The Changeling Bride (20 page)

But that did not explain why she had claimed such outlandish assertions, like being older than she was and having a different name. He had not pressed her about it. Her behavior had unsettled him,
frightened
him even, and he had not known how to handle it.

And at the time, he could not help feeling partially responsible for her deranged state. He had not been gentle with her. He had behaved like a satyr, treating her with the debauched lust a man would show a whore, not a gently bred wife. Perhaps he had pushed her over some edge of sanity.

An ugly possibility appeared in his mind: It might even be possible that the real reason he had not seen her in the days preceding the wedding was that her family had hidden her. Maybe they’d been afraid he would sense
some growing mental imbalance in her and call off the ceremony. Her father had been desperate to have an earl as a son-in-law. He already knew the man had lied about other things.

He turned back to his desk, but the papers there only reminded him of other lives that depended upon decisions he made.

Unbidden, the face of his great-grandmother came to mind. It had been too long since he had visited her. Even silent and senile as she was now—and she
was
silent and senile, no matter what stories Elle made up—her presence helped him to think more clearly. He strode from his office without another look at the pile of work on his desk.

He paid little attention to his surroundings as he headed down to Lady Annalise’s rooms. He had learned as a boy that the easiest way to find her suite was to only pay attention with half his mind to where he was going. His feet seemed to follow the correct path only when his brain did not interfere. Ridiculous, really, that it could even be possible for him to make a wrong turn in his own home, but by long habit he kept his mind blank, and soon found himself at the heavily carved door with the fancifully wrought hinges and handle.

The door was ajar, as it always was when he came to visit. As a boy he had assumed it meant that she knew when he was coming, and had half believed that she held some special power. Now, older and wiser, he thought it most likely that she left it ajar at all times.

He rapped his knuckle against the wood, then pushed the door open. “Great-grandmother, ’tis Henry. May I come in?”

She was seated next to a wood fire, bundled in layers of clothes, her head covered by a brocade cap that tied under her chin, with a bedraggled tassle hanging from the crown. He had never seen such a thing except in her possession. When he was little, half the magic of coming
to see her was in discovering the odd bits and pieces in her rooms. When there were no unusual knickknacks on display, there were the tapestries on the walls to examine, and the tempera paintings on and between the wooden beams of the ceiling. He never failed to find something new each time he looked, and had sometimes imagined that the pictures moved.

“Good afternoon,” he said. Her chin was resting on her chest. He bent and tilted his head, the better to see her, and saw that her eyes were closed. He sat in the chair across from her and waited, unsure whether or not to wake her.

His problem was solved for him when she gave a sudden snore of sufficient volume to disturb her own rest. Her eyes fluttered open, started to close, then opened again as she saw him sitting in front of her.

“Good morning,” he repeated. “How are you feeling today?”

She stared at him, her eyes cloudy.

Henry leaned forward and picked up one of her hands, dry and wrinkled, and as delicate as the wing of a bird. His thumb stroked across the back of her hand as he tried to look into her eyes, searching for some recognition. None came and he sighed, disappointed, and felt foolish for even hoping. He could not imagine what had prompted Elle to claim Lady Annalise had spoken to her, when it was evident that the woman was in no clearer a state of mind than she had been for years.

“If only you could see how confused I am, would you have some way of helping?” he asked her. Her eyes stayed on his face, as if she were listening.

“Marriage is proving a uniquely troublesome condition.” He paused, thinking. “I am not inexperienced with women, so I know how irrational they are by their very nature. I was prepared for that.” He turned his head and looked into the fire. “But Elle . . . I don’t understand her
at all. I have even wondered if she is quite as stable mentally as she should be.”

He looked back at Lady Annalise and imagined he saw a shadow of disapproval pass over her features.

