"Yes . . ."
"Julian didn't-"
Ada laughed. Her voice was still weak, but the laugh was genuine, and a more incongruous sound never stirred that silence.
"Julian!" she said contemptuously. "Imagine, Harriet, he tried to make love to me-to kiss me! He is strong but not strong enough for that. I kicked him and I bit."
"He left you alone then?" I asked unbelievingly.
"He said-he said a night alone here might change my mind." She shuddered. "It nearly did, Harriet; I was so afraid. And he said he would send his father. When you came, I thought-"
"I know. Thank God you are unharmed. Don't be afraid, Ada."
"But you, Harriet-how did you find me?"
"No time for that story. I did find you, and now we must run. Ada, do you think you could possibly get a horse out of the stables without being seen?''
"I don't know. Why?"
"Listen," I said and shook her more vigorously. "One of us must go to Middleham and get help. If the villagers won't help, ride on to Ripon; you can hire a coach there. Here is money, put it in your pocket. To reach Middleham you must have a horse. The courtyard gates are bolted at night, but the wall is not high; you are agile, you must climb it. The only person in the stable is that poor old dotard Adam who admires you so. You can keep him quiet; bribe him if you must. Get a horse. I don't care how you do it, you must do it," I concluded wildly. "Go to Middleham, David may be there. And watch out for Julian and Wolfson-both of them are abroad tonight, God knows where. I don't fear for you once you are mounted; you can outride either of them. Do you understand?"
"Hush, Harriet, don't cry. I don't understand, but I will do what you say. But you must come with me."
"If we separate, we double our chances," I told her, trying to calm myself. "And I can't go yet. I must try to get Francis away."
"Francis! Where is he?"
"In one of the cells here. I'm afraid he is badly hurt. If those devils find us flown and he is still here, they may- they may-"
"Francis," she repeated. "He followed, Harriet, when Julian carried me from the house. They gave me something in my soup that night. It tasted odd, so I didn't drink it all, but I was half asleep. . . . Julian dropped me when Francis struck him. I couldn't move-I could only lie there watching. Julian was no match for him; he would have won if it had not been for the dogs. I saw him fall-"
"Later," I said. "If there is a later ... If I can move Francis, I will follow you. Perhaps you can get two horses out, but don't come back here-turn the second one loose, and I'll try to catch it. If I cannot, I will go toward Middleham on foot, hide in the trees. . . . Ada, Ada, we must go!"
We had been incredibly fortunate thus far, but I knew the desperate need for haste. I was frantic to get Ada on her way, to return to Francis. But I stopped long enough to do one thing-to replace the chain on the door. Even if I were recaptured-and I had no great hope that I would dare to leave Francis-Ada might succeed if her escape were not discovered immediately.
The wind had risen; it cut like a knife when we stepped out of the tower door. Ada still had Grandmother's sable cloak; she clutched it around her, shivering, and then suddenly whipped it off.
"Here, take it."
"No-"
"I can run faster without it, and I can't ride with it. It may keep you from freezing tonight-you or Francis."
I had just taken the cloak in my arms when from far-off, blended with the wail of the night wind, came the distant baying of a hound.
We turned as one. In the dim starlight I saw Ada's head lift, her nostrils quivering. She was scenting the air like one of her beloved horses. Her face was so pale that it shone like a small moon against the darkness, but when she spoke, her voice was steady.
"The hound is loose and on the scent, Harriet."
"Run!" I shrieked. "Run!"
She took me at my word. I have never seen anyone run as Ada ran that night; she bounded over rocks and hummocks like a deer or a young mare. I stumbled along behind her, hampered by the cloak, to which I idiotically clung; in my mind was some vague notion of throwing myself to the dog, like a tasty bone, to distract him from Ada. But I knew it was useless. The Manor was two miles away; she could never reach it even if the dog took time out to gobble me up. The long-drawn howl came again, louder-much louder.
Midway through, the howl was drowned by another, nearer sound-the wild neigh of an excited horse.
Ada stopped and whirled to face me, her skirts billowing out. We spoke at the same moment.
"Is it . . . ?"
"It is Satan, in the far pasture. Can you . . . ?"
Without wasting time or breath on an answer, she turned and was off again. How she knew where to go, in the darkness and in her panic, I can't imagine; instinct must have led her. I always said, jokingly, mat she was half equine, and after that night I can believe it. She tore her way through weeds and brambles, reached the fence and was over it, tumbling to the ground on the other side in a heap of white petticoats. I was close on her heels, whipped on by the mounting crescendo of the diabolical howling that rose now without stopping for breath.
The wind was a shrieking torrent above, beating at the bare branches of the trees and tearing the fleeing clouds to shreds. It freed the hidden moon from its covering, and in the new brilliance I saw a sight that made me catch my breath.
From far across the field the stallion was racing toward us. Its galloping hooves thudded on the half-frozen ground like drumbeats, and its mane streamed out in the wind. Ada stood like a statue where she had risen, one hand outstretched; her loosened hair hid her face, but the lines of her young body and arms were taut with eagerness. She was reaching out to the wild thing as if to a lover, and I knew that if Ada could reach the horse's back she was safe. If only the dog-
Then I realized that the baying had stopped. When I looked back, I saw why.
