Ray's eyes roamed over the flower beds, the curving garden paths that twisted around square hedges and meandered through gates, then over to the vegetable garden, where rows of snap peas and tomatoes grew on vines. The white tomato flowers were bright against the rolling fog that limited his sight like a curtain cutting across the garden. Even his advanced sight could not see past it. Something was hiding from him in that fog, he knew. He intended to investigate when he felt someone approaching from behind.
"Excuse me," a timid voice spoke up.
Ray spun on his heel and looked down to see Lady Thornton regarding the ground. He could not repress the smile that stretched his features. I thought she would stay away; she looked so afraid the last time we met.
"Lady Thornton, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He hid his excitement by leaning against a nearby rake.
She looked up at him. She had brown eyes, large as a doe's, with thick, dark lashes. Her bow-shaped mouth was small and pink and currently open in an 'o' shape. "What are you doing in my husband's garden?" Her reply shocked them both, it seemed, because she clamped her hand over her mouth.
She has more fire than I initially thought. That's a good sign; maybe I've gotten it right at last.
"I'm working..." He fumbled with the right address for her. Human language was so difficult to understand. They were all his inferiors, but he had learned they were particular about their own hierarchy. He opted to gloss over the formalities. She furrowed her brows. So he added a hasty, "This is my job." He made a sweeping gesture to indicate the garden at large.
She looked around them, at the cypress that flanked a walkway leading to a rose garden, then over to the vegetable garden, where he could still sense someone lurking. He ignored the watcher. For the time being, they seemed content to stay in the shadows. He had been trying to think of an excuse to talk with Lady Thornton again, and here she had come to him. She seemed determined to avoid meeting his gaze and instead fixed her attention on the flower bed he had been working on before Mr. Rockwell had interrupted him.
"Oh," she gasped. At first he thought she had come to the conclusion that he did indeed work for the estate, though in a manner of speaking, he wasn't a real employee. But that was neither here nor there. Then he saw what had caught her interest. Her rapt attention was upon the irises. Much of his time among the humans was spent on this flower bed. He figured if he must pose as a gardener, he may as well do some gardening.
Mrs. Thornton kneeled down in the dirt beside the irises. Her hands hovered over the long narrow leaves. They had yet to bloom, but spring was coming soon, and they would rival every flower in the expansive gardens at Thornwood Abbey. She's not afraid to get dirty; interesting. He knelt down beside her and took in her profile. She had a petite nose, almost upturned, and skin so pale it was near translucent. He saw the faint color of the veins beneath her skin. She was as delicate as a rose petal, with thick brown hair that strained against the pins and curls that tried to tame it. A few hairs at the base of her neck curled over the collar of her gown.
"What color are they?" She looked at him with a gleam in her eyes that he had not had the pleasure to see before. For a moment she had forgotten her fear of him.
"They'll be violet once they bloom. I planted the bulbs myself this winter." He smiled at her, but the spell the flowers had cast was broken.
She looked down at her knees; dirt clung to her skirt, a light dusting of earth. She planted her hands on the ground, preparing to climb to her feet. He sprang to his feet before she could and offered her a hand. She looked at his offered hand as if it were a wild creature. He held his smile though he felt like a fool for doing so. She is not making this easy. Most women fall over themselves to please me when I smile like that. She took his hand delicately, only the tips of her fingers brushing against his. He wrapped his hand tight around hers and pulled her to her feet. She squawked in surprise.
They stood for a moment, hands locked, as he tried to access her mind. But before he could so much as scratch the surface of her thoughts, she ripped her hand from his.
"I came to ask Mr. Rockwell about planting a few iris beds, but it seems you've already begun." She paused; her eyes flickered from the left to the right before she said, "I suppose I will see to my other errands, then." She turned her back to him as she said this.
It was infuriating. Never before had a woman so adamantly avoided meeting his gaze. Lady Thornton was different in a way that he could not quite put his finger on. While he contemplated this, she strode down the path away from him. Not so fast.
