Angel in the Woods

by Rachel Starr Thomson

  Something flickered in the Widow’s eye. “Yes,” she said. “It is very beautiful. A magnificent inheritance. But it is also a wild place. We are not far from the outer reaches of our country, and across those borders people are uncivilized, treacherous. Much of their character has come across the border and infected my lands. We have always been known for the wealth of the land, but equally we are known for the vile things that transpire here. Other provinces have legendary heroes. Here, despite the work my husband and his fathers did to keep the land settled, we are plagued by legendary villains. Thieves. They haunt the forests and roam at night.”

  She was not finished. I had grown uncomfortable; my hands clammy. I was not sure why.

  “Since my husband died things have grown steadily worse,” the Widow said. “My daughter and I are in need of a man to help us tame the province again.”

  “Have—have you had no one in all these years?” I stammered.

  She looked at me shrewdly. “Oh, there are men,” she said. “But no one of noble birth. No one with the strength and resolve to make his mark here. No one we could welcome as… one of us.” Her eyes went to Genevieve, whose beauty was as distracting as it was cold.

  I understood at once what she was getting at. Genevieve Brawnlyn was a beautiful young woman, but there were few prospects in this part of the world—few men who could be trusted to take lordship over the province. The Widow’s words swirled in my head. This was a place without heroes. And the Widow and her daughter, rulers over the land, were looking to me.

  I swallowed, regaining my composure. “I will be of service to you,” I said, “in any way I can.” I looked up inadvertently, and my eyes locked with the stormy grey of Genevieve’s. Deliberately I turned back to the Widow, who was ready with a commission.

  “There is, in the woods north of here, a band of robbers who have made the road notoriously dangerous for all travellers. I want you to take a band of my guards and rout them from the forest. Bring them back to my prisons or have done with them in some other way, but I want them driven from my land. They are bloodthirsty men; you need have no qualms about dealing with them. My spies can tell you precisely where to find them. Will you do this?”

  I stood. “I will,” I said.

  Chapter 14

  the widow’s daughter

  I rode out at the head of the Widow’s men not two hours later. They were uniformed in grey: sharp, imposing figures. Before them I rode like a rogue warrior, without uniform to identify me with any cause but my own, flushed with all that the ride could mean to me. I bade the Widow—and her daughter—goodbye as the tall black horse they had lent me pranced impatiently beneath me. With a shout and a slap of the reins, I gave the horse its freedom. We were off. We vanquished the stone drive in mere minutes, and with the men whooping behind me and the hooves of their horses tearing up the road, we charged on the north woods.

  I signalled for the men to quiet themselves as we approached the woodland border. When we plunged into the forest world we were as silent as a band of men on horseback can be. I knew where to go. Lady Brawnlyn’s spy had given me detailed directions, but even if he had not, I would have had no trouble finding the bandits. I could read the forest. I knew what tracks were man-made and which were the marks of beasts or the tricks of nature. I could see signs of the men’s presence everywhere.

  The robbers had made their headquarters inside a cave, hewn out of a rock that rose from the ground like the head of a great serpent. My eyes caught sight of its dark opening. I signalled to the men to fan out behind me, that we might approach the cave mouth from every angle. I rode ahead, into the clearing alone. The strong odour of revelry washed out from the cave’s dark maw: wine, meat, and the stink of drunkenness. I reigned in my horse and called out in a loud voice, “Ho, there! Come out and face justice!”

  I heard a shuffling and low muttering in the cave, and then a filthy man appeared in the opening. The hair he had hung long and scraggly down the back of his neck. He leaned on the side of the cave and eyed me with one yellow eye.

  “And who might you be?” he asked.

  “I am called Hawk,” I told him. “I am come in the name of the Lady Brawnlyn to see that your thievery is stopped.”

  The man looked up at me with an indescribable sneer. “Is that so?” he asked. He half turned and called into the cave. “Come out, boys, and see the whelp the Widow has sent us!”

