The Cursed One

by Ronda Thompson

  Gabriel cocked the pistol. “Who are you?” he demanded.

  The man with Robert’s face did not answer. His eyes glittered strangely in the darkness. Then he did speak, or rather, he peeled back his lips and growled. His coat gaped open and Amelia saw the blood that stained his shirt. Blood, she suspected, that came from the wound where Gabriel Wulf had shot him.

  Before Amelia’s eyes, the man began to shift. His features changed into those of another man … she recognized him now. He’d been tending the stable when they arrived. Then he began to shift into something else. Something inhuman. His teeth grew longer; hair sprouted from his body. His form began to twist and turn, to shrink. That was when Lord Gabriel shot him for the second time. The man, thing, whatever it was, jerked backward.

  The howls began. All around them the sound echoed in the night. “Damn,” Wulf cursed. “He was meant to draw us out. Run, Amelia! Run to the house!”

  She heard his instruction. She knew she must run, but it was if she were frozen. Frozen by fear and shock. Wulf cursed again; then he gathered her in his arms and raced toward the house.

  Even in shock, Amelia heard the sound of tree branches snapping behind them. Whatever was in the woods, they were coming after her and Gabriel Wulf. She also realized how fast he moved, how effortlessly he carried her. How could a man with a wounded leg run so fast? How could any man run so fast?

  They reached the door and he slammed against it with his shoulder, knocking Mora back in the process. He rushed inside and nearly threw Amelia at the startled girl. Amelia’s knees were wobbly as a newborn foal, but she managed to stand, surprised that Mora had the strength to support her.

  The girl looked like she’d weigh slightly more than a wet kitten. Wulf nearly had the door closed when something thudded against it. A hand reached inside. A hand that was neither human nor animal. A hand covered by thick fur, with long claws jutting from the fingertips.

  Amelia screamed. Wulf slammed his body against the door, and whatever stood on the other side howled in pain, retracting its hand. Then Lord Gabriel had the door closed, throwing home the bolts. He stepped back and aimed his pistol at the door.

  “Mora, get Lady Collingsworth into the parlor, away from any windows.”

  Together, Mora and Amelia moved to the front parlor, where a cherry fire still burned, making a mockery of the nightmare without end. Amelia was in shock; she knew that. Her hands and feet were freezing. Mora helped her sit upon the settee and crouched down beside her, the girl’s eyes large and frightened. Through the doorway, Amelia saw that lamps were being extinguished. Soon the house was plunged into total darkness.

  She heard nothing, nothing except the pounding of her heart. How long they sat waiting she couldn’t say, but finally Gabriel entered the parlor.

  “They are gone … for now.” He bent down before Amelia, took her cold hands in his, and began to rub.

  “How do you know they are gone, my lord?” Mora whispered, her voice frightened.

  Yes, Amelia’s mind screamed, although she couldn’t seem to speak. How did he know?

  “Trust me,” he answered. “They’ve slunk back off into the woods. I don’t see them anymore.”

  “It’s dark outside,” Mora said. “Maybe you just can’t see them. Maybe they’re still there.”

  Gabriel glanced away from Amelia. He turned a stern look upon the girl. “No need to upset the lady further, Mora. They are gone. We are safe. I will make certain we remain safe. Understand?”

  The girl ducked her head and nodded. Wulf’s voice was gentler when he said, “Take a candle and light it from the fire. Go into the kitchen and fix Lady Collingsworth a cup of warm tea.”

  Amelia’s throat finally relaxed enough to allow her to speak. “Something stronger would be better,” she said.

  “We’ve used all the brandy,” Mora responded softly.

  Gabriel continued to rub Amelia’s hands between his, and she felt his warmth spreading to her. “See what you can find,” he said to Mora. “Even cooking sherry will suffice, but bring the tea, too.”

  The girl rose from her crouching position, took up a candle and lit it with the fire, then moved quietly as a mouse from the parlor.

  “What are those things?” Amelia asked him. “How can they do what they do? How can they become beasts? How can they become someone else?”

