He moved slowly again, and pulled the hood back to reveal a mess of light blonde hair, wet with the melted snow, the ends frozen to the hood of the cape. Her skin was pale—almost blue—and he couldn’t tell if she was even alive. Beneath the melted droplets that clung to her lashes, her eyes were closed. They didn’t flicker open at his touch.
Kneeling over her, he watched for any movement, relieved to see a faint cloud of breath escape her lips. Without another thought, Edward pulled the woman into his arms and lifted her from the cold ground. She gave out a groan and he stopped moving, looking to her face where he saw her eyes were now open wide and staring. She didn’t look at his face, only up at the sky. She seemed confused, parting her lips to babble something indistinguishable. It was clear she didn’t know where she was.
The horse didn’t protest now and followed behind as Edward carried her through the gates toward the house. The animal stopped before the steps and Edward promised to come back for it when he’d gotten her inside.
When the front door was open, the coat and furs about his neck slipped off and swirled around him in anticipation as he carried the woman through the entryway.
“Please, prepare the blue room. We must get her warm and I’d prefer she not sleep on dusty bedclothes.”
The furs transformed into handkerchiefs and cleaning cloths and darted ahead of him up the stairs. Edward moved past his own chambers, carrying her deeper into the house. He stopped before an open doorway through which he could already see a fire crackling in the hearth. The handkerchiefs dashed about the room, lighting candles and continuing to build up the fire.
When he neared the bed, the cleaning cloths fluttered over the mattress and the dusty bedclothes, which hadn’t been changed in almost a decade, vanished. In their place, warm furs settled onto the mattress and were topped with soft quilts and a down-filled duvet. The blankets pulled aside and Edward sat on the edge of the mattress, the woman’s cold body in his arms. She leaned heavily against his chest. Using one hand, he loosened her cape from about her neck. When he had unfastened the ties, he slipped it from her shoulders and it swooped into the air to settle on a hook by the fire, dropping ice chunks from the hem to steam onto the hearthstones. He looked down at her face to see that her eyes had closed again.
Edward was about to lay her on the bed when he noticed the back of her dress. The laces there were loose, as if she had dressed in a great hurry, and he could see the pale flesh of her back through the strings.
Bruises crossed her skin.
He wondered if she had fallen from the horse, but they were too uniform—each a long, thin mark—to be accidental. It looked more like she had been struck repeatedly by a rod or cane.
Trouble would follow this woman. It was the last thing he needed. He felt pity for her sorry state, but he knew what dangers might pursue her and wondered if keeping her here was worth the risk. If she lived, he’d send her on her way as soon as she was able to ride. If she died, he’d set the horse free and lock the gates and the world would be none the wiser.
He lay her back on the bed, being as gentle with her as he could. After settling her head on the soft feather pillows, he looked to her pale hair splayed out beneath her. He’d never seen hair like it before. Whoever she was, she was beautiful.
The handkerchiefs patted against his chest and began shooing him away, ushering him toward the door, reminding him that he still needed to lock the gate and care for the horse. He stood from the bed and walked to the door, turning back in time to see the handkerchiefs shroud the woman and transform her soggy, cold dress and boots into a clean shift. The blankets moved over her as he left the room, closing the door behind him.
Chapter Three
Alina wondered if she was still dreaming or perhaps in a fevered state that made her imagine things that were not there. She could feel softness around her body, and a comfortable weight of blankets pressing down on her. The air was warm here and she inhaled deeply, recognizing the smell of burning pine and fresh linen. To open her eyes would be to end the dream, so Alina shut them tight until she could no longer stand to wonder where she was.
Opening them just a slit, she peered through her lashes at the room around her before giving in and staring wide-eyed at her surroundings. The room was dimly lit by a few candles and a large fire on the hearth, but even in the low light she could tell how fine a room it was.
The bed on which she lay could fit four people side by side and its carved wooden posts were draped with fine hangings colored in soft blues and creamy whites. The rest of the furnishings around the room were colored to match. She could feel the quality of the soft furs and blankets that surrounded her, nothing like the scratchy bedclothes she had slept on most of her life.
“Is anyone there?” she asked to the room, lifting her head a little from the pillows to glance about. There was a movement among the shadows in the corner and it made her heart stop. Still no one spoke.
“Please, won’t you step into the light?” she asked again, this time facing the corner where she had seen movement.
“Do you need something?” The voice was deep and gruff and it startled her a little. She contemplated the words, unsure how to answer.
“Only to thank you for saving my life,” she said. “Won't you come near the bed so I can see your face?”
There was the sound of chair legs scraping against flagstones, but the man didn’t emerge from the shadows. Her host was not eager to reveal himself. Slowly, Alina pushed herself up into a sitting position. The man spoke again, his deep timbre resonating in the quiet of the room.
“There is broth on the table beside you,” he said. “You seem strong enough to feed yourself. I will take my leave of you.”
“Wait,” Alina protested. “Will you at least tell me your name?”
The man didn’t answer and they waited in silence until she could feel her shoulders tense with anticipation. Finally he spoke again.