  Even as he spoke, he drew a broadsword out from the darkness of the cave and lunged at me. He had given me little warning, yet it was as though I had already studied his every move. It was nothing to me to meet the sword, to disarm him, to ride on the others who came forth from the cave. I gave a battle cry as my men poured out of the forest. The fight was over almost before it had begun. I knew that I had acted swiftly; strongly. I knew that I looked in the eyes of every man there like a hero. When I look back now, I know that it was the Giant’s training that enabled me to fight as I did, but I spared no thought for him then.

  We tied the robbers and threw them over the backs of our horses like so many sacks of grain. The filthy man who had come out to meet me at the mouth of the cave rode behind me with his arms tied behind his back, and all the way he spewed curses and accusations from his mouth. I sat straighter, prouder, as I thought of the life this man had led and the way I had ended it.

  We entered the town. All the people gathered to gawk at us from the sides of the road. Someone recognized the bandits and shouted out news of what we had done. The townspeople cheered, and I thought that my heart could not beat more proudly. A small part of me whispered that the Giant and all his fair host should be here to see me, but at the same time I did not think they would be pleased. The Giant, I thought, cared only for his small world. Ah, but had I not protected that world also by doing away with the bandits? And might I not someday reign over that world, if in the years to come the Widow should look favourably on me?

  The low voice of the filthy bandit intruded on my thoughts, audible under the cheers of the gathering crowd. “What did she promise you, eh?” he asked. “What? Money? Or that daughter of hers?” The man laughed, his laugh like gravel in my ears. “She did, didn’t she? Offered you the whole world, young fool. All for the cause of ridding the forest of me.”

  We had reached the gaol. I had no more patience for the man. I dismounted and hauled him down roughly. Within the hour the bandits were locked safely away, and I was once more on horseback, headed again for the house of Widow Brawnlyn.

  * * *

  It was evening when I rode up the drive at the head of my small band of men. They dispersed behind me as I dismounted, and a boy came to lead my horse away. I patted its sleek black neck, my eyes all the time on the doors of the house. I was eager to give account for my actions.

  The butler led me again to a well-furnished sitting room, where I was surprised to find, not two ladies waiting for me, but three. My surprise was doubled when I recognized in the third the face of the Pixie. She looked up at me, tea cup in her hand, without a trace of guilt on her smooth brow. She was seated next to Genevieve. They contrasted like fire and storm. I was not sure I had ever seen so much loveliness in one place.

  The Widow greeted me with a nod of her aged head. “Reports have already reached me,” she said. “A rider came in from the town. I could not be more pleased.”

  I nodded. A flush of colour stole into my cheeks. Genevieve had her strange grey eyes fixed on me, and I could not help but remember at what future her mother had hinted.

  “I shall call for you again,” the Widow said. “Is this agreeable to you?”

  I answered yes. I was flattered. Flattered that she treated me with deference; flattered that she considered me a help; flattered by the way her daughter looked at me. And I was inordinately pleased that it was all done in front of the Pixie, who had only seen me as laundry-toter and water boy before this—the Pixie! I glared at her. Flattered I was, but I would have liked to wring her neck. How on earth had she come t
o be there?

  Lady Brawnlyn gestured the Pixie’s way. She had not asked me to sit, so I stood, hot and without any idea of what I would say if the Widow inquired after my friend’s audacity.

  “You did not tell us that you had brought a young lady with you,” Lady Brawnlyn said. “A charming creature—utterly delightful. Next time you must not be so remiss in introducing your friends.”

  What could I say? I stammered an apology and dutifully promised to bring her with me when next I came. We left together, the Pixie’s arm in mine as I escorted her over the drive. “How did you come here?” I hissed once we were out of earshot.

  The Pixie smiled sweetly at me—well aware that we were not yet out of eyeshot. “I followed you,” she said. “Not a word to Nora or the Angel.”

  “I’m not a fool,” I answered.