  Gabriel wasn’t certain how to answer. Could men turn into wolves? Yes, he knew that for a fact. He’d seen his father turn into one at dinner one night years ago. The Wulfs were cursed by a witch in a time long ago. The transformation had to do with a full moon and with a man’s heart. But Gabriel had never heard of a creature taking on the likeness of another person.

  “Gabriel?” Amelia repeated.

  Her wide blue eyes held shock and fear, as they should. The same expression he would see in them if she knew that Gabriel was not a normal man, either. He was also part of the shadows.

  “I don’t know what they are,” he finally answered her. “But I do know that Robert is dead, Amelia. You must plant that fact firmly into your mind lest one of them tries to fool you again.”

  Her perfect brows furrowed. “How do you know the man in the cellar was Robert at all? Maybe it was another impostor. Maybe Robert is still alive. Maybe he has gone for help.”

  Explaining would be difficult, but Gabriel knew that he must. Amelia must understand once and for all her husband was dead and help would not be coming.

  “All people have a scent. One that marks them,” he said. “I have an unusual ability to identify a person by their scent. I knew it was Robert in the cellar. When we were boys, his scent had a certain … ill smell to it. He still carried it as a man.”

  Amelia blinked down at him. “Do I have a scent that marks me?”

  “Yes,” he answered, reaching down to pull her dainty slippers off. Just as he suspected, her feet were as chilled as her hands had been. He began rubbing them. “Although you mask it with sweet-smelling soaps and perfumes. Because of that, it is harder for me to pick up a woman’s natural scent.”

  “You have some rather extraordinary abilities,” she remarked. “Outside, I’ve never seen a man run as fast as you did, and carrying another person at the same time.”

  Circumstances had forced him to rely on his odd abilities, and he wondered what else Amelia Collingsworth would discover about him. “I was scared,” he said.

  When she didn’t respond, he glanced up at her. Her blue eyes held his stare boldly. “I don’t believe that you’re afraid of anything,” she said.

  Mora chose that moment to enter with a glass of red liquid. “Cooking sherry,” she proclaimed, and brought it to Gabriel.

  “I’ll fetch the tea now,” the girl said, and moved on.

  Gabriel lifted the glass to Amelia’s sweet lips. She drank the sherry down just as easily as she had the brandy the night before.

  “I like brandy better,” she proclaimed. “Sherry is too sweet.”

  He could not help but smile up at her. Lady Amelia was a most unconventional young woman. The more time he spent with her, the more he became aware of her uniqueness. Still, this was no place for her. She belonged in London, in a ballroom, wearing a pretty dress and turning heads with a smile.

  “What you said about people having particular scents,” she said, placing her glass aside. “I believe you’re right. I might not have noticed that until today.”

  He glanced up at her. “Why today and not yesterday?”

  She moistened her lips. They were pink and plump and made him think of things best left alone. “Because you have one. A scent,” she clarified. “Upstairs earlier, when we, when you came to check on me, I smelled it. It made me feel odd.”

  Gabriel glanced back down at her dainty feet. Any true explanation would make her distrust him, and he needed her to trust him right now. He needed to keep her safe. “I’ve heard that men can put off a scent at times that attracts women. Something in the sweat. At least that is what my brother Jackso
n told me once.”

  “You were not sweating.”

  He glanced back up at her. “Nor am I particularly clean right now,” he pointed out. “I haven’t had a decent bath in a while.” He decided to try to lighten the mood, although that seemed rather impossible given the circumstances. “It must be the reason you were attracted to me upstairs earlier. I’m the ugly duckling of my family.”

  “That is obviously a matter of opinion,” she said. “And what happened earlier is just as obviously something we should both forget about.”

  It was hard to forget when they were so close to each other, when he had his hands on her soft skin. Her feet were dainty and he wanted see if her legs were as smooth and soft as the rest of her. Her feet were warm enough, he decided, and replaced her dainty slippers.

  “Tea,” Mora announced, carrying a pot on a tray and three cups. The girl placed the tray on a nearby table and began to pour. Gabriel rose from his kneeling position before Amelia. His thigh set up an immediate protest. He limped to a chair across from her and sat.