The hound had reached the tower. For a time its form was hidden by the masonry, but I knew better than to hope mat it would stop there. When it reappeared it came straight toward us, silent now, moving in great bounds. In a matter of seconds it would be upon us.
The stallion had come to a sliding, crashing halt just under Ada's nose, as if it meant to tease her. Now it was nuzzling into her hands and skirts, seeking the tidbits of sugar she always had for it. The animal knew her, but it was puzzled and excited, aroused by the aura of human fear. It pranced around Ada with dainty little steps, avoiding almost playfully the hands with which she strove to catch its mane. She looked so small beside the animal's muscled height. It struck me with a shock of horror that even if she caught hold of it, she could not possibly mount unless she could persuade it to stand by the fence. And by that time . . .
At that moment the horse scented the dog.
Its handsome head came up, nostrils flaring redly. I forgot that I might startle it into the flight it so obviously contemplated; I ran toward Ada, screaming her name. I doubt that she even heard me. Rising on tiptoe she threw both arms about the horse's arched neck, her body brushed by the dancing hooves-and the animal responded. It stood stock-still, looking down into her upturned face; black mane and golden hair mingled in the stream of the wind.
What followed was absurd and anticlimactic-but as effective as a well-rehearsed acrobatic turn. Somehow I was on hands and knees beside the horse, feeling Ada's little slippers pressing painfully into my shoulder blades; at the same time I threw myself up, lifting her. As I staggered to my feet, swaying like a drunken scrubwoman, I saw her mounted-astride, with a gleam of grubby white stocking showing between the folds of her wide skirts. Both hands were twisted in the horse's mane and her mouth was wide open in-it sounds incredible, but it is true-a shout of laughter.
There are those who, when the danger becomes acute, rise completely out of themselves into a state beyond fear. She must he one of them; she looked like a young maenad or Valkyrie. I am not like that, I can only think of the next danger to be surmounted. I remembered that she had never ridden S
atan, that she had neither bridle nor saddle, that he was believed to be unmanageable, a killer; I recalled that a hunting hound may drag down a horse. And with that last thought I saw the hound-a dark bulk clearing the pasture fence not ten feet away.
I brought my hand down, with all my strength, on Satan's flank and, without waiting to see the result, ran toward the dog. It did not leap at me. I leaped at it, arras outstretched, waving the sable cloak like a banner. At any other time I would have laughed to see how the monster checked and stumbled, astounded by my move. A cat would feel the same way if its mouse suddenly advanced on it with teeth bared.
We went down together, rolling on the ground, with my arms clamped around the hairy neck. Only for a moment. One twist of the heavy body pinned me flat and the great jaws snapped shut-on the folds of Grandmother's cloak. As I lay on my back with the beast's hot breath in my face, I saw, with the abnormal clarity that sometimes precedes collapse, a picture I will never forget.
A length of flowing black satin soaring on the wings of the wind, the great stallion cleared the fence. Ada's black skirts blended with his blackness; she might have been part of his bone and muscle as she lay along his back, with only her white face and hands and streaming hair visible against the night. For a beautiful breathless moment the pair hung in midair, as if about to soar into the sky. Then they were gone. The hound's wet muzzle touched my cheek, and for the first and last time in that unendurable night Providence was kind enough to allow me to lose consciousness completely. The first thing I saw when I awoke was Wolfs face. He had arranged it deliberately, I am sure. As soon as he saw my eyes open, a smile widened the arrogant mouth that was only inches from mine. I stared dully into his eyes. He thought me paralyzed by fear; I was, instead, without feeling of any kind. It was a comparatively pleasant sensation. The worst has happened, I thought. I was wrong. I waited for one of his mocking remarks. "Damn you, Harriet," he said roughly, "you frightened me almost to death. Fenris is well trained, but she is a trained killer. . . . When I found you lying there under those devilish fangs, I thought-" Astounded, I realized that he was genuinely moved.
There were tears in the strange pale eyes and his face was not its normal ruddy hue. "You canting hypocrite," I said hoarsely. "You trained mat dog to kill and set it and its mate on my scent. How dare you speak to me as if-as if you-" In my rage I rose to a sitting position. It was an error; the air swam with little stars, and I felt myself falling back. His arm steadied me; his other hand held a glass to my lips. I smelled the scent of wine and turned my head sharply aside. "That is why I love you," said my tormentor pleasantly- adding, with a laugh, "one of the reasons, in any case. Barely conscious after a shocking fright, and yet you have wit enough to suspect that the wine might be drugged. Here-you need the stuff, you little fool. Will this reassure you?"
He lifted the glass to his lips and drained half the contents. When he offered the remainder to me, I took it. I did need its strength. But I turned the glass and drank out of the side opposite the one his lips had touched.
"That's better. Now lie back. For God's sake," he added irritably, as he felt me stiffen, "I've no intention of making love to you-yet. I simply want you to collect your wits."
