By the Light of the Moon (10 page)

No, Owain did not seem like the person who wouldn’t consider the lives of innocent strangers, not least of which because it would be dangerous for him. She couldn’t remember the last time a person had been murdered in Rochmond or had even gone missing and surely such an event at the first full moon since a Blaidyn had come to the Keep would arouse suspicion. Owain didn’t seem like the kind of person who would risk lives, either others or his own. He would go into the wilder forests in the foothills of the mountains. There were some mines further up and some woodchoppers’ camps but mostly it was leagues of nature untouched by human hands.

It wasn’t a big leap from that realization to reaching for her leather shoes. If he was out there, she had concluded, he wouldn’t be close. And if he was far away, this was the only night of the month where she had a chance to escape.

She didn’t bother putting the shoes on. She enjoyed the feeling of her naked feet on ground or grass and it would help with keeping quiet. Nor did she put on other clothes. She was too excited to wait. Also, the more clothes she put between herself and the moon and the night air, the less free she felt. It wasn’t something she would ever express to anyone, but she knew it to be true.

Shoes in one hand, she stuffed her bed in such a way that just a casual glance might fool someone and then quickly snuck out into the hallway. The castle seemed quiet already but she continued to sneak anyway, enjoying the alive feeling of her heart hammering in her chest. She made it down the stairs and past the point where Owain had waited for her during her last attempt. It was empty and quiet now, with no one there to hinder her way to the garden.

Toward the back, between the fragrant beds for herbs and spices was a low door that led toward the kitchen and Moira made for it quickly. There was always a chance that someone was looking down at the garden from one of the windows above.

Inside, she took a deep breath. Here, there was even less light than in the larger hallways, but Moira had always had a talent for finding her way in the dark. She knew there was a little window in the next room and she found the door by feel. She could still feel the warmth of the furnace radiating even after the fire was out and she quickly crossed the room to another door; this one led into the small orchard.

The orchard was still part of the keep but it wasn’t inside the walls. She knew that should the Keep ever be attacked again, it would have to be remedied but the decades of peace had slackened security for concerns of convenience. The orchard needed quite a lot of upkeep and caring for, and Moira made use of that little weakness.

The key was on a board next to the door; she slipped it into the lock and before she knew it, she was outside. She had forgotten how easy it could be. Apparently her father had not thought about the full moon now that he put all his confidence in Owain, because no guards had been stationed anywhere like they had been before the Blaidyn’s arrival.

She could only really ponder this until her first step onto the grass, where the cool and damp blades caressed the soles of her feet. She breathed in deeply and there it was; the night wind and the taste of the moon, of coming rain and distant snow. A perfect smell, tinged with a note of apples that made her smile. She had enough sense to slip the key under a stone by the door and close it quietly but then she took off, walking from tree to tree, touching bark and leaves and plucking an apple because being outside made her suddenly hungry where a few hours before she had hardly been able to get anything down at dinner.

She could have stayed there, in relative safety, could have sat in the orchard; but it wasn’t quite enough. It made her think of Deagan now and the wind breezed more freely the further away she was from stonewalls and high structures.

She knew two weak places where she could cross the moat; one was just a natural narrower spot that allowed her to jump, and the other was a large stone that lay in the middle of the thin stream. And when it hadn’t rained for a while like the last few weeks, it wasn’t hard to climb down the slope and step onto the stone to reach the other side.

The second was further away but it was safer and she only jumped when the water level was too high to use the stone. It had another advantage. From where she stood now, when she looked down the hill upon which the Bramble Keep stood, she saw mostly mountains; trees on the slope limited her view. From there, though, suddenly the entire valley, from Lake Coru to the mountains, lay open for the view and she caught her breath every time she saw it from there — it was more beautiful when you were outside and everything was right there for the taking, for the walking upon.

Moira made for it, leaving the orchard behind while occasionally biting off a piece of the apple. She had to concentrate on where she was going; most of her way, she had to squeeze herself against the wall and put one foot in front of the other, making sure she didn’t slip. There was another reason she didn’t look up. It was a game she played with herself; she would only look up at the last moment, when the entire vista opened up in front of her in all its nightly, moonlit glory.