  I looked back at the house then. Genevieve Brawnlyn was standing in the open doors, her dark hair stirred by the wind.

  Her eyes haunted me all the way back to the Castle.

  Chapter 15

  independence

  I spoke with the Pixie as we walked the roads through the town together. It seemed she had not intended to present herself at the house: only to wander the grounds, and, if questioned, to explain that she had come with me. She was caught in short order, as only someone as vividly conspicuous as the Pixie could be, and stood almost immediately in the good graces of Widow Brawnlyn and her daughter. They had insisted that she come back to see them.

  I allowed this information to flatter me. The Pixie had come in my name and been welcomed with open arms. I wondered how they would have welcomed her had she gone to them in the Giant’s name alone. I knew well enough that if the Pixie found herself a favourite of the noble family she had only her own charms to thank for it—but at least I had opened the door. We crept through the darkwood together, under the evening sky, lost in our own thoughts. The Pixie seemed apprehensive as we neared the Castle. As before, we had neatly avoided the Giant’s detection. I felt sorry for her. She was all but locked up in that castle, I thought—a flower trying to grow in a world without enough sun. We parted ways in the woods. She returned home in the fading light while I spent a few hours in the woods—hunting, as I had told Nora I would do. What the Pixie told Nora I never knew.

  Over the next few days I became aware of an undercurrent of excitement in the Castle. The little girls were all a-twitter, and they had a way of scattering upon discovery like mice at play. Illyrica spent hours in her room. When she was out in the public rooms she was never without some gorgeous tapestry in needlepoint, which she shoved away under various cushions, lap blankets, and dishes when certain people entered the room. Even Nora always seemed to glow. Childhood memories began to greet me at every turn, bringing with them a strange mix of melancholy and joy. The reason for all of this was simple enough. Christmas was just around the corner.

  I had not thought much about my home since I had left it. But we had had Christmases there; glorious ones and bittersweet; and I thought of it now. I thought of my parents, long since gone from this world, of my childless aunt and uncle, whose was the title of the lands, and of my younger sister, who I barely knew. I thought equally as much of the horses in the old stables and the sea cliffs where I had often gone for long rides, letting the wild wind carry my soul up with it over the wintry sea. On my last Christmas at home, I had gone to the cliffs and spent much of my day there in dreaming, until the tips of my fingers and toes were in danger of frostbite despite the warm clothes I wore.

  Dreaming of adventure. Of strange lands. And now here I was, in a strange land, surrounded by innocents and beauties of mysterious origin, and still no closer to any answer concerning them. I had been in the Castle since the summer, and I had begun to believe that I would leave it as ignorant as I had come. In any case, I would not be a hero here. That destiny awaited me with the Widow Brawnlyn. Of all the Castle’s inhabitants, I fancied I might be of help to the Pixie alone. Nora had no need of me. The Giant seemed only to want to change me for his own purposes. I had grown tired of it.

  Between my first visit to the Widow, when I routed the robbers from their forest den, and Christmas week, I had been back to the Brawnlyn House twice. Both times the Widow had given me work to do. Once she asked me for advice on how best to deal with a judicial matter; the second time, she sent me out to teach a notorious drunk a lesson. I did, and did it well. I saw more of Genevieve with each visit but knew her no better. The Pixie failed to escape the Castle on the first occasion, but on the second she accompanied me, and spent the whole of the day in the company of the noblewomen.

  There was on the edge of the darkwood a hollow tree where the Widow took to sending messages for me. I checked it every day, often two or three times, and so it was that on the third day before Christmas I discovered an invitation, on fine ivory paper with a gilt edge, for the Pixie and I to attend a Christmas Eve ball at the Brawnlyn House.

  The sun was setting as I passed through the cold woods to the Castle. The Pixie was in the front hall, helping direct a stream of little girls to the dining room, from whence came the smells of fresh-baked buns and a peculiar hot punch that only Nora could make. I pulled her aside and showed her the invitation. She flushed as she read it, and looked up at me with eyes so alive she almost took my breath away.