  Mora’s hands visibly shook as she handed a cup of tea to first Amelia and then Gabriel. He had to give the girl credit for keeping her wits about her. Even Lady Collingsworth, he admitted, had not fainted or gone into hysterics. He counted himself lucky.

  “Mora, Lady Collingsworth remarked that you had been raised on stories of folklore and superstition. Is that true?”

  The girl seated herself next to Lady Collingsworth and sipped her tea. “Suppose so,” she answered.

  “Have you ever heard any stories about men turning into wolves?”

  Mora shifted uneasily beside Lady Collingsworth. “Of course, my lord. Everyone has heard those stories, haven’t they?”

  “True,” Gabriel agreed. “But what about men who can take the shape of another person? Have you heard any tales about that?”

  Staring into her cup, Mora seemed to be thinking. “The Wargs,” she finally answered. “Maybe they could do something like that.”

  Gabriel leaned forward in his chair. “The Wargs?”

  “Forest creatures,” the girl provided. “’Tis said they have lived in the woods of Europe for centuries. They make their homes there like other woodland creatures. It’s also said a person won’t know when one is about because they are so good at blending with their surroundings.”

  “And these Wargs, they can shift their shapes?”

  The girl nodded. “So the tale goes. Like the lady said before, parents use the Wargs to keep their children from wandering off into the woods. I heard once that a Warg could pretend to be your mother or father to lure you to it. Course then it eats you.”

  Lady Collingsworth’s cup rattled against her saucer. Gabriel realized he should have questioned Mora about peasant folklore when the lady wasn’t around. She’d had enough to digest in one night.

  “You should go to bed,” he said to the lady. Including Mora in the sweep of his gaze, he added, “The both of you. I’ll stay up and stand guard.”

  “I could hardly sleep now,” Lady Collingsworth said. “And that was before the pleasant bedtime story. Besides, my knees are still shaking to the point I doubt I can climb the stairs.”

  His leg was aching, but Gabriel rose, walked to where she sat, and scooped Lady Collingsworth up in his arms again. She weighed little more than a sack of flour. She set up a mild protest, but he ignored her. Climbing the stairs made him grit his teeth against the pain in his sore thigh. Once at the top, he moved into her room and settled her upon the bed.

  Her arms were still entwined around his neck, and he glanced down at her lovely features. Her eyes were sleepy looking despite her claim downstairs, and Gabriel wondered if the sherry had finally begun its work on her. To his surprise, she leaned toward him, her lips so close he could easily kiss her. And he wanted to, he realized. She sniffed at him; then her plump lips parted and she ran her tantalizingly pink tongue across them.

  “You really must take a bath,” she whispered. “You must be sweating again.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It had taken Gabriel a great deal of willpower not to lean forward and kiss Lady Amelia Collingsworth upstairs. She might have been drunk. Either because of the sherry or because of the scent he put off around her. Instead, he’d gently untangled her arms from around his neck and left her to find sleep. Gabriel wished he could do the same.

  He was bone weary and his wounds ached. Mora had offered to dress them for him again, but he’d told her he’d do it himself. He was too damned tired to do it, so he sat in a chair by the fire in the parlor and rested his head against the cushion. As many things that should have been running through his head, he was surprised by the vision that kept haunting him.

  It was the sight of Amelia upstairs when he’d gone back up to make certain the women had settled in. She had been wearing a soft cotton gown while Mora ran a brush through her long hair. Amelia’s lids had been heavy, her lips puffy and pink, he thought perhaps from him kissing her that morning. Neither woman had noticed him slinking about upstairs checking that all seemed as it should be. But when he looked at Lady Collingsworth, something had stirred inside of him. Lust? He had to assume so, since that was the only emotion he’d ever allowed himself to feel for women.

  Gabriel had spent his life avoiding all emotion except the basest ones. He’d thrown himself into the running of Wulfglen and been content enough there among his horses, an occasional woman to see to his manly needs when they got the better of him. He was not like Armond, who needed social interaction with others, or Jackson, who had a weakness for liquor and women and indulged himself with both far too frequently. Gabriel considered himself the sensible one.

