Ravenwood(16)

Two yellow eyes watched her from the trees. Unblinking.

Elinore felt the wings of the raven brush against her skin, making her shiver. The raven dragged its beak against the soft, vulnerable skin of her throat and she stilled, thinking of the sharply pointed end so close to her veins. Its clawed feet flexed, each one digging into her. It moved its beak to her ear and a quiet whispering sound came from it, as though it was telling her a secret. Elinore could not understand and felt only the impression or inkling of words. In the foliage, the wolf’s eyes moved, not coming any closer, not moving any further away - drifting behind the leaves and the branches - yellow and gold, pupils watching Elinore.

The raven whispered again - a rustle of sound and breath against the shell of Elinore’s ear. The wolf growled, long and rumbling. Elinore felt pinned between the two creatures - one on her shoulder and one circling her. All the time, the latin phrase running through her mind.

A fronte praecipitium, a tergo lupi. A cliff ahead, wolves behind.

Elinore woke to a gentle tapping that pulled her from her sleep. Confused, she looked around the room, not recognizing it in the light of day. At once, the memory of the previous night returned. The carriage accident, the forest, Ravenwood. A strange dream of a bird and creatures in the woods.

“Miss Reed?” came a voice through the doorway and Elinore recognized it as that of the housekeeper, Mrs. Davenport. Elinore bid her to enter, attempting to sit up in bed. Her entire body was stiff and sore, most notably her arm. She touched the bandage gingerly, recalling the wounds beneath. She had a sudden notion if she pushed too hard against the cotton, black blood would ooze out, like her dream, and stain the pristine white fabric.

“You best leave that alone, dear,” Mrs. Davenport admonished as she came in bearing a tray with a pot of tea on it. “I’ll have to redress it tonight, but for now you must be careful.”

Elinore pulled her fingers back, feeling like a scolded child. “Yes, of course. I only thought… it feels so hot, and… tender. Almost … swollen perhaps?”

Mrs. Davenport’s smile was tight, the skin around her eyes not crinkling like it should with such the smile that curved her lips. “All to be expected. You had quite an injury, but the poultice will take care of it, rest easy.”

Mrs. Davenport set the tray down on the nightstand, pouring a cup of tea.

“What time is it?” Elinore asked as Mrs. Davenport pulled the curtains back further, letting in the daylight. It burned against Elinore’s eyes and she squinted, raising a hand to shade them.

A quick stab of shame sliced through her. Elinore had never been one to sleep late, though she supposed Mrs. Davenport was correct - last night had been an ordeal. She fixed her tea with a spot of milk, taking a long drink. No brandy in this tea, although it was the same spicy blend as before. It was a deep amber color in the pot, rich and smooth on her tongue.

“Is there any news on Mr. Thistlewaite?” Elinore asked, afraid for what the answer may be.

This time when Mrs. Davenport smiled, it reached her eyes, her face soft and kindly. “Yes, the doctor arrived from Haleton last night and said he should make a full recovery, though he’ll be quite laid up for a while. His leg’s broke in two places and he suffered a terrible blow to the head. He also has two broken ribs. He’s only been conscious for small spells since he was brought home and he was right concerned about you. He thinks you’re a bit of an angel, I suppose, going off into the woods on such a night to get him assistance.”

“I feared for his life and could not rest idly by if there was something to be done.” Again her fingers drifted to the bandage over the bite mark, recalling the snap of the wolf’s jaw as it closed over her arm. She didn’t regret going for help in the woods despite the attack of the wolf. Her firing the gun had brought Caleb to her, and then Thistle’s, assistance. She felt hot suddenly and wished to throw back the covers, feeling stifled by the weigh of them.

“Now,” Mrs. Davenport said, her tone going brisk. “I’ve a gown from one of the serving girls that you can borrow. Mr. Caleb has sent some men out to get your things from the wreckage. I daresay I’m not sure what kind of a state they’ll be in when they arrive. But don’t you worry,” she continued, quickly taking Elinore’s hand from where she was worrying the bandages and clasping it between her own. “We’ll get it all to rights. If you feel up to it, lunch is being served in the dining room. I’m no lady’s maid and none of the girls have much experience either. It’s been too long since Mrs. Vollmond, your Aunt Victoria, passed and we’ve gotten out of the habit. But I’m sure I could assist you in getting ready.”

“I would appreciate any assistance you offer, Mrs. Davenport. I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to do much on account of my arm.”

Mrs. Davenport straightened up with a smile, patting Elinore’s hand. “Well, it’s been a few years, but I imagine I can do a fair braid. Let’s get you up for the day.”

Mrs. Davenport was the picture of efficiency, getting Elinore dressed and assisting with her hair quickly and without fanfare. The gown was plain and simple and Mrs. Davenport tutted over it, saying she was sure that Elinore was used to finer things. It was too small in the shoulders, too short by five inches and slightly too large in the bust area. The owner must be slightly smaller in stature than Elinore but better endowed.