The Bride of Time (28 page)

“Two more come,” she said. “Your beloved and the child. They both prowl the moor to night.” Outside, the horse’s frantic whinnies caught her attention. “I fear for that poor animal if they do not find other victims to slake their lust for ravaging before they reach us.” She shrugged. “It cannot be helped. We shall hope for the best, eh, daughter? Better the horse than us, eh? We shall hope all this rain will dull your brethren’s sense of smell. Water will do that.”

The she-wolf struggled against the chains that bound it, its frantic whines and plaintive howls filling the little wagon.

“Be still!” the Gypsy commanded. “Do you want to bring them? You understand me, I think. It must be close to dawn. It seems as if it might be. It has been a long night for us both, but now I see where you are in the circle of things, and I know what we must do to put it to rights. So listen, daughter, and remember. This may be the last time I can mentor you.” She raised her bitten arm and brandished it. “Your handiwork this night has made that so. My path lies in another direction now, so heed me well. It may be the only hope you have to survive what you have become.”

Outside, the howling came closer, and the she-wolf answered the call. Would the dawn never come?

“Silence, little fool!” Moraiva charged. “And pray first light will save us—aye, and them from each other. There are many dangers afoot in these woods to night. Yes, you understand me, so listen well. You have the favor of the keepers of the lay line gates, those that permit mortals to
enter the corridors. Not everyone is privileged with such favor. Your own husband is not, at least not yet. Please the Powers he will be when the time comes, because it is the corridors that will save you….”

Moraiva went to the little window in the curved side of the wagon and cracked the shutter. The sky was lightening, and the wolves’ voices were growing distant of a sudden. “Yes, soon it is over…for tonight,” she observed, fastening the shutter again. “What I tell you now, I tell you while you are on the verge of shifting back to your human self because I want no opposition or interruption.” She waited for the she-wolf’s whine in response. “Good!” she said. “You know the ways of the lay lines, and you know that to re-access a given time you must stay in the lane you chose while leaving it. You have done this. When the time is right, you must do so again, and I will not be there to help you, which is why you must listen carefully to me now.”

Again the wolf responded.

“Good!” said the Gypsy. “You can save yourself and Longworth by going back through the corridor to a time and place other than one in which you were bitten, and there you must remain—
together
—if you are to break the curse. You have just come from that place, daughter. Retrace your steps and you will live the life you were meant to live, and do not regret it or tempt fate—”

Across the way, the she-wolf loosed a howl that turned the Gypsy’s blood cold, wriggling out of her fur and into her naked human skin, screaming with the pain of transformation, which clearly taxed her whole body.

Moraiva covered Tessa with a fur rug and loosened her chains. She used her right arm gingerly, the arm that had been bitten, and it drew Tessa’s eyes; there were tears in them.

“What have I done?” she sobbed. “I have bitten you.”

“Do not trouble over that,” Moraiva said. “Did you hear what I just told you?”

Tessa nodded. “I heard,” she said. “But what of you and the boy and the fire?”

Moraiva sighed. “We do not know when the fire occurred,” she said. “That is the only obstacle now.”

“The caretaker said it happened shortly after the boy returned. That could be any time now. He has been back a month. We know the boy sets the fire, but what of him after?”

“Leave the boy to me,” Moraiva said. “You must concentrate upon getting your husband into the time corridor that will free you from the curse before more damage is done.”

“But I have bitten you!” Tessa cried.

“It is of no consequence,” Moraiva replied. “I have been bitten before. We who know the time corridors and how to access them are not doomed by the werewolf’s kiss. Neither are you, if you will only heed me. Do not reproach yourself, daughter, just mind what I say. You have until the full moon rises again to settle this, or all is lost to you. All is lost to us all.”

First light brought no relief from the storm, and Giles dragged himself back to Longhollow Abbey naked through the teeming rain and merciless winds of the first flaw of the season. Driven by desperation, he scarcely felt the sting of the sharp rain splinters, or the punishing assault of the hail that pelted him relentlessly. He hadn’t been of sane mind since he’d found the savaged body of Henry Forsythe, guard of the Watch, in a drainage ditch at the edge of the moor.

