Page 43 of Wolfhaven

“He hasn’t come down yet. I found a strange woman skulking about the kitchen this morning. She wasn’t a very nice sort. Peculiar eyes and greasy hair. She hardly blinked.” Gran stared at her trying to imitate the woman’s flinty gaze. A poor imitation but Evaine knew exactly what Hazel was trying to convey.

“Bess Cogswell. The groundskeeper’s wife. I had a brief run-in with her yesterday. She seems to regard this place as her own home. Doesn’t appreciate us outsiders barging in.”

“I hate to offend the lady of the manor,” Gran scoffed. Evaine chuckled.

“The only person she is deferential toward is Gareth, and even with him she displays the bare minimum of respect owed a peer of the realm.”

“I didn’t know you were such a sycophant for the aristocracy.”

“How dare you, Gran.” Evaine shot her a mock glare. “Did my red cloak ever turn up?”

“I haven’t seen it. Did you check the wardrobe upstairs?”

“It wasn’t there when I got dressed this morning.” Evaine had no reason to believe that Bess had taken it. The garment had been hanging here in the kitchen yesterday when she stopped by to light the water boiler, and it had still been there after she left. Gareth wouldn’t have taken it, and there were no other likely suspects.

Unless you counted the ghosts. For all she knew, Marina could have stolen it.

“Take my shawl,” Gran offered. “It’s not as practical, but it’s good wool and will ward off the chill. Where are you going?”

“To pick apples from the orchard. His lordship has forbidden me from wandering the house alone”—which Evaine was grateful for, to be perfectly honest—“and I can’t sit around doing nothing all morning waiting for him to wake up.”

“You could knock on his door.”

“An unmarried woman knocking at a man’s door would be wildly inappropriate. Even out here in the country, where no one would find out. Besides, he’s had a hard few days and he should rest. Will you be alright here for an hour or so? I need to check the snares I put out, too. It’s cruel to leave an animal trapped. Assuming I’ve caught any.”

Hazel promised to stay in the kitchen where she was safe. Evaine told herself she wasn’t disobeying Garreth’s order by wandering the grounds. He’d said she could pick the apples, what was left of them this late in the season. She slung an empty basket over her arm and set out into the bright morning. Along the way she made several detours to inspect her snares. Two were untouched. She collected the twine she’d used to make them, lest an unsuspecting creature be caught before she could return again.

The third, however, held a dead badger.

Evaine gasped when she saw its small black-and-white body torn open and the shocking red of its entrails spread across the ground.

“Oh, no,” she breathed. “You poor thing.” Gingerly, she removed the string from the animal’s neck. The twine was twisted so tightly around its throat that it had cut into the skin. The poor creature must have suffered greatly while trying to free itself. Guilt sank its teeth into her bones. “I’m so sorry, little badger. I was only trying to hunt for food, the same as you.”

A tear rolled down Evaine’s cheek. She swiped it away angrily. It would’ve been one thing if the fox had caught it. That was the circle of life. But she was the one who had caught it and left it to suffer until a predator had come along to rip out its guts while it couldn’t escape. To alleviate her guilt, she spent several minutes digging a shallow hole and placing the badger remains in it. A large rock served as a gravestone.

“I hereby return you to the earth. Now it’s the worms’ turn to eat you,” she said.

The clouds that had been so puffy and cheerful this morning, turned darker as she made her way down the trail that led to the apple orchard. Her earlier mood darkened along with the sky, though she tried to shrug it off.

Twenty minutes later the gnarled cluster of trees that had been planted in straight rows came into view. Downed fruit littered the ground. Evaine stepped around it and set her basket at her feet, reaching up to twist ripe red apples from the branches.

“Ick.” She grimaced when her thumb sank halfway into one rotted fruit that still clung to the branch. Birds and worms had gotten to many of the apples. There wasn’t as much bounty as she had hoped to find. But by the end of the first row her basket grew heavier as she selected the best remaining fruits still within reach. More ripe temptations hung higher in the branches. Perhaps she could come back with a ladder.

Or a taller person. A small smile tugged at her lips, thinking of the duke. He would have no trouble reaching the higher branches. They could have fun apple picking together on a fine autumn day.

If his ankle was healed.

If he didn’t seem to resent her almost as much as he liked kissing her.

He’d acted ashamed of getting caught with her yesterday. Gareth’s reaction had bothered her all morning.

She worked her way steadily down the second row and halfway up the third. Perspiration gathered beneath her arms and at the small of her back. Pausing to take a breather, she noticed a flicker of crimson at the periphery of her vision. Startled, Evaine jerked around just in time to see her red cloak flutter around the end of the row.

“That’s mine!” she exclaimed, darting after the figure wearing it and abandoning the basket of apples she’d collected. Whomever had stolen her cloak was quick. They ran across the hazardous field strewn with rotten apples, heading toward the forest.

“Come back,” Evaine shouted, but the figure didn’t halt. Her legs churned beneath her long skirt. She caught the brown fabric in her fist and ran full-out, dodging rotting fruit until she reached the trees. The figure in red was visible in the distance. How were they so fast? Who were they? It couldn’t be Bess Cogswell. She was too old to move that quickly.

Marina. The girl’s ghost wanted to show her something. Evaine’s steps slowed. Did she want to see it?