had spent three long years getting over the pain of loving her. The last thing he should do was place himself in danger of falling in love all over again.

He should leave, he knew. Forget his bizarre dream and just go back to London, where he had a perfectly enjoyable and trouble-free life. He should simply do what he had told everyone he was doing here: spend a day or two looking over the house, then order repairs and put it up for sale. Then he should return to London and forget all about Anna Holcomb.

And yet he knew, even as he thought it, that he would not. However foolish it was to stay, he would not—could not—leave.

The girl walked as quickly as she could through the trees. She did not like to be alone here, where the trees grew thickly all around and the night was silent except for the occasional scrabbling of some nocturnal creature. There was an eerie quality to the woods that frightened her even during the daytime, but at night they seemed twice as ominous—secret and dark and full of things that she could sense but could not see.

Her lover scoffed at her fears. He said the woods were like a cloak, hiding and protecting them. They could meet no other way. It was only in the woods at night that the two of them could be alone together, could express how they really felt.

And it was for that reason that she plunged eagerly in among the trees. She would meet him here tonight as they so often did, and he would kiss away her fears, tease her for her foolishness even as his hands caressed her. She did not mind that he teased her, did not care that he talked of things she could not understand. He loved her, and that was all that mattered. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that one such as he could love her. She hugged that knowledge to herself like a kind of talisman against the darkness.

Something rustled in the bushes behind her, and the noise sent an icy prickle down her spine. She glanced uneasily behind her, but she could see nothing. She picked up her pace a little, her hands fisting nervously in her skirts. It would not be long before she was at their meeting place, and then everything would be all right.

There was a snap behind her, and she jumped and whirled, peering into the darkness behind her. “Hello?” Her voice came out quavering and thin. There was no answer.

It was nothing, she told herself, or perhaps it was her lover, playing a little joke on her. She did not always understand his jests. She waited, but the longer she stood waiting, listening, the more stretched her nerves grew. Again there came a rustling, but this time to the side of her. And as she whipped her head around, she glimpsed something—a flash of movement.

Fear tore through her, and she began to run. She called his name, her voice swallowed up by the enormous silence of the woods. She ran, her pulse pounding in her ears, her breath rasping in her throat.

It was following her. She could hear the snap of twigs, the whisper of branches pushed aside, the soft thud of someone—something!—running. She ran with all the speed of terror, but it gained easily on her. She could hear its breath behind her, and then it slammed into her.

She went sprawling on the ground, the breath knocked out of her. Its weight was heavy on her back. She struggled to breathe, struggled to crawl. It growled, low and menacing. Tears of fear sprang into her eyes. She tried to turn, to face her attacker, but it held her head down.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a face—fearsome, snarling, like nothing she had ever seen. Then, before she could even think, something sank into her throat, ripping, tearing. Her screams echoed and died in the stillness of the trees.

A
nna heard all about the arrival of Lord Moreland and his party at Winterset, first from her excited maid the next morning and later from the squire’s wife and daughter. Anna carefully refrained from telling either one of her newsbearers that she already knew of Reed’s arrival. She listened patiently as Mrs. Bennett repeated the chemist’s description of Moreland’s entourage as it had moved through the town of Lower Fenley, keeping a pleasant smile fixed on her face.

After the Bennetts left, Kit turned to his sister and said thoughtfully, “I suppose I ought to call on him—to be polite. Or do you think that’s forward?”

Despite her inner turmoil, Anna had to smile at her brother’s somewhat anxious expression. He had brought the same subject up days ago, when they had first learned that Reed Moreland was returning to Winterset, and obviously he had been considering the matter ever since. Kit was, after all, still rather young, only twenty-four years of age, and the prospect of new neighbors was a little exciting to him. There were few people his age or station anywhere around them, and his social life in London had been cut short by having to return to take over his father’s responsibilities. He had accepted his lot with good grace, never complaining, and for the most part he seemed content to live quietly in the country.

But it was only natural that he should want to meet some new people. The social highlight of his life was a weekly game of cards in the village with Dr. Felton and a few of the local men. Indeed, Anna knew that had circumstances been different, she, too, would have looked forward with pleasure to meeting the occupants of Winterset. The last thing she wanted was for Kit to meet Reed, but she could not bring herself to tell him about the disastrous relationship that had formed between her and Moreland. Nor could she ask him not to call on the man.

“No, I don’t think it’s forward at all,” she assured him, fixing a pleasant smile on her face. “I think it is just what is proper.” She hoped that Reed would not be abrupt or unkind to Kit just because he was her brother. “And you will get a better idea of whether or not they intend to stay and if they are friendly or too snobbish to mingle with us country folk.”

