The Bride of Time (30 page)

Tessa was sound asleep when Giles returned to her apartments. Evidently exhausted after her bath, she had dressed in a yellow muslin frock, wrapped herself in a woolen lap robe, and lay curled on her side atop the counterpane on the bed, awaiting his return.

He didn’t have the heart to wake her. It was best that he didn’t. There would be plenty of time to take her in his arms and make love to her after all danger was past. Now he needed to instruct Foster in regard to Monty’s confinement come nightfall—as well as his own, and Tessa’s, come to that. He also needed to seek out Moraiva. He would hear her plan to cancel the nightmare. The pull of the moon was as strong as ever. Only a few more hours and it would happen again. There wasn’t a moment to lose.

Deciding to seek out Foster first, he found the valet straightening the dressing room in his suite. “It isn’t over,” he said. “When the moon rises, the wolf will overtake me again.”

“Are you sure, sir?” the valet asked, straightening up from where he’d been stooping over the bathtub, drying it with a towel.

“Very sure, Foster,” Giles replied. “The pull is incredible,
and it’s scarcely midday. I need to find Moraiva. She has knowledge that may help us all.”

“She has returned to her camp, sir.”

Giles nodded. “I expected as much, but she won’t stay there and risk putting her fellow Travelers to the hazard. They may have taken shelter from the storm. In that case, she will either go off somewhere on her own, or access one of the lay lines until dawn. I must find her before that.”

“Yes, sir. What must I do here?”

“Master Monty will need to be restrained. Put him in the attic room again. If all goes well and I return before dark, I can be confined in the studio. Have Able affix a bar on the outside like the one on the attic chamber. Have him place it high, out of Monty’s reach. If he questions it, tell him I want to keep Master Monty out.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If I don’t return, needs must the mistress will have to be restrained as well. Any suggestions?”

“The root cellar, sir.”

“Excellent! There are no windows. Tell her I said to do as you say.”

“Begging your pardon, sir. Shouldn’t you stay here until after…Just in case? I will do as you say, of course, but…couldn’t you wait to speak with the Gypsy until morning?”

“It might be too late then, Foster. There are armed patrols on the prowl out there. She could be dead by morning if she becomes the wolf on that moor to night. I need to warn her of the danger. Besides, the guards from the Watch are going to return. It’s only a matter of time, and mine is running out. I only pray I have enough left to do what must be done before they return. They see eliminating me as the answer to all their unsolved crimes.”

“That is preposterous, sir!”

“Preposterous, but true,” Giles said. “If I am not here when they come to arrest me, I have a better chance of surviving this. If they were to incarcerate me now, when the moon rises they will see their werewolf and I will be dead; one of their silver pistol balls will see to that. No, I cannot be here now. My little talk with the others was a moot point, I fear. The Watch has already made up its collective mind that I’m their man. It won’t matter what the others in this house say now. The damage is already done.”

What would he do without the trusted valet? The man knew when to speak, and when to hold his peace, like now. Giles’s instincts were correct. He had to leave Longhollow Abbey now, before the guards returned, and before Tessa woke to persuade him against it. For she alone had the power to do that. He could still see her lying so peacefully on the bed in her chamber, her long chestnut hair fanned out about her on the pillow. He could smell the scent of violets drifting from it. How he longed to scale the stairs two at a stride and live in that exquisite body. He went to the stable instead.

Neither Able nor Andy had returned. It was just as well. He saddled a sorrel gelding and mounted. The horse, usually quite docile, seemed out of sorts, rearing and bucking. For a moment he thought he’d cinched the girth too tight, but no, that wasn’t the case. It spooked because of the wolf inside him. His heart sank, and he coaxed the animal out of the stable and onto the lane that led to the Gypsy camp.

The wind was still raw and blustery, but the rain had stopped falling except for a stubborn misty drizzle coming in spurts out of bilious clouds hugging the horizon. He had seen this before. It was nothing more than a brief respite between squalls. One would spawn another until the flaw was spent. This was only the beginning.

The Gypsies had decamped by the time he reached
their site. All that remained of them were the patches of flattened-down grass where their wagon wheels had rested. It was a disappointment, but nothing he hadn’t expected. They weren’t safe in the open in such a storm. They would have sought shelter elsewhere. The wood that edged the moor was the next likely spot, and Giles coaxed the horse in that direction.