“What were you doing at my gates in a storm?”
Now it was Alina's turn to hold her tongue. She looked down at her hands and remembered how numb they had been several hours ago. A dull ache throbbed through them now, but she’d not lose any fingers.
“I know you are running from someone,” he said, when she did not continue. “That horse is a fine beast. Did you steal it?”
She said nothing but looked up to where she thought he stood in the corner, narrowing her eyes at his accusation.
“What does it matter?” she asked, becoming frustrated that this man was ignoring her questions but expecting her to answer his. She wasn’t about to tell him of everything Rodderick had done to her. She didn’t need to justify her actions to this man who would not even show her his face.
“It matters because your problems will follow you here.” He sounded almost angry now.
Alina glared at the corner. If her host was so reluctant to have her in his home, why had she been brought in from the snow.
She spoke, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “You don’t seem eager to share your secrets, please do not insist that I share mine.”
The man made a sound close to a growl and she saw the chair she had heard earlier clatter to the floor on its side. Alina flinched and shrank backward against the headboard regretting her unfriendly words. She was an unwelcome stranger in this place and she felt certain that the man in the shadows was about to leap from the corner and strike her. Or worse. Instead, she saw his figure briefly as he stepped through the light toward the door.
He was a large man, tall with broad shoulders over which dark, matted hair fell. He was dressed in boots and black trousers and a linen shirt, graying with age. Though his clothing told her little about him, his tone and body language said so much more. He kept his face turned away from her so she couldn’t see his features except for the thick beard that covered his chin. He didn’t look back when he spoke.
“I want you gone tomorrow,” he said and shut the door hard behind him.
Alina s
ank into the pillows and pulled the covers up over her head. It wasn’t until she heard his footsteps retreat down the hallway that she pulled her knees up to her chest and let her tears fall. She noticed her nightdress and was horrified that the clean white shift wasn’t her own. She’d seen no servants and heard no one else. Had that man changed her from her dress? Had he looked upon her body or touched her skin? She shuddered at the thought and cried harder, trying to muffle her sobs with the pillow.
Alina didn’t remember falling asleep, but she did remember her frightening dreams. More than once she had awoken after visions of Rodderick—whose voice had changed to that of the stranger—shouted at her and pulled her into the darkness.
It was midmorning by the time she woke. The sun was shining through the windows, reflecting off the fresh snow outside and filling the room with soft light. Alina pushed the covers aside and slid her body from the warm furs until her feet touched the stone floor. Testing her strength, she stood, gingerly putting her weight on her feet, pleased to see that she could stand and no permanent damage seemed to have been done by the cold. She slowly walked to the windows to peer out at where she was.
As Alina pressed her hands to the panes, her fingertips melted the frost that feathered across the edges of the glass. The view was stunning. The mountainside sprawled across the horizon. There was nothing but forest for as far as the eye could see, every pine bough bending under the weight of the heavy snow. The blizzard had been cold and harsh and unforgiving, but now that it was over, she could see the beauty in it too. The sun was shining through the frost and icicles that hung around her window making every ice crystal glitter. The world was calm and quiet and Alina closed her eyes to the peace of it all.
Something brushed against her feet and she yelped and jumped back, pulling up her shift to look at the floor. Swaths of silk and linen, scarves, and handkerchiefs were wrapping themselves around her legs. They curled around her feet and then fell away to reveal a beautiful pair of white slippers. Alina kicked them off and jumped onto the bed, tucking her feet beneath her before peering over the side of the mattress. The swaths of fabric that had entangled her legs rose a little off the floor and drifted toward the discarded slippers. One corner of silk nudged the slipper closer to the bed and then retreated, collapsing back onto the floor with the rest of the fabric. Alina didn’t move.
The silk fluttered close to the bed again, then folded itself inward and turned into a pair of white stockings which drifted to lay next to the slippers. Alina just stared, dumbfounded.
“Can you understand me?” she asked tentatively.
A few of the swaths rose a little off the floor and the longest piece bobbed up and down at the top.
“Can you speak?”
The fabric shook itself the other direction now.
“Are you… a friend?”
Alina felt foolish at the question. With an enthusiastic flourish, the fabric glided across the floor and pushed the slippers and stockings closer to her again.
A handkerchief separated from the group and fluttered to rest on the bed beside her. Alina gingerly reached out her hand to touch it. The cloth was soft and it drifted into her palm of its own accord.
“What are you?” Alina asked before remembering that she was talking to a handkerchief. It clearly could not talk back. The white square of fabric shook a little, flitting over her hand. When it fell from her fingertips, Alina saw that her hand was now covered by a dainty glove made of delicate white lace.
Alina smiled and the handkerchief seemed to accept that as an invitation. It settled over her other palm to make a matching glove appear on her hand.
“You are very good,” Alina said, smiling and flexing her fingers. “Are gloves your specialty?”
