Heart of Thorns (sample)

Summary: After marrying a man she hardly knows, Catherine arrives at Thornwood Abbey. The gothic-style mansion is shrouded in fog and a sinister past. Not long after arriving, the secrets Catherine has spent a lifetime hiding are brought to light and everything she believes is challenged. One man has the answer to her unasked questions but the cost of knowledge is her heart.

Genre: Paranormal/Historical Fiction

Rating: PG-13

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Heart of Thorns (sample)

I never thought country folk could be so cruel, she thought as she wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Her auburn braid swung back and forth as she hurried down the road. The night pressed in around her. It was darker here in the country and too quiet. Each step on the gravel crunched and echoed through the night. The air was thick with moisture. As the darkness grew, she wondered if she should turn around and face the music. She'll be waiting for me in our room with that smug look on her face, knowing I was too afraid to do it.

Something scurried across the road up ahead. She stopped, heart hammering in her chest. Maybe being too afraid is better than dying at the hand of some monster.

"Who's there?" A shiver ran up her spine. Silence answered. I'm letting her get into my head; it's all just village superstition.

In the distance she heard the howl of a dog. Alone in the dark, she imagined a slavering beast on the hunt for blood, instead of the old farm dog it most likely was. Don't be ridiculous. You're letting the night scare you. You're better than this, Evelyn, she chided herself.

She continued on her way, a warm cider at the inn and pub, The Fairy Bride, would take the bite away from her fear. I'll have a drink and sit by the fire and let Miss Brown worry about explaining my absence to Mrs. Morgan. Just the thought of Miss Brown sputtering a flimsy excuse when the housekeeper came around to do her nightly check brought a smile to Evelyn's face. She clutched her shawl close to her chest with one hand and rubbed her arms with the other. There was a definite chill in the air. The mournful howl left an eerie silence in its wake. Footsteps thumped on the gravel behind her. She did not look back but quickened her pace. She could see the distant light of The Fairy Bride just past the grouping of trees at the end of the road. Yellow light spilled from behind opaque diamond-shaped glass. The door swung open, and local patrons tumbled out, the sound of laughter drifting on the air. I am nearly there, she thought. A hand fell hard on her shoulder. She screamed. She swung her hands at her her assailant. He spun her around and grabbed her by both shoulders, forcing her to face him.

"Please let me go. I never did no harm to no one," she sobbed. Her chin wobbled as she shook.

He laughed. A mocking sort of sound that brought her back from her terror quicker than anything else could. She looked up through her tear-clustered lashes into a handsome face.

"Miss Smith, it's a bit late for you to be out and about," he said with a crooked smile that made her heart skip a few beats.

She exhaled with relief. "Mr. Thorn, I thought you were one of those terrible creatures, the one the villagers are always talking about."

He grinned and patted her on the top of her head. It was an oddly familiar gesture that set her heart to pounding for a different reason entirely. She had noticed Mr. Thorn before; how could she not? He was tall with wide shoulders and long wavy hair that bordered on obscene. He was almost pretty with neat angular features and full lips. His hands were large with long tapered fingers. He had almond eyes and olive skin. He was exotic enough that she wondered if he was English at all. She'd heard a story passed around that his mother had been a Spanish dancer who had fallen in love with an Englishman. He had the skin for it, and his hair was a glistening chestnut.

Evelyn had worked in many a household in her twenty-one years and she had never seen a gentleman half as beautiful as Mr. Thorn, and he was only a gardener. It seemed ludicrous that someone this gorgeous spent his days toiling in the earth. So here she was, out past curfew, caught on the roadside by a dangerously handsome man. Not that she thought anything would come of this rendezvous. Mr. Thorn was beyond what she could hope for even in her wildest dreams.

"There's no need to fear. It is only me," he said with a grin. "Since we have happened to meet, perhaps you would like to go with me to The Fairy Bride for a drink?"