Despite the fact that he was an accomplished horseman, it was all he could do to control his mount. He nearly lost his seat twice on the way to the camp, and the later it grew, the more animated the animal became. Making matters worse, though he combed the woods until late afternoon, he could find no trace of Moraiva or the others.

The sky was beginning to darken. Had he lost track of time, or was the storm worsening? There was no way to tell. The eerie, bilious color of the clouds had changed to boiling slate-gray tumblers rolling low over the moor. Overall, a jaundiced yellow aura prevailed, just as it had when the first flaw began. The rain had stopped, but Giles took no comfort in that. The wind had picked up. Blatant gusts ruffled his hair as if a thousand fingers combed it. Shielding his eyes, he scanned the sky in hopes a break in the cloud cover might help him determine if the pending darkness was storm-related or simply nightfall approaching. He dared not take chances. There was nothing for it; he had to return to the Abbey and restrain himself.

That decided, he drove the horse northeastward over the moor at the fastest pace he could manage given the animal’s reluctance to have him on its back. He hadn’t seen a soul since he set out. It wasn’t until he reached the approach to Longhollow Abbey that he spied two riders coming on at a gallop, pistols drawn. At first, in the gathering dimness summoned by the storm, he thought they might be highwaymen. Cornwall was rife
with thatchgallows. Prepared to lose his horse, since he had neither blunt nor a pistol to make a stand, he slowed the animal’s pace only to see as they drew nearer that they weren’t highwaymen at all. It was John Stokes and Royal Forsythe from the Watch, and their pistols were drawn against him. They were coming from the Abbey.

Giles glanced about. His first instinct was to flee, but that would have been unwise, since he was within pistol range. Besides, it would be a blatant admission of guilt. Suddenly he knew how Tessa must have felt when she ran in innocence from the police pursuing her for the theft of her employer’s brooch. He was innocent as well, of all save Forsythe’s murder. That was still in question, since he had no recollection of it. It could have been him, or it could have been Monty. He wondered if he would ever know for certain.

“Hold there, Longworth!” Stokes said. “You’ll be comin’ with us. Come peaceable and you won’t be the worse for it.”

“By what authority do you arrest me, Stokes?” Giles demanded.

“One o’ your own,” the guard replied. “Your gentleman’s gentleman swore you was at the Abbey after Forsythe left last night.”

“That’s correct,” said Giles. “So…?”

“So, we came back to talk with the rest o’ your staff, and one o’ them saw you out on the moor without a stitch on ya—nekked as a jackrabbit—comin’ home from somewhere at first light this mornin’.”

“That’s ridiculous. There must be some mistake. Which of my servants said such a thing?”

“Oh now, I don’t know as I can say, Longworth, and it don’t matter. She’s sworn to it, and that puts your valet in the same boat as you. That lie’ll cost him.”

“I think you’re all mad as brushes!” Giles said, struggling
to control the anxious horse underneath him. “Put those damn pistols away and let me pass. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“Ohh, no you don’t,” Royal Forsythe put in. “My father’s lyin’ dead in our parlor, and you’re the one that’s put him there.”

“That is preposterous. Where is your proof? You’re going to need more than one giddy, hysterical servant’s supposed sighting to convict me of murder.”

“What was you doin’ roamin’ around nekked in a ragin’ flaw?” Stokes demanded.

“I wasn’t!” Giles defended. “Whomever she saw, or thought she saw, it wasn’t me.”

“Well, we’ll just have to let the magistrates sort it all out, won’t we?” Stokes said. He motioned with his pistol. “You’re goin’ ta the debtor’s jail at Lamorna, till we can send for the prison coach ta take ya in. Move! And don’t try anything funny.”

There was no doubt about the time now. The light was fading quickly. It would be full dark by the time they reached Lamorna. The pull of the wolf was already gnawing at him from the inside out. Rain was starting to spit down out of the boiling clouds, and the wind gusts had reached cyclonic force again.

“You are making a grave mistake, Stokes,” Giles warned him. “I’ll see you raking seaweed out at Land’s End by time this is done!”

“You can go like a gentleman, or I can take ya in trussed up in irons. What’s it goin’ ta be?” said Stokes, jangling the shackles dangling from his belt. “Either way, you’re goin’.”