  But what was happening at Collingsworth Manor made no sense. What were these creatures that could shift into the likeness of another? Then as easily shift into the shape of a wolf? What did they want with Amelia? And how long could he, Amelia, and Mora hold them off from inside the house? Were their chances better in the woods among the creatures? Could they avoid them and reach Wulfglen safely? His head hurt with all the questions rolling around inside of it and with lack of sleep.

  He needed rest so he could think clearly. Gabriel tried to clear his mind, and somehow in the process he drifted off; at least he thought he did. He came awake with a start. He had heard something.

  A ghostly figure stood upon the stairs, for Gabriel saw into the landing area from his vantage point inside the parlor. Her long blond hair floated around her as she walked to the end of the stairs and turned toward him. The modest nightgown she wore was not so modest with the glow from the dying fire throwing her in silhouette. The shape of her long legs teased him as she moved steadily toward him. He watched, mesmerized, until she stood before him.

  “Lady Collingsworth?” he asked softly. “What are you doing down here?”

  She bent and placed a finger against his lips as if to quiet him. A moment later her mouth replaced the soft touch of her finger. He was too surprised to react. Gabriel simply sat, watching the smudges her lashes made against her cheeks, absorbing the soft feel of her mouth pressed against his. Her sweet perfume curled around him, fired his blood, and when she ran her tongue over his lips, he opened to her. He’d berated himself all afternoon for his behavior with her earlier, had told himself nothing like that would happen between them again.

  And yet something about her drew him, had drawn him from the moment he saw her in London. He reached up and twisted his fingers into her hair, pulled her down onto his lap. Her round bottom snuggled against him sent a jolt of pleasure through him. He might have been half-asleep a moment ago, but his senses came fully awake now.

  He penetrated her mouth with his tongue and she shyly met his challenge. Deeper he delved into her mouth, thinking he wanted to likewise penetrate her elsewhere. The elsewhere pressed harder against his lap, and his hips thrust upward involuntarily. She sucked in a breath, which released him from the spell she had cast over him. Gabriel pulled back from her. Her eyes were
only half-open when she glanced at him from beneath her long lashes.

  “Go back to bed, Lady,” he said. “Go now, while you still can.”

  She lowered her face as if ashamed, her long hair falling over her cheeks to shield her expression from him.

  “It’s not that I don’t desire you,” he said, which felt odd, since he wasn’t one to explain himself to anyone, much less worry about hurting their feelings. “It’s wrong. You know it’s wrong. Go back to bed.”

  Graceful as a cat, she uncurled herself from his lap and turned away from him. He watched her walk away, the silhouette of her legs still nearly driving him to do something they would both regret. He wanted to stop her, to pull her back into his arms and continue the sin. He wanted it badly. Only when she had walked back up the stairs did he relax. He’d never met a woman like her, at least not a lady.

  He’d thought most were silly, chaste creatures only interested in bonnets and gowns and shoes. And of course wealthy husbands. Amelia was a sensuous woman, funny at times, passionate. She intrigued him.

  Was that what had happened to his brothers? Had they fallen under a woman’s spell? Look where it had led them. To ruin. To marry. To forget the curse that hung over their heads. Gabriel was not in a position to be playing with fire. He had his hands full at the moment. He needed his wits about him, and Amelia Collingsworth greatly compromised his judgment. Even now his thoughts were centered upon her, when he should be thinking about a plan to escape from Collingsworth Manor.

  He rose and walked to the fading fire, using a poker to stoke the flames higher. All of his life he’d only been responsible for himself and the running of Wulfglen. The breeding of horses for sale. Now he was responsible for two strangers. One a girl and one very much a woman. How could he outwit these beasts of the forest? How could he best protect Lady Collingsworth and Mora? And, Lord help him, what if he failed?

  She needed a bath and Amelia didn’t care what strange happenings were afoot at Collingsworth Manor; she intended to have one. Mora had helped her stoke the stove and put on large kettles of water from the inside pump to heat. They’d had Gabriel carry a copper tub down the stairs and put it before the fire in the parlor. The doors could be closed for privacy’s sake. Amelia decided they would all bathe, especially Gabriel, who put off some odd scent that attracted her.