“Is that the way Lord Moreland is?” Kit asked. “You knew him. Mrs. Bennett seemed to think—”

Anna forced a chuckle. “Come, Kit, surely you are not relying on Mrs. Bennett’s version of events. Why, to hear her talk, one would think that you are quite taken with her daughter.”

Kit made a wry face. “Point taken. But you did at least talk to the man.”

“Yes. At parties and such. He was…a nice man. He did not seem puffed up with pride, as I had expected of the son of a duke. But it has been three years. He may have changed.”

Kit smiled at her. “Don’t worry. I will not be disillusioned if he offers me a set down.”

As it turned out, Kit was far from offered a set down. In his eagerness, he rode over to Winterset not long after their conversation, and when he returned, he was smiling and bubbling over with liking for their new neighbors.

“He’s a jolly good sort,” Kit told her, a boyish grin on his face. “Just as you said—not at all proud or puffed up. I quite liked him.”

“Good. I’m glad,” Anna responded with genuine pleasure.

“There were several other people there, as Mrs. Bennett said,” he went on. “His sister, Lady Kyria, and her husband, who is an American.”

“And what are they like?” Anna remembered hearing Reed speak of Kyria more than once, as well as his other sisters, and she could not help but be interested in her.

“Very nice. Lady Kyria is stunning. Actually, I had seen her when I was in London. A friend took me to a party once, and she was there. Unforgettable.”

“What does she look like?” Anna pressed.

“Red hair, very tall. Just…just beautiful,” he finished lamely, shrugging. “And quite charming. Not a bit of snobbery about her, either. Strangely enough, the family seems a bit egalitarian.”

“I understand that the duchess is very forward-thinking,” Anna told him.

“Lady Kyria’s husband is a chap named Rafe McIntyre. He’s an American—shook my hand, acted as if he’d known me all my life.” He paused, and his expression shifted subtly. “There is another woman in their party…Miss Rosemary Farrington.”

Something cold touched Anna’s heart. “Another woman? A relative, do you think?”

“Oh, no, I didn’t get that impression. I think she is perhaps a friend of theirs.”

“What—what is she like?” It was common to bring friends along to stay at one’s county estate, but it betokened a certain interest in a woman if a man asked her to come with his family to his estate, especially if she was there by herself, not just a member of a family invited to stay. “Is she—are her parents there?”

Kit looked at her oddly. “No, I don’t think so. No one said anything about them. Why?”

Anna blushed, realizing how peculiar her question had sounded. “I don’t know. I was just wondering…if there were any other people there. You know, if it was a large party or small. One cannot rely on Mrs. Bennett for accuracy, you know.”

“No, I think they are the only people who came to Winterset.”

“Tell me about Miss Farrington.” Anna strove to keep her voice light. It was absurd, she knew, for her to feel this quiver of jealousy at the thought that Reed might have an interest in Miss Farrington. After all, she expected him to go on with his life. Indeed, she
wanted
him to. She wanted him to be happy.

“She is a beautiful woman. Not, perhaps, as beautiful as Lady Kyria is, but, to my way of thinking, much better—more normal, you know, more approachable. Her hair is blond and her eyes are blue. She is quite small and just a little bit shy, I think.”

It was only then that Anna noticed the moonstruck look on her brother’s face, and a different sort of anxiety crept into her. “Kit…you are not—you sound quite taken with Miss Farrington.”

Her brother’s expression hardened, the rapt look in his eyes replaced by something a little bitter. “Don’t worry. I’m not a fool. I know that there is no possibility—”

Anna’s face filled with sympathy, and she went to her brother, slipping her hand into his. “Kit, I am so sorry….”

“I know. It is not your fault.” He smiled faintly down at her, squeezing her hand a little. “You, after all, suffer just as much as I. One cannot choose one’s lot, can one? And, for the most part, I am well content.”

“For the most part.”

He shrugged. “I cannot help but see, can I? Cannot help but feel?”

“No,” Anna replied, her voice threaded with sorrow. “One cannot help but feel.”

After her talk with Kit, Anna felt the need to get outside. She had always loved the outdoors, and she refused to let Reed’s proximity deter her from her almost-daily walk or ride about the estate. Whatever the problem, it always helped clear her head to go on a long ramble.

She would be careful this time, though, not to head in the direction of Winterset. She would go into the woods toward Craydon Tor. So, putting on her walking boots and grabbing her hat, she left the house. She took the same path out of the garden that she had used the other day, but this time she headed into the leafy green trees leading toward the tor, an upthrust of land that on this side was a gradual elevation and on the other was a more-or-less sheer drop to the valley below. It loomed over the village of Lower Fenley and was the most distinctive landmark for miles around.