“Have it your way, Stokes,” Giles said, kneeing the horse beneath him. He couldn’t let them clap him in irons. If the horse beneath him would behave, he might be able to escape. The animal obviously sensed the wolf, and it was all he could do to keep it on the lane.

The guards rode so close he couldn’t even think of breaking away. Suddenly a fresh worry surfaced. Trying not to sound as panicked as he was, he said, “I suppose you’ve incarcerated my valet as well.” If they had, who would confine Monty and Tessa before moonrise?

“Not yet,” said Forsythe. “He’ll keep till we sort you out.”

“He’ll break once he finds out we’ve took you in,” Stokes said.

“If you harm one hair on that man’s head—”

“Shut your hole and ride, Longworth!” Stokes trumpeted. “You’re in no position ta be makin’ threats. Ya need ta think about comin’ clean and sparin’ all concerned.”

Giles said no more, and they rode on in silence. They were nearing Lamorna debtor’s jail, a one-room unmanned enclosure tended by the Watch, when dry lightning began to spear down over the patchwork hills, spooking Giles’s mount even more. It was almost full dark. His breath was coming short. His vision had begun to narrow. The darkening sky had taken on the color of dried blood. An unbearable tingling sensation overspread his whole body as muscle and sinew, flesh and bone struggled to become the wolf. The tingling became pain—deep, searing pain—as the transformation began. It was happening!

It had to be now, while he was still in control, before he lost his human consciousness to that of the predator wolf inside. He began clawing at his shirt and trousers. The jail loomed up before him, and there was no more time. The guards had reined in and were climbing down. Giles started to follow, but the horse had other ideas. It reared as the rain began to pelt down, peppered with hail and lightning—closer now—and then streaked off over the moor.

In the midst of the awkward transformation, Giles
fell out of the saddle, and the animal bolted back the way they’d come. It soon disappeared behind the dense curtain of horizontal rain.

Forsythe was unlocking the jail, while Stokes was struggling with their now-spooked mounts. The second man’s gruff voice boomed, “Shoot, damn ya, Forsythe! He’s gettin’ away!”

His wolfish feet slipped easily out of his top boots, and Giles bounded off through the bracken, furze and black heather carpeting the moor. Another flash of lightning lit the sky, illuminating all as he ran, streaking through the underbrush on all fours, leaving a trail of clothing behind.

“Where’d he go?” Stokes bellowed, snatching Giles’s shirt from the wet ground. Giles’s heart was reverberating in his ears louder than the thunder as he ran. Had they seen him? He prayed not, but…yes. “Shoot that animal!” Stokes commanded. “That wolf! It’s
him
. Shoot, damn ya, man. Bloody hell! I’ll let the damn beasts go and do it myself!”

Two shots rang out almost simultaneously. Something hot and searing ripped through Giles’s shoulder, but he kept on running. The guards’ spooked horses passed him by, galloping crazily over the moor. More shots rang out, but he was out of range now, and the guards’ angry shouts were growing more distant with every step.

Blood was running down his right foreleg, now, and yet still he ran. On he traveled, on and on until a sprawling shape loomed ahead on the moor, silhouetted black against a blacker sky, miles in the distance. Sudden lightning snaked down, showing it clearly, even to his dazed wolfish eyes: Longhollow Abbey. It was still a long ways off, but it was the last thing he saw before crawling into the barrow and spiraling into unconsciousness.

Chapter Twenty-five

The Abbey was in an uproar. Tessa awoke to the sound of pounding at the doors below funneling up the stairs. This was no ordinary knock, and the blood ran cold in her veins when another knock closer at hand vaulted her off the bed. The fire had died in the hearth. Pulling the lap robe in which she’d wrapped herself closer around her, she padded to the door.

“W-who’s there?” she asked. She knew it wasn’t Giles. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

“It is I, madam. Foster,” the valet said.

Tessa opened the door. One look at the valet’s face set gooseflesh loose over her back, and she misstepped. “What is it, Foster?” she breathed. “What’s happened?”

“Forgive me, madam,” the valet said. “The master has made me privy to your…eh, situation. You must come with me else you be found out. The master was very clear that I was to…confine you should he not return before moonrise.”