I let my head fall onto the pillow. Now I could see where I was-the tower chamber where I had spent so many nerve-racking hours. A new fire blazed high in the hearth, casting a fitful light over the man who sat beside the bed on a wooden chair. I looked about for the wheelchair and men realized my error; it could never have ascended those narrow stairs. Wolf must have climbed them on his own two legs-such as they were. A shudder ran through me and Wolf, who saw everything, saw that. His face darkened.
"You've led me a merry chase, Harriet-in more ways than one. By rights I ought to beat you soundly."
"There is no one to stop you."
The hands which rested on his knees clenched into fists. Oddly enough I had no fear of his striking me; I would rather he had.
"I don't intend to hurt you," he said with difficulty. "I hope and believe we can reach an agreement like two reasonable adults. Are you able to listen to me now?"
The shift of firelight and shadow on his strongly marked features was unnerving. At one moment the carved nose stood out like a fragment of antique statue; at the next, pits of darkness hid cheeks and eyes.
I said slowly, "I am able."
"Good." He drew a long breath and leaned back. "You have seen your grandmother's letter. That is well; it saves long explanations."
"Yes."
"I have the will. You erred there, Harriet. Why didn't you take it with you?"
"I didn't read the letter until I got here."
"I see. Well, it would have made no difference. You understand the alternatives?"
"I-think so."
"Let me make them explicit. I have no interest in that little doll of an Ada. She may marry her stable scum if she wishes."
I remembered my last wild vision of Ada and Satan soaring over the fence. Doll indeed, I thought, and almost laughed aloud. Wolf, watching me intently, leaned forward, and I hastily composed my features. I knew what was wrong with me. The wine had affected my fatigued body and empty stomach. I was as intoxicated as any roaring stablehand on holiday. I could understand now why men drank too much. I felt lighthearted, free of care, conscious of my own superior intelligence.
"Where is Ada?" I asked craftily.
"Here, in the tower." Wolfs eyes never left my face. "It makes no difference whether you know or not. You will not see her until this is settled."
I fought to keep the triumph I felt from blazing forth in my face. He did not know of Ada's escape. Our trick with the chain had worked. If I could delay him for a few hours-till morning-I might yet be safe.
"You will release Ada?" I asked timidly. "She isn't harmed?"
"Her modesty and her maidenhead are untouched," said Wolf coldly. "My ineffectual son let himself be driven howling from her presence. But be warned, Harriet-Julian's girlish vanity is wounded. If he goes to Ada tonight, he will not be so gentle. It rests with you whether he goes or not."
"With me?"
"Don't play the fool. I want you, Harriet, you know that. I meant to have you in any case. Why, this is like a gift from the gods, can't you see that? You might have resented being my mistress; you can't object to being mistress of Abbey Manor, with a husband who admires you excessively and Ada free to pursue her own low tastes."
He leaned close, so close that I could see the fine lines under his eyes. My wine-produced calm vanished in a flutter of panic. Wine or no wine, craft or not, the man's physical nearness destroyed my will. As an enemy he was endurable; as a husband-
"No," I gasped, forgetting all my resolutions. "No, don't-"
"I could force you."
"You could not!"
"I could. You little fool, what do you know about men? Did you think, this afternoon, that I was using all my strength to hold you? I could break your bones between my thumb and forefinger. There are times when I want to, your hatred and obstinacy madden me so. If it were not that-"
He broke off, breathing heavily. I was, I confess, frozen with terror. I lay staring up at him, unable even to blink. When he spoke again, I hardly recognized his voice.
"If it were not for the fact that I love you," he said.
The words reached my ears, but not my brain.
"Love," I repeated; and then, as the sense finally penetrated, "You must be mad!"
"The poets tell us that is the true state of a lover."
"You don't care any more for the opinion of poets than I do. They are wrong."
"Oh, so you know better? This afternoon you admitted to me that you didn't know what love meant."
He was back on his favorite ground now, fencing with words. Before, his wit could disarm my inexperience. Now I did know better, with a truer knowledge.
"I didn't say that. You gave me no time to say anything. But I know that love is not what you think it."
"What
is it then?" He was smiling.
"It is caring for someone else more than yourself." I stopped, seeing Francis in his futile struggle with the hounds. "It means sacrifice-giving up your life, if necessary, for the happiness of the one you love. If you really cared for me, you wouldn't force me-by any means." "That is precisely the namby-pamby idiocy I would have expected from you," said Wolf easily. "I thought y embrace, restrained as it was, would have taught you tier."
"It made me sick," I said tactlessly. "Oh, no, it didn't. You have great capacities, Harriet, give me a little time and I'll teach you what love means." He bent over me and again the man's mere presence got me scuttling for cover-in this case to the far side of bed, where I sat up.
"You must give me time," I babbled. "I can't decide-can't think-"
"Time is what I don't have." He spoke brusquely, but re was a self-satisfied smile on his lips as he leaned ck in the chair. "You are making a mountain out of a molehill, Harriet; most people would find your attitude incomprehensible. In our civilized world marriages are normally arranged by parents or guardians, and disobedient children are punished! Suppose you had managed to get away and had told some benevolent magistrate in York the tale of Ada and her groom. I fancy he would nod his benevolent head and stroke his white beard and tell you that your wise guardian had acted quite correctly."
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