How long had he been trying to get at her? It felt like hours. Clearly he was not giving up.
His eyes glittered blackly in the moonlight. They should have been red, a hellish, infernal red.
Suddenly he backed up, studying her. She held her breath. Was this it? Had he finally decided she was more trouble than she was worth? Or was he figuring out some way to get past her stick?
A moment later, the question was answered as he lunged again, his jaws closing on her stick.
He backed up, digging all four feet into the ground, hauling and tugging. She held on for dear life, breath caught in her throat, violently jerking the stick from side to side, trying to shake him off, bashing his muzzle against the boulders. As she felt her feet slipping, felt herself being pulled out of the crevice, in desperation she kicked at his face.
Moving too fast for her to react, he let go of the stick and his teeth fastened on her foot, penetrating the sheepskin as if it was thinner than paper.
A scream burst from her throat as the teeth hit the flesh of her ankle.
That somehow startled him, as nothing else had.
He let go as if her foot was red-hot, and backed away. She scrabbled back into the safety of the crevice, sobbing. Now, at last, she found her voice.
“Go away!” she cried out, her voice breaking. “Leave me alone!” Stupid, of course; the beast couldn’t understand her. And even if it did, why should it leave such a tasty meal, when with a little more work, it would have her?
But the wolf backed up another pace, head down, tail down, ears flat, staring at her as if it hadn’t until that moment understood it was attacking a human.
Now, rather than growling, it was eerily silent.
“Please,” she sobbed, “please just leave me alone!”
It stared at her. What was it thinking? She scrabbled to her feet again, stick at the ready, still weeping. Her ankle hurt, and she didn’t dare look down at it to see how badly it had been mauled. Surely there was blood-scent on the air now. Surely that would goad the beast into a final, fatal attack.
It backed up another pace, still staring. As she sobbed again, it finally made a sound, an odd interrogative sound deep in its throat.
And then, inexplicably, it ducked its head, abruptly turned away and plunged off, running into the woods. It bounded through the snow, a swiftly moving black streak on the white, weaving among the shadows. A moment later, it was gone. Except for the burning pain of her ankle, the entire incident might have been a nightmare.
She waited, sure that this was nothing more than an incredibly clever ruse on the beast’s part. But — nothing disturbed the serenity of the clearing. And after a moment, she pried herself out of the cleft in the rock, testing her ankle. It held under her weight, even though it hurt as badly as anything she had ever suffered, and only a little blood spotted the leather of the boot.
She broke into a limping run, moving as fast as she could for the safe haven of the city walls.
Behind her, a long, mournful howl drifted over the trees.
There was a great press of people getting into the gate, so no one noticed her state as she crowded in among them. The streets on the way to the Beauchampses’ home, however, were quiet.
On the one hand, as she limped homeward, she wished desperately that she would encounter someone she knew, someone who could help. On the other — she knew what would happen the moment her father discovered what had happened. She’d never be allowed outside the city gates again.
She began to try to think how she could treat her own injury — after all, Granny had been teaching her this very sort of thing for years, now. But as it happened, Bella met Doctor Jonaton at the front door. She had completely forgotten this was his evening to attend Genevieve, and of all of her stepmother’s doctors, he was the one she trusted the most. He was putting on his cloak as she stumbled inside.
“Bella!” he exclaimed, catching her as she overbalanced. “Good heavens, child, what is the matter?”
Her teeth were chattering so hard she could scarcely get the words out, but as he helped her in to sit at the fire in the empty parlor, she managed to get out the story of her narrow escape.
“Let me see your foot,” he demanded, and wouldn’t be put off. He pulled the boot off her foot, and she suppressed a yip as he peeled the stockings off, reopening the puncture wounds. He examined the white foot, critically, shushing her as she tried to protest that it was nothing.
“Don’t tell anyone what happened, please!” she begged. “Father is still at the warehouse, and Genevieve will have hysterics. No one has to know but us.” He frowned fiercely, and rang for a maid.
“Mistress Isabella has hurt herself,” he said shortly, when Marguerite appeared. “I want hot water and clean bandages.”
The girl’s eyes were as big as saucers, but she ran off and returned in no time with what the doctor asked.
“Don’t let Father know, please?” she begged him. “They’ll never let me outside the walls again if you do! I was stupid. I should have known better than to go through the woods at night, but even Granny didn’t think it was dangerous. I know it could have been horrible, but it all came out all right, didn’t it?”
He didn’t look up from his work, sponging off the wounds, which were no longer bleeding, then bandaging the ankle with salve and a wrapping of clean cloth. “I have to report a wild-animal attack like this to the Sheriff,” he said, with an unusually stern expression. “That’s the law, Bella. If wild animals begin attacking humans, they need to be hunted down. What if someone else is caught unawares by this beast? What if it’s a child?”
“But don’t tell Father, please!” she begged. “I promise, I’ll make sure that if I’m caught by darkness, I’ll stay with Granny, and I’ll do my best never to be caught like that again.”
“I would be a great deal more at ease if you would promise me never to go out there afoot again,” he replied, now looking up at her, his eyes worried. “If you had been ahorse, the creature would never have attacked you in the first place. Your father can afford the use of a livery horse.”
“I promise,” she pledged fervently.
“And I am not happy that he is not to know about this,” the doctor continued.
Well, she wasn’t happy about keeping it from him, either. “I’ll tell him I was hurt, myself,” she said — not promising to tell him how she was hurt, only that she had been. “He’ll probably insist that I hire a horse himself after I do.”
“Stand on that,” the doctor commanded. She did; it hurt, but no worse than a sprained ankle. She said as much.
“Good.” He rang for the maid again. “Mistress Isabella needs to go up to her room and rest,” he told her. “Help her to bed, and bring her supper there.”
“But — ” Bella began.
“I will be the judge of what you can do, young woman,” the doctor said sternly. “You’ve had a bad experience, and you need rest. The household can tend to itself for one night.”
With a sigh, she gave in and let Marguerite help her up the stairs, out of her clothing and into bed. But when she brought up a tray, Bella had recovered enough to write out orders for the household. Mostly, they were orders of who was to obey whom, with the Housekeeper getting official precedence over the chief of the manservants, who fancied himself a Butler. Mathew Breman is to follow the directions of Mrs. Athern, she wrote firmly and clearly. Unless and until such time as Master Henri appoints him to the official position of Butler, Mrs. Athern is his superior in the household, and if and when that day comes, she is then his equal in all things except the handling of the plate and wine cellar.