She was too shocked to even voice her assent. She pressed her hands to her lips to stifle her surprised 'oh' that was threatening to spill out. Miss Brown would be green with envy when she found out. It had been her plot to send Evelyn out later than was proper, a sort of initiation on joining the household. All the new girls did it she claimed, and if she wanted the staff to accept her she would need to do this right of passage as well. Desperate for friends, she had agreed. She never thought moving to the country would mean she'd feel quite so lonely. It took a while to make friends in a new place but the staff at Thornwood abbey were a particular closed off lot. Mr. Thorn was waiting for her answer. Her heart beat faster; this was too perfect for words.

"Yes, that would be lovely," she breathed.

He offered her his crooked arm, and she pressed the barest tips of her fingers to his arm and felt the soft velvet of his coat. It was dark out still, but she hardly noticed now, and the noise that scared her before did not seem so terrifying.

Together they went into the pub, where he ordered her a drink. They sat at a table by the fire, and the night went by in a happy blur. She felt many a jealous eye on her from the women patrons. She had no doubt that Miss Brown would hear about this, and she could only imagine the nasty things she would say, but for once, Evelyn did not care. When it got late, Mr. Thorn got up to settle the check.

When he was at the bar speaking with Mr. Humphry, the owner of The Fairy Bride, settling their tab, she felt the weight of the villagers' stares upon her. The villagers, like the household staff, were slow to accept her. And she still felt like an outsider among them. She squirmed for a moment before she could take it no longer. She slid out the front door, intent on waiting for Mr. Thorn outside. She caught his eye on the way out. He inclined his head and smiled to her. Her heart filled with that warm glow all over again. Even the cold outside did little to staunch her good cheer.

She rocked on the balls of her feet back and forth for a few minutes as she waited. Mr. Thorn is taking quite a while. She looked back at the door, wondering if she should go in and check. She hesitated she did not want to appear too eager.

A song drifted on the night air. It wrapped around Evelyn, and she snapped her head up. It seemed to be coming from the woods across from the inn. The Fairy Bride was set along the main road that led to the village proper. Like much of the village, the woods crept in to press against the buildings and other man-made structures. Though Evelyn did not miss the smoke and gray of London, she did find the ominous dark forests frightening, especially at night. They were full of unfamiliar noises, the occasional hoot of an owl or the crunch of leaves as a deer took flight through the underbrush.

The song dominated all those other sounds; it pulled at Evelyn, calling her forward. Come to us, it seemed to be saying. Dance, my child. Let your fears go. She stood in the light coming from the few remaining lit windows in the inn. Mr. Thorn would want to walk back with her, she shouldn't stray or he might think she headed back on her own, but she could not deny the pull of the song. She moved, her feet hesitant at first, then more assured.

She stumbled over a few rocks and fell to her knees. The pain that shot up her leg brought her back to the present. The song died away, and in its wake the darkness was more complete. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light of night, with nothing but the stars and a sliver of the moon to guide her. Why have the lights in the inn gone out? She did not have much time to puzzle the reason because a figure approached. The stars outlined his figure in a thin string of light. His features were left in shadow.

"Mr. Thorn, I am so embarrassed. I thought I heard something in the woods, and then I fell. Please don't laugh. My mother used to say I would trip over my own breath if I could." She tried to stand, but before she could regain her feet, he slammed her back down. He pinned her body by the shoulders against the hard cold ground, and her hips were straddled by his powerful thighs. "Mr. Thorn, what are you doing?" She kicked her legs and wriggling her torso, trying to break free to no avail.

"Hush," he said, his voice was husky, his breath warm against her face.

I am a fool! What else will a man think of a woman sneaking out after dark? This is why Miss Brown forced me to go. I knew she wanted the lady's maid position. How could I have been so stupid? They must have planned this together. I'll be ruined!

She tried to scream for help, but he covered her mouth with his hand. He ripped her bodice with ease; the ripping sound echoed back at her, compounding her shame. She sobbed as she felt the cool knife brush her skin as her petticoat was cut as well. Her flesh pimpled as it was exposed to the evening's chill.

He leaned in to whisper in her ear, "Don't worry, my pet, I don't want your body. I'm only after your heart."

She screamed as the knife he had used to tear her clothes was thrust hilt deep into her chest.