“She is a very unusual person, Great-grandmother. At times she seems quite intelligent. She has a sense of humor and has a sharp wit when arguing her point. On the other hand, to use her own words, she is ignorant on the most surprising of topics. At first I thought she was feigning ignorance, to annoy me and make me sorry I asked for this marriage. And now . . . I do not know.

“True, ignorance does not imply mental weakness,” he countered against himself. “And she is also female, so her emotionality and inscrutability cannot be held against her. And certainly, I have no reason to believe myself an impartial judge of her behavior.”

Henry released her hand and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and contemplating his situation. For some reason he could not understand, when it came to Elle he was incapable of the crystal objectivity he applied to all other matters. In the space of a week she had changed him from a man in control of his environment to one who frankly did not know which way was up.

He would not act yet. She was young. It had to be a frightening change for her, going from the safety of home to a new house, away from her family, and expected to play wife to a man she hardly knew. He would give her more time. If she settled down, fine and good. If her eccentricities showed a marked or troublesome increase, however . . . well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

He felt a little better now that he had reached a decision, however provisional. He turned his attention back to his great-grandmother and the room around him, feeling the familiarity of it comfort him. He imagined it did the same for her, and any thought of moving her to another part of the house seemed cruel. If she no longer
held memories in her own mind, then they were held for her here in this room. He would not take her away from them.

A door opened and Sally, Lady Annalise’s waiting woman, came in bearing a tray.

“Your pardon, milord! I thought her ladyship was alone.”

Henry rose and took the tray from her, setting it on the table next to his great-grandmother. “No apology necessary. Tell me, how has she been faring of late?”

“Same as always, milord.”

“She has not . . . been talking at all?”

“She lets me know what she needs well enough, but I would not say she has been talking.”

“Ah, well, I suppose it was too much to hope. And you, Sally? How are you doing? Do you need any extra help?”

“Oh, no, milord. Not at all.” She looked alarmed at the prospect. “I would not have it any other way. I may be old, but I am still strong enough to look after her ladyship. I know her ways. She would not like someone new interfering with her things.”

“We will be hiring new staff so if you change your mind, just let either Thomas or Abigail know.”

“Thank you, milord.”

Henry bent down and kissed Lady Annalise on the cheek. “Thank you for listening.”

He straightened up. He would go find Elle. An afternoon’s distance may have served to calm her down after this morning’s events. It was unthinkable to go back to work, when she was somewhere in the house.

The door closed behind him, and the room was silent as his footsteps faded down the hall. When Henry was out of earshot, Sally spoke to her mistress. “Do you really think ’tis fair, what you are doing to him?”

Lady Annalise gave a knowing little smile.

Chapter Fifteen

The dirt road eventually led out of the woods to a small village on the edge of fields. Elle drew back on the reins, halting Belle at the end of the trees. She couldn’t ride through that village, a woman riding bareback in men’s clothing, a white dog alongside. She would be immediately noticed, and anyone looking for her might be able to find her before she had a real chance to escape.

She turned Belle back into the woods and retraced their steps to where a footpath led off into the forest. The book said that fairies preferred woodlands, and preferred hills. She had the proof of that from her own experience, and so it was that combination she sought.

The path grew narrower as they went, the undergrowth heavier. Tatiana took up a place behind her and followed in silence. Elle lost all sense of direction, and whenever the path forked, she allowed Belle to choose their way.

The woods grew dark as night approached, and still she had not come across a hill in the forest. Gentle rises
and shallow depressions, yes, but nothing like the hill behind her apartment complex, or the hill near Eleanor’s home. There had to be one here somewhere.

If she had to wander these woods for two days, she would. It had come to her this afternoon that there was still a way to reverse what she had done with Henry. If she could get home, she could make an emergency appointment with her gynecologist and get the morning-after pill. She wouldn’t get pregnant. It was a thin thread of hope, but it was better than nothing.

It was getting hard to see the path. Rustling and crackling sounds in the woods that had not bothered her in the light of day began to play upon Elle’s nerves, and her tension transmitted itself to Belle. The horse began to shy at waving branches and at the sudden call of an owl. It was dark enough that even if she came upon a hill, she might not see it.