The anticipation made her fingers shake a little and she could feel her chest expanding like a balloon as she maneuvered her feet around tufts of grass that might make her stumble. One hand was always against the old wall, a little damp in the night air and moss in its cracks here, where the thorny vines that had given the castle its name didn’t grow. They slung their brambles up the spines of the highest tower around the gatehouse and the drawbridge at the other side.

Finally, she spotted the stone, bright against the muddy trickle of water in the moonlight. A smile hushed over her face and she wondered why nobody else ever walked along here and found those small vulnerabilities that made her prison — at least at times — penetrable. Almost there and just before she would concentrate on climbing down the small slope, she lifted her head in anticipation of the view.

Instead, she jumped back, barely concealing a shriek of fright. At the other side of the moat stood a creature, massive and silent. For a moment, that was all she could see. Her heart was pumping blood into her head so hard and fast, she felt as if she was drowning and she swayed while she waited for her vision to clear again. But it was still there; a huge animal, furry and canine but like nothing she had ever seen. Its head was larger than her own; not by much, but certainly unlike any dog or wolf she had ever seen and its neck sloped down into a massive chest, packed with muscles, broad and intimidating. Where ordinary dogs had sleek, thick legs, this creature’s appendages were stronger and larger; yet, it didn’t give the impression that this would inhibit its range or accuracy of motion at all. It was a stunning sight — petrifying but there was an undeniable beauty in the deadly animal.

“Owain?” she asked tremulously. In the first moment of fright, she had pressed her body against the wall of the Keep and she was now pushing herself off again, trying to look less like a frightened little girl. It had to be him — it couldn’t be anything else. It looked like a wolf in a way, just none that could ever have been born from a natural wolf mother. It would be a freak of nature with its size and oddly proportioned head.

At first, it showed no sign of recognition but finally, the wolf swished its tail and then it sat down on its hindquarters and tilted its head to the side. For a moment, its eyes caught the moonlight and they glowed eerily in the dark.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” she asked again, quieter now. He seemed tall enough to reach her lower chest at its spine and carefully she lowered herself to the ground until their eyes were at the same height. The moat still between them, she was afraid but no longer terrified and with each passing moment, she grew more fascinated as well.

He was beautiful, with his fur almost silver in the moonlight; she guessed it was gray by day. He swayed his head again and perked up its ears while he watched her intently, his mouth slightly open. He looked neither aggressive nor threatening and Moira found herself smiling a little. Just for a moment, the huge beast looked almost sweet; as if he was trying to figure something out.

“Are you going to let me pass?” she asked then, brushing the dress over her angled, squatting knees and raised her brows. She had no idea whether he understood her at all while he seemed to just be watching her. Then suddenly he broke into a flurry of movement that almost had her jumping back again. He leaped up and when he landed on the ground again, his body was low, his front paws extended and his mouth was open, panting slightly. It took her a moment to recognize the familiar posture in the huge creature but when she got over the size of him — he looked decidedly playful.

And Moira started to climb down the slope. She wasn’t afraid of him but the decision came when she realized that she wasn’t afraid of the worst case scenario, either.

Slipping and sliding a little, she finally pushed herself off and got both feet on the broad, flat stone. She dared another glance at the wolf that was now a few feet above her, looming there against the dark sky. A shiver ran down her spine, but it wasn’t altogether a bad feeling.

Climbing up the other side was easier. She held on to tufts of grass and she knew the place well, knew the outcrops that supported her weight. When she stood in front of him, he sat up again, sniffing the air.

Carefully, Moira offered her hand; grass and earth-stained, very much drenched in her scent. The massive head inched closer, and she could hear the quiet sniffing sounds before he nudged his wet nose against her palm. There was something in her chest, somehow warm and glorious, something that made her want to giggle or throw her arms around the creature — it was a feeling she hardly recognized. It took her breath away, but finally, she moved her fingers carefully along the side of his muzzle and to his ears, rubbing shyly at first. When he uttered a tiny noise of pleasure, she grew more confident and had a beaming smile on her face without even knowing how it got there.