****

Catherine's eyes darted to the housekeeper as she wrung her hands. This is a sick joke, surely. The woman in white took a step closer and the butler walked through her without pausing. Catherine knew then that her symptoms had returned. She closed her eyes and counted to ten as the doctor had taught her. When she opened them, the woman in white was close enough that she could see the gaping hole where her heart should be. Catherine's own heart rattled around in her chest and she turned around to the banquet. She isn't there. She chanted over and over in her head. I will go about my morning as normal. With trembling hands she reached for a lid covering a serving dish. An icy hand rested on her shoulder, Catherine yelped and dropped the lid with a clatter. Mr. Hobbs, the butler, rushed forward.

"My lady, please let us serve you." He said as he righted the overturned lid.

He hardly came up to Catherine's chin and over the top of his head the woman in white watched her with hooded black eyes. She tore her gaze away, as the butler showed her to her seat at the far end of the table, and as she walked she focused on the bald spot on top of his crown. But she could feel the woman in white hovering at her shoulder demanding attention Catherine was not willing to give. He pulled out her chair and she kept her eyes downcast, the woman in white grasped at the hems of her sleeves, but her hands passed through Catherine giving her a chill. You are not real. She thought to herself. Go away, I know you are not real.

Catherine stared down at her platter, she had been famished before but now her stomach was tied in knots. The servants stood at attention, silent sentinels of the morning room. She picked up the fork prepared to make a show of eating when the woman in white leaned over the table, coming nose to nose with Catherine.

"He is coming for you next, leave while you can," said the woman in white.

"Go away!" Catherine slammed her fist onto the table. She could ignore her no longer. She screwed her eyes shut as she took ragged shallow breaths.

"Is there anything the matter, my lady?" asked Mr. Hobbs.

Catherine covered her mouth as she peeked at the butler. She had not meant to make a scene. They will think I am mad, and rightly so. She looked around the room, the woman and white had disappeared. She sighed with relief. She had managed to overcome it. But what if I start seeing things again? She shook her head to rid herself of such dangerous thoughts. The agitation only made her condition worse, she had to stay calm if she was to avoid another such fit.

"My lady?" Mr. Hobb prompted once more with a hint of agitation in his voice.

She needed to change the subject, "Will Lord Thornton be coming down to breakfast?" Catherine said.

The butler raised a skeptical brow, but did not press her further. "The master never takes breakfast in the morning room."

Catherine blushed, feeling a fool for asking something the servant considered obvious. There was still much to learn about her husband, she realized. Everything about her new life was different than her old one. She had seen hardly a hint of her husband since they arrived. Is this to be my life, alone in this giant home haunting the halls? She looked back to the place where she had spotted the woman in white, there was no hint she had been there but the hairs on the back of Catherine's neck still stood on end. I am seeing things because I am fatigued is all. They are not coming back, they cannot be.

"The former Lady Thornton took her breakfast in bed," said Mrs. Morgan, the housekeeper.

Catherine sank down in her chair as the older woman surveyed her. There was something about the high-collared black gown and her severe expression that reminded Catherine of a governess that had terrified her as a child. "Oh" Catherine squeaked. She had made another mistake. "Then tomorrow I suppose I shall as well." Though she would have liked the company. The large empty house frightened her and though the staff had been indifferent towards her thus far, it seemed much better than eating alone in her room. I am home sick already, and not even married two weeks.

The housekeeper continued seemingly without noticing Catherine's reply. "His lordship sent me to tell you he will be busy tending to his affairs today and wishes that you be at your leisure." Her lip curled as if the very idea of relaxation was repulsive to her. "He asked that I send you his love, and he says he will see you tonight at the dinner party."

The dinner party, she had been dreading this evening. Edward insisted on having some friends from the neighborhood over to make introductions. I only hope I do not embarrass him tonight. I have never been good in a group. She hated crowds, and preferred her solitude. When her affliction was at its worst, being around others had brought out the worst of the symptoms. And to this day she still feared parties as a result, despite a lack of symptoms for sometime. Until today that is.