She was considering the necessity of stopping for the night when a fuzzy dot of light appeared up ahead, bobbing through the air. She had read enough about will-o’-the-wisps to hope that this was one, no matter their reputation for leading one to an unfortunate end.

Elle could feel Belle’s uneasiness about the wisp through her thighs. The mare’s flesh fairly quivered with tension. She nudged the reluctant horse to a quicker pace, following the bobbing light, but when they came to a low-hanging branch that swayed across the path, the mare shied and would go no farther.

“C’mon, Belle, it won’t hurt you,” Elle tried to persuade her, patting her neck. “They’re just leaves.” She tried digging her heels into the mare’s side, but Belle backed up, then sidestepped, her head jerking as she fought to turn around on the narrow path.

“Please, Belle, we’ll lose the wisp.” Still the horse struggled, snorting and pulling at the reins, and Elle began to worry she might not be able to control her mount.

The light bobbed back toward them, and Belle’s ears
flattened to her head. Elle was just beginning to hope that the wisp had come back to help when it flew past her and zapped itself against Belle’s backside.

The horse became one enormous bunched muscle beneath her, and then Belle sprang forward, breaking through the overhanging leaves and charging down the path as if her tail were on fire. The wisp zipped on ahead, but while it went down one fork in the path, Belle chose another.

Elle clung to the mare’s mane, flattening her body as the branches that overhung the path became lower and lower. She ducked her head and felt twigs drag across her scalp and down her back. They were not even on the path now. Belle raced through a portion of forest with mercifully little undergrowth, the ground rushing by beneath her frantic hooves.

Elle raised her head just in time to make out the dark shape of a tree limb. The next moment she was sprawled on the ground, the breath knocked out of her. After an agonizing minute of trying to gasp for air, her muscles obeyed and she breathed in the dank scent of the forest floor. She reached up and touched her forehead, but could feel no lump or cut skin. She could not tell where the limb had hit her, now that she had the bruises from the tumble to the ground to confuse her.

She sat up, and Tatiana came rushing out of the darkness, finally catching up to her mistress. Elle wrapped her arms around the dog, and rested with her face in the thick white fur. She had never been on a bolting horse before and needed comfort.

At last she raised her head and could see only variations of black and grey around her. There was no sign of Belle. She took off her makeshift pack and untied the scarves. The bowl had broken, and the small crock of honey had spilled its contents all over the book.

She wiped the book off as best she could on nearby foliage, then dumped the broken bowl and the crock,
packing the rest back into the scarf. She stood, relieved to find that her legs still worked, for all that her thighs were damp with horse sweat and she felt bowlegged.

“Damn it, Tatiana, what am I supposed to do now?” The forest seemed a lot less friendly now that she was down on the ground and had only her own slow legs to rely upon. She stared into the darkness, trying to make out one direction that was more promising than another.

A small light bobbed into view.

“What do you think?” she asked the dog.

Tatiana panted. Elle shrugged and followed the light.

Henry pulled back the edge of the four-poster’s drapery and frowned at the neatly made bed within. What the devil? Marianne had expressly told him that Elle was resting in her room and had asked not to be disturbed.

He looked around the bedchamber, as if it would tell him where his wife had gone off to. The room told him nothing.

He went and found Thomas, who had not seen her, and then Abigail.

“No, milord, but Betsy did say as how the countess had come to the kitchens some time ago.”

“What did she want?”

“I do not know, milord.”

He tracked down Betsy.

“Bread, milk, and honey, milord. And she wrapped it up in a scarf with a book, and looked as if she were going outside.”

“An impromptu picnic, no doubt,” he said, not believing it, and suspecting Betsy did not quite believe it either. He would not have the staff thinking his countess had run off if he could help it, but the tension in his gut was telling him that that was exactly what had happened.