He followed her down the path for a few feet. Judging by the tense set of her shoulders, she knew he was following her. She stopped at last where the garden path ended at a gate leading out onto the road. She turned to face him with a determined set to her features. "Can I be of some assistance to you, Mr. Thorn?"
He shrugged. "Not at all, I was on my way into the village; Mr. Rockwell generously gave me the afternoon off. I am not bothering you, am I?"
He could see it written on her face that she was uncomfortable around him. On the other hand, she dared not protest. Which suited him fine; he wanted a chance to study her without interruption.
"No... it's no trouble at all," she replied in a squeak.
"Are you headed to the village as well, mistress? Might I accompany you?"
Whatever it was that had run by in the garden was hanging back behind him, watching their conversation. He felt its eyes on them as he had back in the garden. He dared not look over his shoulder in its direction, but he saw Mrs. Thornton's eyes grow wide before she turned and marched down the road without troubling to reply to Ray.
When her back was turned, Ray looked over his shoulder but found no one behind him. The fog was growing thick, closing in and reducing visibility. There was a smoky scent in the air. He inhaled deeply. I should have known. He ran after Lady Thornton.
He caught up with her easily enough. She was swinging her arms as she walked, eyes focused forward.
"Mrs. Thornton, are you late for an appointment?" he asked.
Lady Thornton struggled to keep her pace. She was not a robust woman. Ray, with longer legs, had no trouble matching her stride.
"I am not sure our walking together would be appropriate," she huffed as she tried to get ahead of him.
"Because I am your servant, or because I am a man?"
She stopped; her hands were fisted at her sides. He could see her fighting with the right thing to say. Maybe if I push a little more, I'll see a flash of that temper again.
Their invisible companion slid past him. He felt a cold chill roll up his back, and he surveyed the road. Whoever was watching him was done watching and was ready for action. The road ended a short distance from them in a wall of fog. A cottage nearby sat nestled between the trees. A low stone wall covered in gray-green moss ringed the property. The open gate clacked in a faint breeze. A woman in white stepped out from beyond the gate. Ray stared at her for a moment and took in the long auburn hair hanging over her freckled face. A crimson bloodstain ran down the left side of her breast, a gaping hole where her heart should have been. He turned his back to her and whistled an old tune. Ghosts hated to be ignored, and he was certain this one was no different.
Mrs. Thornton stared at the woman in white. If they had any hope of dispelling the spirit, he would need to distract it. He stepped in front of Mrs. Thornton, blocking her sight of the ghost. She made no comment about the apparition though she looked a bit green. He hummed a few bars of an old song he had learned from the villagers lifetimes ago. She lifted her brown eyes to Ray for the first time, searching his face. It was a start, at least, if not under ideal conditions. The woman in white approached, making slow deliberate steps in their direction. It looks like we have one determined spirit on our hands.
He came to the last notes of the song he was humming and the end left a heavy silence. The road was too quiet, even the birds had stopped singing, and the wind had died down. "Are you going to an
swer the question, Lady Thornton?" The woman in white was at Lady Thornton's shoulder now. She glared at Ray; her eyes were black, almost devoid of whites, only the barest sliver of white remained at the edges.
"What is that tune you were humming?" Mrs. Thornton asked, her voice shaking. She felt the spirit at her back, though she pretended not to.
"It's an old one, native to this village." He smiled and she shivered.
The woman in white placed a pale hand on Lady Thornton's shoulder. Ray stepped towards her, closing the distance between him and Mrs. Thornton. Mrs. Thornton's breath was frigid as a winter breeze.
She took a step back, and the woman in white wrapped her arm around Mrs. Thornton's throat.
"Oh?" Mrs. Thornton gasped.
Ignoring our guest is not enough; I had hoped I would not have to do this.
"Do not touch her, Ray Thorn. I know what you are," the woman in white hissed.
"Yes, it's a song about Those Who Dwell in the Thorns. Would you like me to sing it to you?" He addressed Lady Thornton while keeping his gaze fixed on the ghost, who had wrapped herself around Lady Thornton like a blanket.