"That would be pleasing," she lied, thinking that was the answer that was expected of her. What did a lady do with her day? She peered at her soft boiled egg and toast, the yellow yoke bled across the blue pattern of the china. She had no stomach for them after all.

She pushed back her chair, or attempted to, as a footman, ran forward and scooted it back for her. Still unaccustomed to so many servants, she smiled at him in thanks. It was going to take time to get used to this lavish lifestyle. But the footman did not return the gesture, his expression was stony, his lips were pressed in a thin line.

"Thank you," she murmured as a flush burned her skin along her cheeks and neck. He nodded his head and stepped back in line with the other two footmen.

"If you are finished eating, my lady, why not take a walk in the gardens?" Mrs. Morgan said, her arms folded over her chest.

"I thought we might speak about the household management; what is expected of me?" When she lived with her mama and papa, she had helped with much of the day to day management of their small household.

The housekeeper looked taken aback, "Do not trouble yourself, my lady. I have always managed things here at Thornwood Abbey. If there is an important decision on décor or china, I shall consult you."

She thinks little of my intellect, I suspect. Mrs. Morgan, presumably, had better things to do and headed to the door.

Pale gray light filtered in through the windows of the morning room. "Very well, I shall take a walk, then," Catherine said to her retreating back.

Mrs. Morgan stopped at the door leading out into the hall and said, "Be careful. The lawns can be hazardous there bushes you could get tangled in. Take care to stick to the marked paths." She took a few steps, hesitated, then turned around and added, "And stay clear of the woods by the south end. They are wild, and there's no pathways."

"Thank you for your kind advice." Catherine made a note to stay clear of that area. She had never like wooded areas, thinking of those long creeping shadows and all manner of beasts terrified her.

After donning an outdoor coat and a pair of boots, provided and draped upon her shoulders by her Lady's maid, Miss Larson, Catherine headed out. She strolled along the well-maintained garden path. A lingering fog clung close to the ground, swirling about her ankles. The gravel path crunched beneath her boots. Gray dominated the scenery but for the green of the lawn and the shrubbery that fought the encroaching fog. Ash and oak trees loomed above everything, seemingly threatening the cultured spaces. The gardeners must be in a constant battle to keep these hedges from going wild and from the natural flora from encroaching upon the flower beds, Catherine mused. Maybe I can speak with the head gardener. I would love to plant irises. Perhaps I can be of some assistance there, at least. She turned a corner, contemplating the notion, when the chatter of two women stopped her in her tracks.

"I cannot understand it, Miss White. Why would someone of the master's status marry such a girl?"

"I have not the slightest, Miss Brown. The way I heard it, he got this funny idea in his head one day to visit his mother's cousin. Then not a week later, he was off. Next we heard, he's married some girl!"

"Have you seen her yet?" Miss Brown whispered.

"Yes, a pale little thing, dark hair and huge eyes. Utterly average, really, I cannot imagine a gentleman like him settling for someone like her."

"Maybe she has a bit of personality?" Miss Brown offered, though she sounded skeptical.

"Not that I have seen. She's silent as death, and when she speaks, you should hear the airs she puts on, you would think she is Queen Victoria herself!"

"Maybe Lord Thornton is enchanted, growing up next to that forest. I have heard some awful tales."

"Don't be daft. Those are just stories mothers tell their children to keep them minding."

"I would like to see you going for a stroll during a Thorn Dwellers' Moon."

Miss White laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Let's take this washing in. It won't dry out here in this wet."

The sounds of the gravel crunching beneath their feet pulled Catherine from her reverie. How disgraceful, to eavesdrop on the housemaids! Tears pricked her eyes, and even trying to blame herself did not take away the sting their words left. She backtracked the way she came, hoping to avoid an uncomfortable run-in with the gossiping maids. If she had been a braver woman, or even a brasher one, she would have confronted the two of them. However, her cowardice sent her further from home than she planned on venturing.

