Chapter Eleven
On the Run Once More
It took hours for Bridget to finally nod off in her chair near the hearth but when Clara was certain she had, she moved quietly from the canopied bed. She moved quite slowly, determined not to rouse the house servant from her sleep.
Clara had no doubt in her mind that Bridget was light in her sleep and she moved with great caution.
She had not seen Desmond again since he had stormed from her room earlier that afternoon and her anxiety was high as she waited for word on where he might be.
To further worsen matters, she had also not heard from Milo, which led her to conclude that the men had been involved in some form of altercation.
She had initially pleaded with Bridget to permit her to go silently and investigate matters beyond the walls of her chamber, but the servant disallowed her and Clara had little doubt that the woman would use force to keep her restrained if necessary.
The anticipation was breaking Clara and she knew she could not simply sit by idly as the night turned black.
She will have to forgive me for this misdeed, Clara thought, sneaking through the door stealthily, her peripheral vision on Bridget, lest the movement rouse her, but the servant remained snoring in her chair.
This is the least of my transgressions, Clara reasoned as she made her way to the bedchambers she had fleetingly shared with her husband.
“Desmond?” she whispered as she entered but it was plain to see that he was not there. The bed had not been turned down, nor was there a fire burning to warm the chill in the room.
She debated her next move with careful deliberation. The risk of finding Milo was great, she knew, but she also could not sit by and do nothing.
I must search the rest of the estate until I am met with answers, she told herself and before she could change her mind, she ventured forth into the dark corridors, her heart pounding in her chest.
In her haste to escape detection, she had not bothered to change from her nightclothes and the cold of the autumn night sank into her bones achingly. She shoved aside her discomfort and focused strictly on the matter at hand.
When you find Desmond safe, you can warm yourself by the fire without worry.
The house was strangely silent and when she was certain that her husband was not within its walls, she knew there was only one final place to look—the caretaker’s cottage.
You will certainly find Milo there, a voice in her head warned. It is foolhardy to go.
It did not stop her from stealing into the night, shivering as she wound through the maze. As she rounded the corner, her heart abruptly stopped its incessant thumping and she faced the cabin before her.
It was fully illuminated and from where she stood, Clara could make out two figures inside, entangled in a fight to the death.
“Desmond!” she gasped, stumbling forward, but when she arrived at the window to peer inside, her body seemed to lose all function.
She could not reconcile the scene before her, the mass of fur and blood, the guttural sounds of beasts in battle.
Wolves? Wolves have gotten into the cottage? Where are the men?
Transfixed by the strangeness of what she was seeing, it took her several seconds to pull her gaze from the fight and take in the rest of the cottage, her eyes falling on the mangled corpse at their feet.
Milo!
A combination of dizzying fear and confusion enveloped her, the desire to understand what she saw conflicting with the surreal aspect of the scene before her.
Wolves are not as big as men. They do not stand on their hind legs and scream at one another.
And yet these beasts did, spitting at one another through snouts larger than she had ever seen.
“DESMOND, STOP!” the smaller lupine finally cried out. “I submit! I surrender!”
“You will pay for what you have done!” the black-furred animal snarled back. “I will see that you pay a thousandfold, Isaac.”
“I will turn myself in to your father!” the grey, bleeding beast protested, backing away. “All I did, I did for the good of the pack!”
“You did it for selfishness, to undermine me because of petty anger. My father cannot think of a punishment good enough for you.”
No, Clara thought, backing away from the scene, her legs working as though on their own. It did not seem to her that she was consciously aware of their movement and yet she was back in the maze, her hands outstretched, warding off the attack she foresaw as inevitable.
Men cannot be wolves. My Desmond is not some monster.
But there was no other explanation for what she had seen except perhaps sheer madness.
Clara chose not to cling to the hope that she was merely deranged and she ran for her life.
~ ~ ~
There were brambles in her hair, her arms and legs scratched and bleeding, but she dared not stop. Clara’s breaths escaped in short, exhausted rasps. She had no sense of direction, the night black and near freezing. Her stockinged feet did little to keep her warm and despite the sprinting, she could not shake the penetrating frost in her blood.
You must rest, a small voice squeaked at her. If only for a moment.
She wished she could oblige the thought but her panic had not subsided. As long as she had been running, she was certain that whatever Isaac and Desmond were could run much faster.
I may never run far enough away, she thought miserably. Her lungs were ready to burst and she finally had no choice but to sink into the cold ground and wait for her lungs to recover the air they so desperately needed.
The rumors, the stories, they were all true. Desmond is a creature of the night, feasting on unsuspecting passersby who dared move across his land.
She wondered if Milo had known Desmond’s secret all along and simply had not told her.
Was this what he had planned for me? A brutal death like the one he just suffered?
She shuddered violently, unable to get herself warm.
I must keep moving. I must find a place to hide until I am certain he is not coming for me.
But Clara knew that was highly unlikely. Why would Desmond kill Milo and not her? They had betrayed him equally and while she did not claim to understand why Isaac and Desmond fought, it was clear that Desmond was not leaving the barrister unscathed.
She thought of how warm she had felt in his arms, how safe, and shook her head in disgust.
He was biding his time with all of us.
She stumbled to her feet. She knew she needed to keep moving while she still had a chance to survive. Who knew what kind of life waited for her if she managed to escape Desmond’s clutches, but at least she would be alive.