Ravenwood(15)
A vile smell arose from the mixture, burning Elinore’s nose and causing her eyes to water.
“I daresay it smells like it was dragged from the depths themselves, but it’s just the thing for your arm,” Mrs. Davenport said as she mixed the items together into a thick paste. She took Elinore’s arm and then scooped up some of the mixture on a silver spoon, pausing slightly. “I’m afraid this will burn a bit, dear, but you look like a strong lass and I ask you to stay still.” She waited, looking at Elinore for some kind of response. Elinore nodded, setting her now empty teacup down. Using the spoon, Mrs. Davenport spread the mixture over the bite marks. It burned like fire and Elinore clenched her teeth, working hard at staying perfectly still. Mrs. Davenport pressed the back of the spoon into each of the puncture marks carefully, happy when Elinore didn’t pull away. “That’s a good lass.” She spread an even layer over Elinore’s forearm and then took another one of the vials and sprinkled a shimmery substance over the areas where the puncture marks were deepest. Elinore’s arm felt hot and the wounds burned sharply. Taking several long strips of cotton, Mrs. Davenport wrapped the arm tightly, tying the ends off. As she worked, she continued to chatter on about how she was glad Elinore was safely in the manor now and Mrs. Davenport was sure she’d take to Ravenwood. Her tone was soothing and low. Finally, her hands dropped from Elinore and she said, “You poor thing. Let’s get you to bed.”
Mrs. Davenport assisted her to bed, pulling back the covers for her and then tucking her in, much like a child. The kindness of the gesture brought tears to her eyes and Elinore’s throat was tight as she spoke her thanks. Mrs. Davenport clucked like a mother hen, smoothing back Elinore’s hair and telling her to have a good sleep. She gathered up her tray with its strange vials and ingredients and then snuffed all but one of the lights in the room on her way out.
Finally alone and in the dark, the stress of the trip, the accident and her struggle in the forest finally caught up to her. Elinore’s breath hitched in her chest. Had she really gone off in the woods, by herself, armed with only a pistol? What sort of wolf was it that she had seen? What lived in the forest around Ravenwood? Would Mr. Thistlewaite, with his kind words and gentle manner, be all right? What were Caleb and the other men out in the woods hunting so late at night? The wolf? Why?
Oh, how Elinore missed her parents and Charlotte and her small, comfortable room back at her old house. This large, foreboding manor with its dark hallways and looming presence was to be her home now. Her arm throbbed and a few tears escaped her eyes. She dashed them away quickly. It had been a terribly long week capped off by a dreadful night. She was warm, dry and safe now. Poor Mr. Thistlewaite was in dire straights and Elinore would not waste tears worrying about herself. Mrs. Davenport seemed to think there was no reason to be concerned. She took some calming breaths, sniffling to herself slightly as she got her feelings under control.
Just before she sleep pulled her under, she thought she heard a wolf howl in the night and her heart lurched at the sound.
Chapter Four
Elinore dreamed of the forest.
Wandering through the trees, she looked down and saw her bare feet sinking into the mud and moss of the forest floor. There was no path through these woods, no indicators to show her the well-travelled way, no worn markings to lead her home, wherever that may be. The tops of her feet were ghostly white against the ground even as they became covered in mud and muck.
She wore Caleb’s cloak and it lay heavily across her shoulders, dragging on the ground with each tentative step she took. She was lost. Lost in the forest.
Elinore looked up, eyes squinting at the harsh glare of the full moon. A trembling fear crept into her stomach, even as at the same time, a deep longing pulled at her heart. As she stared at the glowing orb, she wanted to run away from it, she wanted to run toward it and in that moment, she was trapped. She paused as she heard the sound of a creature growling in the forest, at her back. The way before her was dark, but the way behind her was blocked. Her father’s Latin lessons tickled her brain and she heard the words in her mind. A fronte praecipitium, a tergo lupi. A cliff ahead, wolves behind. There was nowhere to run.
She closed her eyes and let the moonlight wash over her, swaying slightly. The wind made the trees rustle and Elinore heard the sound of nighttime creatures quietly working their way through the woods, heedless of the unknown growling.
She opened her eyes at a low croak above her. In the dark, the trees seemed alive as they moved and swayed in the wind. Her eyes were sharp, sharper than they’d ever been and she could see the cause of the croak, perched on a branch far ahead. A raven. It croaked again and then flitted down, landing on a branch in front of her, watching. While the moonlight was bright, it wasn’t nearly bright enough to make out the eyes of the bird from this distance. Elinore only had a sense of where the pupils should be as it examined her.
Leaves crunched and twigs snapped. There was still something else in the woods, something else between the trees, steadily making its way toward her. If she listened carefully, she could hear not only the soft tread of footfalls on the ground, but also the low sound of a creature breathing, the thud of its heart growing louder as it moved, louder as it crept toward her. A wolf. She was afraid and yet she could not, did not run.
Elinore turned and saw movement in the foliage. Her heart pounded. Sharp pain from her arm made her look down to see the teeth marks sunk into her flesh, black blood oozing from gaping wounds. A low snarl came from woods, the sound burrowing into Elinore’s chest and coiling in her stomach, heavy and dense. She looked back into the trees and saw a pale flicker of white fur. Elinore stepped backward, the ground cold and wet under her bare feet. The raven croaked again, from behind her, its wings flapping as it moved from one branch, to another and then landed on Elinore’s shoulder. Its wings shirred and flapped and it let loose its awful croak again, sharp and piercing in her ear. Its claws dug into the cloak, breaking through the fabric and scratching against her skin. More blood oozed from her arm as the raven’s talons pinched hard and unyielding against her flesh.