Lady Thornton trembled, and her breath came out in white puffs. "Are those the same creatures that take the heart of unsuspecting victims? I think I would rather not," Mrs. Thornton said, gasping for breath. She was struggling to breathe; the specter was drawing energy from her, forcing her manifestation.
The time for games was over. If he did not break them apart, Lady Thornton would perish. "Lady Thornton, please take my hand. I cannot help you unless you come to me."
She shook her head, a helpless gesture that spoke much of her fear. It was enough of an invitation to act. He grabbed Lady Thornton by the arm and wrenched her free of the specter. The woman in white fell forward and landed on her knees. She remained on all fours on the ground before tilting her head up to glare at Ray with eyes glowing red. The specter screeched and lunged for Ray. He whirled out of her way. He opened his palm and a green flame erupted there. The flame shot up, twisting and writhing, taking on the shape of a blade. He brandished the glowing blade at the specter. She bared her teeth at him in a gruesome smile. He danced back a few feet, drawing the specter away from Lady Thornton. The spirit clawed at him with hands of ice. The icy touch of her flesh burned where it touched his skin. He kicked out and swung the blade, landing a blow on her abdomen; it cut through and white smoke poured from the wound. The force of the blow sent the specter flying across the road, where she collided with the stone wall. She lay stunned, crumpled like a rag doll on the ground.
Hooves clopped on the lane and wooden wheels creaked. The woman in white looked up as the Lord of Darkness rode up in his carriage. The supernatural undertaker wore a black cloak over his face. His carriage was pulled by two massive black stallions with jet-black manes and eyes. He stopped beside the woman in white and pointed a skeletal hand at her where she had fallen on the ground.
"No, you cannot take me. My business here is not complete. I have to protect Lady Thornton; he'll take her heart next. I can see it in his eyes," she pleaded with the Lord of Darkness.
Ray stood with his back to the sad sight. Humans even in death were pitiful, pleading for their lives, their existence, a mere speck in the expanse of time. She could make her accusations; the Lord of Darkness would not be moved. He shook his head and crooked his finger once more to the woman in white. The woman in white rose to her feet as if she were attached by strings. She hovered over to the carriage and climbed on the driver's seat alongside the dark coachman. She looked down at her hands, pale and translucent. She looked back to Ray, hate glowing from her eyes. She tried to say something, but nothing came out.
Ray looked away as the carriage creaked down the road before disappearing into the mist. Lady Thornton was clutching the front of her dress, staring after the carriage though it had already disappeared, not leaving a trace of it or the woman in white.
"Thank you," she swallowed. "If you had not pulled me out of the way of that carriage, I would likely have been trampled."
He gaped at her for a moment. She had seen, he was certain of it. Normal human eyes would have seen a hearse nothing more, but Lady Thornton had felt that vengeful spirit. He had seen the terror in her eyes. She heard what the shade said; perhaps Lady Thornton fears me even more now. It would have been better to have sent her away before I dealt with the ghost. Then again, had I not, she might have continued to haunt her, and all my planning would be for naught.
"Do you know who it was... that passed?" She wrung her hands.
He hesitated, uncertain how much to reveal. "Her name was Evelyn Smith," Mr. Thorn replied.
Lady Thornton nodded to herself, rationalizing what she had seen, disregarding what was inconvenient like so many humans did when they brushed up against anything that did not fit their narrow view of the world. Perhaps I overestimated her.
"Was the deceased any relation to Miss Smith who works at Thornwood Abbey?" Lady Thornton asked.
Now this is interesting. "There has only been one Miss Smith to work at Thornwood Abbey in recent years, and that was Miss Evelyn Smith, the deceased." Miss Smith had more power than I thought if she approached Lady Thornton in corporeal form. She used her one chance, I fear. She could not maintain the illusion, and because of it the Lord of Darkness caught up with her.