She hurried along the path, blinded by her tears. The fog seemed to be growing rather than dissipating, and before too long she did not know where she was. She looked up and the house loomed in the distance. A two-story manor, ivy clung to its sides, the turrets erupted through the fog like spears and the shutters were closed. In the swirling fog, one would think the house abandoned. Trees lined the path she had stumbled upon. Judging from the overgrown beds, she suspected few came this way. A bench beneath an oak tree promised a good spot to rest and recollect herself.

The sun struggled to break through the haze of the earlier rainfall, and she shivered in her coat. The bench was practically ice as she sat down upon it. The cold seeped through her skirts, but she did not move, too afraid she would be seen tear stained and sniveling.

A breeze prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. Catherine looked up as the fog shifted and revealed a copse of tangled dark trees. They lay thirty paces from where she sat beyond the line of oaks, and swirled with mist. The branches seemed to reach out for one another, grasping and twisting until she could not decipher where one tree started and the other ended.

It struck her as odd to see such an untamed place among the manicured lawns and well-cared-for hedges and flower beds, well, except for these at her feet. It occurred to her: this must be the place of which Mrs. Morgan had spoken. A fine mess she had gotten into; she could not even follow a simple command. No wonder the servants had thought her unworthy of Edward; she was a simple girl, unfit for a gentleman of his status.

Tears were threatening the back of her lids once more when a faint song drifted on the wind. Catherine lifted her head to listen, straining to catch the tune. It beckoned to her. She stood and edged towards the end of the gravel path where the manicured lawns sloped down towards and crashed against the wild forest. The song grew clearer; if she just stepped a few feet closer, she could hear it better.

"I would not do that," an amused male voice said.

Catherine tensed and then twirled on the ball of her foot. A man with wavy dark hair tied into a knot at the base of his neck regarded her. He had a rake slung over his shoulder, and his white teeth flashed against his olive skin as he smiled at her. The woman in white's warning came to mind: he is coming for you. His smile was almost lewd, but that could have been her imagination. She ducked her head when she realized she had been staring.

"Haven't you heard the stories?" he asked.

The sensible thing to do would be to politely excuse herself, but her mouth moved without her consent. "What stories?"

"Those are the Thorn Dwellers' Woods. The locals say there are creatures who live in these woods, and at night they lure the unsuspecting in with their song before they take their heart."

She shivered and pulled her arms close to her. There was a reason she hated the untamed places; they were full of dark strange things. Her heart raced just thinking about it. Put it from your mind, she thought. It is all just your over active imagination at work. There is nothing in those woods that can harm you.

"What an awful tale," she said and hated the haughty contempt of her voice. He smiled again and she squirmed. "I should be heading back. It was a pleasure speaking with you..." She realized he had not introduced himself, nor had she. She was not certain she wanted an introduction. A gentleman would never tell a lady such a ghastly story. It had been anything but a pleasure. Good manners, however, had been ingrained in her like breathing.

"The pleasure was mine, Lady Thornton" he said.

She turned to face him as if drawn in by the spell of his voice. She searched his face. He had full lips, high cheekbones, and eyes dancing with mirth. He was handsome. Even she could not deny that.

"How can it be fair that you know my name, but I do not know yours?" She asked. Though she knew she should be away she lingered.

"My apologies, my lady. My name is Ray." He bowed and extended his arms as he did so. His movements were as fluid as water and as elegant as a dancer. The hairs on the back of her neck were raised and everything fiber in being was telling her to run but she could not move. A small part of her despite her fear was intrigued. The staff had all been cold to her, he had been the first kind person she met,

"You have no surname?"

"It's Thorn, Ray Thorn." He smirked as if he were indulging in his own private amusement. I cannot help but feel he is laughing at me.

"I should be going back now."

"Be careful, my lady," he said.

She hesitated, she may have been reading into his words, searching for a meaning where there was none. She decided not to ask, someone things were better left without answers. But she took a few steps before changing her mind. When she turned around however, she found the spot he had occupied vacated as if he had disappeared into the mist. 

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About the Author: NicoletteAndrews is the author of The Priestess and the Dragon, Kitsune, and the Diviner's Prophecy series. To learn more about Nicolette visit her page (click the external link)