Had he himself killed the guard, or had Monty? He had no memory of anything that had occurred since he shed his clothes and sprang out into the storm in pursuit of them both. Had he stalked Tessa? Was she safe? He
was on the verge of running mad for want of knowing, meanwhile fearing the knowledge. Moraiva called his situation rightly by the name of curse.

The sky had just begun to lighten as he staggered over the Abbey threshold and dragged himself up to his apartments. The rooms were empty, though a change of clothes had been laid out on the bed. This was a good sign: Foster had been well enough to set them there.

Giles shrugged on his dressing gown, and was just about to go to Tessa’s chamber to see if she had returned, when Foster shuffled into the bedchamber from his adjoining quarters, limping severely. Giles’s heart sank at sight of the faithful valet so altered.

“Save your steps, sir,” Foster said. “She has not returned.”

Giles’s posture collapsed at that news. “And Master Monty?” he inquired. “Has he returned?”

“He is in his rooms,” the valet said. “He arrived just ahead of you, sir, naked and covered with blood just as you are. I’ve had Evers and Rigby fill your tub. Forgive me, but I wasn’t fit enough to fill it myself. I think the little blighter meant to kill me when he pushed me down those steps to the landing. I fear he nearly succeeded.”

“Covered with blood, you say?” Giles murmured, examining his hands. They were, indeed, streaked with blood, as was his face. He didn’t need a mirror. He could feel it drying upon his skin, and smell its sickening metallic sweetness. “Well, one of us has killed Henry Forsythe. I have no way of knowing which. I have no recollection of anything that occurred after I shape-shifted. I came upon the deuced guard in the drainage ditch returning just now. His throat was torn out, just like all the others.”

The valet gasped. “Oh, sir, my God, you couldn’t have!” he breathed.

“Well, I was half-castaway, and Forsythe and I did quarrel before I put him out.”

“I refuse to believe it!” Foster said. “That has naught to do with anything. ’Twas the beast that killed him. You must disassociate yourself from it or you will go mad, sir.”

“God bless you for that, old boy,” Giles said sadly. “But I fear it is already too late.”

“Is there any news of the mistress? I know how her disappearance must be wearing on you, sir.”

“The mistress has returned,” Giles said, debating whether or not to go into detail of their meeting on the heath, but under the circumstances, there seemed no alternative. The valet could well be in danger from that quarter also. “She, too, has been infected, and I am the one who did it,” he said flatly. “She is with Moraiva, the Gypsy. I expect she will be returning shortly.”

Foster swayed at the news. There was no way to soften the blow, which was clearly too much. Giles’s quick hand steadied the valet and guided him to the wing chair beside the hearth.

“I didn’t mean to be so blunt, but there it is,” Giles said. “We are a house at sixes and sevens, I’m afraid, and I don’t know what to do….”

He would have continued, but for a loud banging at the doors below echoing up the staircase. Giles held his breath, listening. After a moment the knock came again.

“I’d best go down,” Giles said, striding toward the door.

“You cannot, sir!” Foster called after him, struggling out of the chair. “Not like that. The blood, sir! You’ll stretch a rope before noon if they see you like that. I shall go down while you order yourself. Whoever it is, I shall put them in the study.”

“We both know who it is,” Giles said bitterly. “Carry
on, then see the boy stays out of the way while I tend to this.”

Giles stripped off his dressing gown, then cleaned himself with hot water stolen from the brimming tub. How inviting that bath looked. His whole body ached from an ordeal he couldn’t even remember. He sighed. That pleasure would have to wait. Satisfied that he’d removed all traces of the blood of that ordeal, he dressed hurriedly and met Foster coming up the stairs as he began jogging down.

“It’s the Watch, sir,” the valet said.

“Yes, well, we knew that, didn’t we, old boy? I’ll see to it. Just keep the child out of sight. I’ll ring if I need you.”

Giles continued down the stairs, squared his posture and strode toward the study, where he found two men waiting. One he knew, John Stokes, from the far side of the moor. There was no central office. The Watch was made up of local house holders working out of their own homes to keep the peace. The other man was younger, a well-built man close to his own age whom Giles hadn’t seen before, though he did look somewhat familiar.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?” he asked. Feigning ignorance was called for here. It wouldn’t do to let on that he’d seen the guard’s ravaged body in the drainage ditch.