  “We will go, Hawk?” she said. “We must!”

  I frowned. “I will.”

  “You can’t leave me behind!” she whispered. “You wouldn’t. Lady Brawnlyn would never forgive you and you know it. I would never forgive you!”

  I looked out at the hall and the last of the long-haired little beauties disappearing through the dining hall door. Illyrica was standing there. She cast a quizzical glance in our direction before following the cascade. Nora’s voice could be heard over the chatter of the girls, giving directions.

  “They’ll expect you to be here,” I said. “For Christmas Eve.”

  “As they will expect you,” the Pixie said.

  “That’s different,” I said. “You’re part of the family.”

  The Pixie cocked her head a little. “So are you.”

  I didn’t respond to the comment. “You can’t just sneak out, Pixie. It won’t work. You’d have to tell them.”

  The Pixie’s demeanor grew quiet for a moment. She fingered the smoothness of the invitation in her hands.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll tell them.” She began to move toward the dining room, then stopped and looked back. “The Angel may not let me go,” she said.

  I felt angry. “He cannot keep you,” I said. “You’re not a prisoner.”

  She shook her head, agreeing with me. “No,” she said. Once more she looked down at the invitation, then resolutely tucked it away into a pocket in her skirt.

  “Nora’s made punch, and you know there’s nothing else on earth like it,” she said. “Are you going to stand there stupidly all night, or are you coming?”

  I followed her into the dining room.

  * * *

  On the second night before Christmas, the Giant came in from his vigil in the woods and joined us all in the soft room. He sat in his great chair, with children on his lap and shoulders and playing with his beard and his greying hair, while flames roared in the fireplaces and Nora read aloud from a storybook. The story was a romantic adventure in a magical, faraway land. I cast a glance at the Pixie now and then. She was sitting amidst the cushions near Nora, listening with a distracted entrancement that made me think she was writing her own story of nobility and far-off places. Illyrica sat near one of the fires, discreetly sewing and silently commanding any child who tried to peek at her work to pay attention to the story.

  I sat in a corner of the room near Illyrica, looking neither at the Giant nor at Nora. If the Pixie made good on her threat, she would talk to the Giant tonight. I was not sure what I would do or say if they brought me into it—which I was nearly certain they would.

  I must have looked as dark and gloom
y as I felt, because I felt eyes on me. I looked up to find Illyrica watching me, her needle still, her head cocked in question. When she saw me looking at her she furrowed her brow, wordlessly asking what was wrong. I looked away.

  Nora’s even cadences picked up urgency as the hero of the story faced off with a terrible dragon. All around me, the girls leaned forward in breathless anticipation. The fire snapped and crackled.

  And then it was over. The hero slew the dragon and rode away to his castle with the heroine. The whole room seemed to sigh with relief and stretch out languidly. The Giant spoke from his throne.

  “Bed,” he said. The children let up a wail of protest. The Giant smiled, gently taking a few down from his shoulders. “It is nearly Christmas,” he told them. “Tomorrow night I shall see you again.”

  Isabelle spoke up. “We have made hundreds of paper chains for the Christmas Eve celebration,” she said. “And Nora is making popped corn for us to string tomorrow.”

  The Giant smoothed back one of her curls. “I can hardly wait to see,” he said.

  Another little one piped up from the Giant’s knee. “And Illyrica made something, but she won’t show us yet.”

  Illyrica smiled at the little one, a beautiful, amused smile. The Giant looked gravely at the child. “I’m sure she will show us in her own good time,” he said. “Now, to bed with you. All of you.”

  Obediently the children began to file out of the room, stopping on the way out to embrace some one or other of their elders. One seven year-old threw her arms around Nora’s neck and asked, “Nora, what happened to the people in the story?”

  “I’m sure they lived happily ever after,” Nora answered.

  “How do you know?” the little girl pressed.