The wolf moved his shaggy head, nuzzling her hand and then her arm. There was a driven quality to his motions when he reached her wrist. His wet nose tickled, but it was a good feeling. Next, she could feel her sleeve brushed upwards and a hot and raspy tongue brushed over her arm. She swallowed a little squeal. He continued to sniff and nuzzle there and finally, Moira pulled away. She brushed the sleeve back down, ashamed of the scratch-marks her fingernails had left there.

The wolf just looked at her with his ancient, silver eyes.

“Do you … want to run with me?” she asked finally. If there was still something of the rule-abiding Owain inside of him, he’d probably dislike the idea. Before she could ponder this further, the wolf had jumped up on all fours again. Playfully, he leaped a few paces down the hill and then back to her. When he did it again, she followed. She pulled her nightgown up high enough to free her movement and then she ran after him, stumbling down the grassy hill.

When the paths got rockier, she slipped on her shoes and freed up both hands to stretch her arms out wide into the wind. She knew the wolf was humoring her, could have outrun her immediately, but he kept her pace, stopped when she needed to breathe or when she tumbled laughing into a heap of leaves under an ancient linden tree.

It was a night like none other in her life. She had never shared her secret expeditions with anyone — that was the point; to get away and be alone. But the wolf wasn’t a person; the wolf made it better. He made her laugh so easily just by flicking an ear or posturing like a hugely oversized puppy.

Yet nothing about him felt like a pet. Her father owned dogs and she had played with them and petted them. The wolf wasn’t like that. He was powerful and deeply independent. And even when he jumping around because it made her giggle, she had the distinct feeling he was doing just because it was making her happy; because he wanted to and that he could stop and walk away at any time. He was a truly free creature and Moira was enchanted with him.

• • •

When she found herself back at the foot of the Bramble Hill, it came as a surprise. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed but it was still dark without any sign of dawn and she felt rather gloriously tired. Physically tired this time; naturally tired. Her nightgown was partially soaked from playing by the river and her hair was tangled and full of leaves and flecks of earth. It was the wolf who had led her back here and even though she wouldn’t have chosen to go back, she was glad he had.

Before, she had tried to avoid being caught but ultimately hadn’t really cared. Her father’s exasperation wasn’t an experience she relished but it didn’t particularly hurt. Neither did the guards’ looks or the humiliation of being found. Sometimes she’d even wanted to get caught as though one day, it would lead her father to understand who she was and what she wanted or needed. But if he did, he never showed it.

This night, however, the wolf and Owain were involved and the idea of getting them —
him
— in trouble caused her a surprising amount of discomfort.

“Are you coming, too?” she asked quietly, raising her brows.

It was difficult to gauge the wolf’s gestures and body language, but he sat down and Moira supposed that meant no. Images of how he might turn back into the man she knew sprang to mind and made her shudder a little. She looked at him closely.

Finally, she sunk to her knees and nudged up her chin. The wolf inched a little closer and she closed her arms around his massive neck. He smelled like river and earth and adventure.

The room was empty. The windows open wide, a dress on the floor, pillows padded under the blanket. But no young lady.

Iris inhaled but her sense of smell wasn’t as keen as it once was. Instead, she quietly crossed toward the windows. The moon was bright but she couldn’t quite see much of anything; dark shrubs, dark trees. Again, no young Lady Rochester.

Nightly wanderings had been among the rumors she had picked up from the servants and the general chatter of the castle but faced with an empty bedroom, it still surprised her. Her bed was still neatly made; the blanket was stuffed but not pulled out from under the edges. The girl hadn’t been in bed at all. Iris couldn’t imagine she had climbed down the open windows but nothing else in the room gave any indication to where she might have gone. There were jeweled hairpins and earrings, a necklace, and bangles carelessly strewn across her little bedside table. It made Iris frown with a sense of annoyance, deep enough to surprise her.