Ravenwood(9)

“What are you doing out here?”

His voice was low and deep, more akin to the growl of the wolves she’d just seen than a man.

She gaped, unable to speak for a moment, trying to swallow past her dry throat. He took a menacing step forward and she moved back. “I’m… I’m Elinore Reed, on my way to Ravenwood. We had an accident and the driver needs assistance. He’s trapped and quite injured.” She was heartily amazed she managed to get all the words out in one breath, her chest heaving slightly.

“You are by yourself? In the forest?” He seemed incredulous, taking another step forward and she flinched. It occurred to her suddenly that she was still very much alone, possibly far away from Ravenwood and safety, and she had no idea who this man was. His expression was fierce, his jaw cut like granite and covered in stubble. His clothes were in disarray - messily assembled, and she had the laughable thought that he appeared hardly reputable. Another step brought him closer still and it seemed as though, with the light of the moonlight, his eyes flashed yellow. Unthinking, she raised the pistol. It warbled slightly in her hand.

He stilled, eyes narrowing at her. “The gun is empty,” he said lowly, taking a step closer.

Elinore cocked the pistol’s hammer. “No, it’s not.” She knew she still had one bullet left. She may be frightened, cold and injured, but she wasn’t hysterical or infirm. She’d only shot once and Thistle said the gun had two shots.

The man held up his hands and took a step backward. “I apologize.” When she didn’t lower the pistol, he continued. “I’m Caleb Vollmond, from Ravenwood.”

“I don’t believe you.”

His eyebrows raised and he looked at her disbelievingly. He huffed slightly. “My uncle is Hayter Vollmond. I believe he is your uncle as well?” He looked at her as though waiting for confirmation. She said nothing. “You must be the niece of his late wife. The manor has been expecting you.”

Elinore eyed him somewhat suspiciously as she lowered the gun. Knowing those details, it seemed likely he was from the manor. The hand holding the gun trembled as she shivered in the cold.

Caleb took a step toward her again and she darted backward, holding the pistol up once more. He held his hands up in front of him. “I mean only to take off my cloak and give it to you.”

He reached up and pulled his cloak off, holding it out toward her. She would have to lower the pistol, and possibly put it down to take his cloak and put it on over her own. She was cold. Dreadfully so. Wet, cold and her arm throbbed. She lowered her arm slightly and then heard howling from the forest again - a resonating wolf call that raised gooseflesh on her arms. Caleb took the moment of her distraction to come forward, and sweep the cloak over her shoulders. She shuddered into the warmth of the garment and only then finally lowered the pistol.

Caleb stared into the foliage of the forest, his body tense and still next to her. “We must go,” he said, jaw tight. His nose twitched slightly and then he looked down at her. “You’ve blood on your hands.”

Elinore looked down and saw he was correct - her hands stained red from the wolf. “It’s not mine.”

A rustle in the woods caused her to jerk. Caleb moved closer to her and pulled the pistol from her cold fingers. She startled, wanting to snatch it back. She’d felt safer with the weight of it in her hands. He eyed the barrel intently and then, inexplicably, sniffed the pistol, making a gruff affirmative sound.

“Where did you get this?”

“Mr. Thistlewaite gave it to me. He’s very badly injured and trapped under the carriage. I could not free him.”

Caleb took her hand, his fingers warm around hers, attempting to pull her after him, away from where she came.

“I’ll take you to the manor and come back for him.”

Elinore pulled against him. “Wait, Thistle is badly hurt. Can’t you… Maybe we could…” she paused not knowing what to say. It was likely that more than one man was needed to free Thistlewaite and perhaps Caleb’s plan of going to the manor was sound. He could fetch more men and return. At the same time, she loathed the idea of leaving Thistlewaite alone in the forest, injured and bleeding, for any longer than necessary. Especially now knowing of the wolves out in the woods. She wanted to go back to him. “How far is it? To the manor?”

He pursed his lips in displeasure and through his stubble, she could see the muscles of his jaw working. “Not far.” He whistled and out of the woods came an answering neigh. A horse trotted from the trees, black and sleek. He motioned her closer, as though to give her a boost onto the animal.

She held her ground and squared her shoulders. “I will go back and stay with him. With Mr. Thistlewaite,” Elinore said, trying to keep her voice from wavering, not daring to think of the animals she’d seen, of their sharp teeth and savage eyes. “I shall wait with him while you return to the manor and gather some men.”

“I didn’t come from the manor.”

Elinore frowned. “Are you not out here looking for us because we are overdue?”

“No.”

“What are you doing out here?”

His jaw ticked again. “Hunting.”

His word sent a shiver down Elinore’s spine. “How did you find me?”

“The gunfire. It will likely draw the others.”