As she walked through the trees, the vegetation grew thicker around her, and the path became less and less clear. Anna knew the area, however, and she had no fear of getting lost. There were some, she knew, who disliked the woods, finding them dark and gloomy, even frightening. But she had always thought them peaceful and serene, and she liked the glimpses of wildlife that she found in them, from the red flash of a bird flitting from branch to branch to the jittering antics of a squirrel on a limb.

The woods worked their usual magic today, calming her. At one point she came upon a fawn with its mother, both of which turned and shot off as she approached. She sat on a large stone for a few minutes, just listening to the sounds of the woods—the twitter of birds, the soft stirring of the branches, the rustle of some small creature in the leaves.

Holding her skirts up with one hand and grabbing at branches and saplings with the other, she made her way down into a small depression where a little pool had formed. She chuckled as a startled frog jumped off a stone at her approach and landed with a splash in the large puddle. Past this indention in the land, she climbed upward at a slant, taking a narrow path. It led, she knew, to a small, enchanting glen not much farther on, where a fallen, mossy tree trunk provided a natural seat. Perhaps she might go even farther than that; she might go to the hut and see how things were there. She too often avoided her duty there, she thought. Her father would not have been pleased; he would have said that the distress she felt when she went there was no excuse.

Anna came to an abrupt stop. A terrible cold assailed her. Her hand flew to her chest as if to hold in the pain that flowered there, sharp and icy. Instinctively she closed her eyes, seeing in her mind the nighttime darkness of the woods, deep and pervasive. Her breath caught in her throat as fear and panic flashed through her.

She bit back a moan and stumbled away. She leaned against a tree, struggling to calm her breathing. The panic and the pain receded, leaving her shaken.

Anna turned, looking back at the innocuous copse of trees from which she had just fled. She pressed her hand against her forehead, where a headache had formed. She waited for the shaking and the weakness to subside. They always did, though the headaches tended to linger longer.

It was not the first time she had felt this sort of strange sensation, where she seemed abruptly to be outside of her body somehow, assaulted by emotions she did not understand. Sometimes she simply felt these emotions; other times she might smell something, like the sharp scent of burning wood, and often she “saw” something.

Once, when she had gone to visit one of their tenant farmers whose child was ill, as she had approached the door, she had been struck by a wave of sorrow so severe that tears had sprung unconsciously into her eyes. It had been no surprise to her when the farmer had opened the door, his face a mask of grief, and told her that his child had died only minutes earlier.

Usually they were quite commonplace things that she saw or felt—a spring day and an upswelling of joy even though it was winter at the time, or a sentence or two in another’s voice suddenly running through her head, completely out of context with anything that was happening around her. When Kit was away in Europe, she had awakened one night thinking she had heard him speak her name, but, of course, he had not been in the house.

She did not know what caused these “visions,” and she had kept them hidden from those around her, ashamed and embarrassed by her oddity. It was only rarely that they seemed connected to anything real, as they had been with the tenant farmer. She did her best to suppress and ignore them when they came upon her. But never had one hit her with the intensity or pain she had just felt.

Anna took a deep breath and smoothed back her hair with her hands. She looked at the quiet scene again. It was ridiculous to think that there was anything about it that could cause such fear. She took another steadying breath, turned and began to walk away. Her desire to go farther up the hill had vanished, and she decided to walk home.

She had not gone very far when she heard the faint sound of a voice. She paused, listening. She was on Holcomb land, and it was unusual for there to be anyone else here.

Again there was a voice—no, two, she thought. Curious, she turned in the direction of the sound, walking quietly and carefully. There was always the possibility of poachers, though Rankin kept a sharp eye out for them. She had little desire to meet anyone who was roaming deep in these woods.

She saw them now, some twenty feet or so away, though they were still somewhat hidden by the trees. They were lads, and they were bent over something on the ground. As she drew closer, she saw that what interested the boys was an animal, lying on its side.

Anna hurried forward, worried now. Obviously there was something wrong with the animal, which she could see now was a dog. She wasn’t sure whether she was more worried that the boys had hurt the dog or that the wounded animal might bite them in its fear.

“Boys!” Her voice came out more sharply than she had intended.

The two adolescents whirled around. The first thing she noticed was the evident relief on their faces, which reassured her that they were concerned for the animal, not hurting it, and the next thing was that they were as alike as peas in a pod. They were slender as whips, and both had thick dark hair, disheveled. Their eyes were wide and light-colored, and intelligence shone in them. They looked, she realized with a little clutch in her chest, very much like Reed.

The twins! Reed had spoken of them often, with a wry affection—and had he not mentioned the other day that they had come here with him?

“Ma’am!” one of them exclaimed, and they started toward her.

“Can you help? We found this dog.”

“And he’s badly hurt.”

They stopped before her, looking earnestly at her. There were leaves and twigs caught in their hair and on their clothing, and dirt smudged their faces and clothes. Anna could not help but smile at them.