even read it if it had, such was her way in matters concerning Nathaniel.
The rain fell in sheets now, one belligerent wave after the other. In the distance, yellow light winked at him from the windows of Laurel Cottage, his family’s home. Nathaniel quickened his pace.
Gus, his pointer, bounded ahead of him. Normally, Nathaniel would call the pup back by his side, teaching him to stay with his master, but after the day’s troubles, he felt more lax than normal.
But then the animal stopped in the road and cocked his ear.
Nathaniel whistled low to call the dog back, but instead of obeying, Gus barked a series of high-pitched howls before abandoningtheir path and diving into a small copse of trees that separated the lane from the main road to Willowgrove Hall.
He cupped his hand around his mouth. “Gus! Come!”
Gus barked. Then barked again. No doubt the dog had tracked some unsuspecting hare or rodent. “Gus!”
But it was when he heard a shriek—a human, feminine scream—that he dropped his bag and raced through the thicket. The wet branches and leaves tugged at him as he forced his way through the thick brush.
Despite his wide-brimmed hat, raindrops latched onto his eyelashes, and he slid the rough sleeve of his woolen coat across his eyes. But in the split second it took to wipe the moisture away, he was through the brush. Standing before him was his dog . . . and a woman.
He stood, momentarily captivated, his movements slowed by the sheer shock of seeing her standing alone, in the road, at this late hour, and in this weather.
If anyone, he’d expected to see his sister, or perhaps one of the townspeople.
But this woman was a stranger.
Nathaniel stepped closer. His youngest sister’s stories of enchanted woodland fairies catapulted to the forefront of his mind. Especially when she was younger, his sister would pretend to see them on their walks through the forest.
But no, this woman was very real.
The stranger was cloaked in a pelisse that was so wet it appeared black and a straw bonnet with a thick ribbon that sat askew on her head. He could only see her profile in the night’s shadow, but her wet hair hung in clumps about her face and shoulders. She stood a few feet from the dog, hands at her chest, eyes fixed on Gus. When the dog moved closer, she scurried behind a tree trunk.
She had not yet noticed Nathaniel, but her shouts at Gus pulled him from his trance.
“Get away! Go!”
Nathaniel rushed to Gus and pulled the small dog back.
“I am sorry, miss,” he said, kneeling to hold the dog by the collar. “Did he harm you?”
The woman drew several breaths. Her eyes flicked from the dog back to him. “Y-Yes. I mean . . . no. He caught me by surprise, is all.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a sharp gust of wind pelted them with more rain.
“He is harmless. Merely excited.”
They stood silent for a few moments, each staring at the other. When he did speak, his words came out rougher than intended. “I do not believe we are acquainted.”
She clutched her pelisse closer. “No, sir, we are not. I am traveling to Willowgrove Hall.” She offered no additional information, only eyed the dog bouncing at its master’s feet.
Nathaniel thought it odd that a woman should be traveling alone, but if she were a guest on the property, he needed to make sure she was safe. “I am Nathaniel Stanton, steward at Willowgrove Hall. May I be of assistance?”
She drew a deep breath and met his gaze directly. “I am Cecily Faire, and I thank you, sir, but I am quite well. If you would be so kind as to point me in the direction of Willowgrove Hall, I will continue on my way.”
“Impossible.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the sound of the wind racing through the branches above them. “It is far too dark to walk in this weather. You’ve still about half a mile.”
He thought he noticed her chin tremble. “If I may ask, how is it you came upon this road? Most do not travel it
Learning to Kill: Stories