The handkerchief floated off the bed and joined the rest of the fabric as it rose a little higher in the air, two scarves reaching out, inviting her to take them in her hands. Alina placed her palms in the scarves and let her feet touch the floor, pausing to slide her feet into the slippers as they were pushed toward her by more handkerchiefs. They were elegant things, lined with fur, and they fit her perfectly.
The cloths seemed friendly enough, so Alina let the scarves pull her into the middle of the room. She nervously stood still as they began to wind themselves around her, twisting her nightdress about her legs and draping themselves over her shoulders and around her arms. Then the scarves and silks began to untangle themselves and in their place, smooth, gray fabric fell around her legs. It was unlike any cloth Alina had seen, but it was warm and draped over her figure in an elegant way. The cloth hit her hips and flared out, hiding her legs beneath yards of fabric. The sleeves were long and came to a point on the back of her hand. It made her feel beautiful. The flattering waist and neckline defined her figure more than Rodderick had ever allowed.
Before her eyes, thousands of white and silver threads began to weave themselves into the gray fabric, creating delicate embroidery along the sleeves and bodice, imitating the icy fractals that covered the window panes. Tiny jewels and little white beads decorated the neckline looking so much like the ice crystals glinting in the morning light. With one final touch, a swath of silk swept from shoulder to shoulder and a silver necklace with a hundred tiny diamonds appeared on her neck.
There was nothing Alina could do except stand there stunned. The silk scarves gently pressed against her back, urging her toward the tall mirror in the corner of the room.
The soft fabric of the dress brushed against her legs as she walked. When she reached the mirror, she didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. She was beautiful and looked like a duchess or queen. Alina would never wear anything so fine in her life and she wondered if it was real.
“Is it too much?” she asked the fabrics, putting her hand to the diamonds around her neck and looking to the elegant skirts. One of the silk scarves set itself beneath her chin, raising her face to look at her reflection again. It brushed against her cheek and moved her pale blonde hair to the side. It was an intimate gesture, like something her mother might have done.
A square of linen tugged at her hair and began twisting and folding it in on itself. Soon a set of pins appeared and pressed themselves into the arrangement until it was secured at her nape, elegantly showing off her slender neck.
One of the silk scarves wrapped itself around her hand and pulled her toward the door.
“I’m not sure I should go out,” she said, resisting its persistent tugging. “I saw a man here last night. He said I was to leave today and I don’t want to anger him.”
The scarf fluttered in front of her and flipped one of its corners. It darted to tap an edge against her belly and then tightened around her hand again and resumed leading her from the room.
“I am hungry,” she said, “but what if he finds me taking his food.”
A handkerchief patted her cheek and darted ahead to lead the way along with the rest of the swaths of fabric. When her stomach gave out a growl, Alina gave in and followed.
Once into the hallway, it was impossible to glance at everything as the silk scarves hurried her past. She turned her head this way and that to catch glimpses of paintings and statues lining the walls, every inch of them covered with years of dust and cobwebs. All through the hallways Alina didn’t see another human.
It was such a grand house and Alina searched her memory of any mention of it from the villagers. There was no possible way that a lord—or whoever that man last night had been—could live in such a grand manor in the middle of the forest completely unnoticed by the villagers at the bottom of the mountain. Workers must have helped construct and maintain the place, though obviously no one had for a long while. But no matter how hard Alina tried to remember, she couldn’t recall a single whisper of gossip or mention of this place or its strange inhabitants.
Perhaps it was like something out of a story. When she was a child, her grandmother had told her of house spirits that watched over buildings, particularly old ones. It seemed
foolish, but she could think of no practical explanation. None of it made any logical sense, and yet, the fabrics tugged her along.
The scarves led her through hallways and down a small staircase that led to the kitchens. A handkerchief settled her in a chair and soon dishes were lifted down from shelves and set before her. Linen napkins burst from a cupboard and fluttered down to the plates, settling across them and then pulling aside to reveal fresh strawberries, porridge, warm bread, and lemon tarts. A goblet beside her was filled with cider. When breakfast was served, the napkins, perhaps realizing that Alina was becoming overwhelmed, disappeared back into their cupboard and left her with the table full of food.
Alina looked down at the feast and couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Was it possible that she had died in the blizzard and this was what heaven looked like? Warm clothes and all the good food she could ever want.
No. She remembered the man from last night and the wonder and awe suddenly left her. She thanked the napkins for the food and then ate her meal in silence, trying to push aside her anxieties about the gruff man who had told her so directly that she must leave.
Chapter Four
Rodderick Dameron rolled out of bed with a splitting headache, falling onto the floor and groping for his trousers.
“Mary!” he shouted, and the maid soon came bustling in, giving a little yelp when she saw his state of undress.
“Yes sir?” she asked, turning her face from him before speaking.
“Bring my breakfast in here this morning. And tell my wife that she is to skip meals today. A God fearing woman should have no appetite after a display like hers.”
“Yes sir, only…”
“What is it?” he snapped and the maid flinched.
“Mrs. Dameron was not in her room this morning.”
“What?” His words were quiet and frightened Mary more than if he’d shouted at her.
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