"I... I did not know she had... I had thought when she did not show up to help me dress this morning that she was ill..." Mrs. Thornton looked around her, searching for the answers in the scenery.
"Perhaps you are mistaken. Miss Smith passed a few nights before you arrived at Thornwood Abbey. There's no way you could have met."
Her breathing was erratic and she was looking about her and clawing at her gown, hard enough to rip. "How can that be? I am certain I met Miss Smith yesterday morning."
"That's not possible."
She stared wide eyed at Ray. He could see the cracks in her carefully crafted rationale. The questions squirmed in her mind, begging to be answered, and then like a candle being snuffed out, the light died in her eyes and she gave him a dazed smile.
"I must have been mistaken, then, pardon me." She bowed her head an inch before walking away.
I was so close! She wobbled as she walked like a drunkard. She threw out her hands and leaned against a nearby ash tree. She pressed her forehead against the bark and took in a deep breath. He approached her as he would a wounded animal. "Lady Thornton, are you well? You are unsteady on your feet; should I call for the carriage?" That is what a human servant would do, isn't it? I should have paid more attention. Mr. Thorn reached out a long-fingered hand to steady Catherine. She stepped out of his grasp. His fingers brushed against the silk of her sash before she was out of his reach.
She would not look him in the eye as she said, "I'm fine, just a bit light-headed is all. Perhaps I should return home and lie down. Thank you for your concern." She turned about and ran in the other direction before he could make an attempt to stop her.
Ray watched her go, a smirk dancing over his lips. This has been a productive afternoon indeed. She will not be as easy as the others, but they're all the same in the end. The bushes on the side of the road rustled, and a casual observer would not have noticed beyond the slowly growing fog. Ray, however, was no mere observer. He tilted his head towards the sound but did not take his eyes off of Lady Thornton's retreating form.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" a figure crouched in the bush gurgled.
Ray chuckled. "Perhaps a bit. She is nothing as I imagined she would be. She's very--human," he said with contempt. They all are, but I keep hoping one won't be.
"What did you expect?" A humanoid figure poked its head out from within the bushes, his mouth wide and curled at the corners, and his bulbous eyes were reminiscent of a toad's.
"I don't know, really, just more, I suppose." Ray shrugged. That was always the hope, but he often found his hopes crushed by reality. He turned his full attention to his visitor.
&n
bsp; "Well, do not dally. The shadows are growing, and they fear time is running short. We cannot afford another mistake. You must lead her to the forest before it's too late."
"I know what I am supposed to do. I don't need a little toad reminding me."
The figure croaked. "I resent that."
"I expect you would. Run along back and tell them that I will have the girl in the woods before the next dance."
The creature croaked something akin to a scoff. "Very well, see to it that you fulfill your grandiose promises. This is your last chance, remember."
"Is that a cat I hear?" Ray tilted his head as if listening for said feline.
The creature shrieked and ducked under the cover of the bushes. "Do not delay!" the creature called out.
The bushes along the road rustled, indicating the creature's passing. Ray laughed to himself once again. The fog grew denser around him, swirling about him like a cloak. "Just wait, Lady Thornton, just wait."
Chapter Four
A gray drizzle fell onto the carriage roof. The tapping of the rain did nothing to drown out Mary's sighs. This village does not change. The carriage rolled down the village square. There was the apothecary, with its opaque glass and round letters in gold paint on the door that read Goldenrod Cures and Elixirs. Next to that was a book seller, Wilson and Sons, with piles of dusty books in the window. Across the street was Lady Margaret's Linens and Ribbons, which sold ladies' accessories. It was a favorite among the simple-minded country folk.
Mary rolled her eyes and closed the curtain. She flopped back onto the hard cushion of the carriage seat and gave another sigh. She was fortunate to have the carriage alone; it would not be appropriate for a lady to be seen carrying on as she was. It just was not fair. All her carefully laid plans to escape this village were dashed. A few more days and Mr. Jones would have asked for my hand, I am certain of it.
Heart of Thorns Page 4