“Henry Forsythe’s body has been found out on the moor,” Stokes said. “He’s been done ta death in an unspeakable way.”

“Unspeakable!” the man’s companion echoed.

“That is dreadful,” Giles said steadily. “But what brings you here?”

“He’s on your land, ain’t he?” Stokes said.

“I fail to see—”

“Last we heard, he was comin’ out here ta check on
the young lad, and he never come back.” He turned to his companion. “This here is Royal Forsythe, Henry’s oldest son from Bodmin Village. He’s just recently joined the Watch.”

Giles nodded toward the other. So that’s why he’d seemed so familiar. He saw it now. Add a few years and a paunch and he could be looking at the father. “I’m certainly sorry for your loss,” Giles said, “but I don’t see why—”

“I wanted to come with him yesterday,” Royal spoke up, “but he would have none of it. If I had done, he might be alive today.”

“What we need to know is if he got here,” Stokes said. “It’s only fair ta warn ya, we’re goin’ ta interview the servants, so ya may as well tell us the truth up front.”

“Well, yes, he did,” Giles responded. “He came and examined the boy just before dark and left before the flaw worsened. Look here, I do not appreciate the insinuation that I would lie to you. Interrogate whomever you will. The man came, and the man left alive. That’s the long and the short of it, gentlemen.”

“His horse came home without him,” Royal put in. “Spooked bad, he was. We thought me dad might have been thrown, or struck by lightning. When the storm slacked enough we set out. That’s when we found him.”

“I am truly sorry,” Giles said. “But if you are trying to hang this foul deed upon me, you are wasting your time.”

“He was found on your land,” said Stokes.

“So you pointed out earlier.”

“And you have to admit there’s been some strange goin’s on out here,” Stokes continued. “Murders, folk with their throats torn out, just like Forsythe, all hereabout ’round Longhollow Abbey.

Giles uttered a strangled sound. “Are you accusing me
of murder now?” he asked. “This is preposterous! My first wife was savaged in just such a way as you describe. No! I’m going to have to ask you to leave, gentlemen.”

“Hold on now, we ain’t said that,” Stokes admitted. “We’re just statin’ the facts.”

“But you insinuated it, and I shan’t stand here and be maligned in my own house! When you have proof, accuse me. Until then, I must ask that you leave me in peace.”

“Has your wife returned, sir?” Royal Forsythe said. “My father was particularly concerned about her absence.”

“No, she has not, but I expect her shortly. What in God’s name has my wife to do with anything?”

“Most betrothed couples that go off to Town for a special license to wed usually return together,” Stokes put in. “Never seen a bridegroom return alone.”

“Yes, well, I am not ‘most bridegrooms.’ Look here, this is bordering upon the ridiculous. We were invited guests of the Prince Regent in London, and my wife remained behind to settle some of her affairs when an emergency necessitated my return to the coast. It’s no secret that my ward had gone missing. I found him in London and brought him home straightaway to silence the sort of gammon that has brought you here this morning at great inconvenience to myself and my bride. All due respect, Mr. Forsythe, but if your father wasn’t mixing into affairs that were none of his business, he would indeed be alive today. Now, you really must excuse me, gentlemen. I can bring nothing more to bear in regard to this matter. If you wish, I will be more than glad to offer you the services of my stabler should you need a hand removing the…er, body in this storm.”

“That would be most kind of you, sir,” Stokes said. “Perhaps in the meanwhile, your wife will return and make an end of this unfortunate business.”

“There it is again! I really fail to see—”

“Did I hear my name mentioned just now?” a musical voice said from the doorway, and Tessa swept over the threshold in her Gypsy finery, heading straight into Giles’s arms.

“A most fortuitous entrance, lady wife,” he said. “These gentlemen have all but convicted me of your murder this morning.”

“My
murder
?” Tessa warbled. “Surely you jest?”

“No, I am quite serious.” He took her measure. “Where did you get that ridiculous rig?” he said.

Tessa swatted her skirt. “This?” she queried. “Moraiva lent me this costume; it’s one of her own. Mine became quite soaked coming from the lane in this maelstrom. I’m afraid it’s quite beyond repair.”