Alexander-Fyn-Sanguinarian

pale. “What you heard, madam, was the wind whipping about the turrets. It sometimes sounds like a scream, but I assure you it was not.” Raven looked down at the big, bulky woman, wondering if he should dismiss her at once. She’d be nothing but trouble.
    “He said it was seagulls.” She nodded at Hodder. “Didn’t you?”
    “I did, Mrs. Brackett, but I wasn’t thinking,” Hodder stated. “The wind wuthers something awful ’round them turrets, just like his lordship said.”
    “It was a scream, wasn’t it, Miss Evie?” The woman turned to her young mistress.
    “It sounded like a scream to me,” Evangeline confirmed. “You have made me scream several times.”
    “But no harm came to you, did it? No real harm,” he asked.
    The bank manager had remarked that Miss Rutledge was pretty, and Raven saw now that he was right—though he was not sure he liked pretty women. She was the antithesis of him and he found he 38
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    appreciated the contrast. Small, very slender and fair with blue eyes, she looked up at him nervously.
    An overwhelming urge to see trust in her eyes enveloped him, leaving him confused for a brief moment. It was a strange and unfamiliar feeling. “Ahh, sweet child,” he whispered, succumbing to a moment of tenderness. “Don’t be afraid of me. I won’t harm you, but neither will I suffer screams and tantrums and disobedience. Go to your chamber now and rest. You must be tired after such a long day.
    Are you tired?”
    She appeared on the verge of tears. “I am quite well, I assure you, my lord.”
    “You will join me for dinner in an hour or so.” He nodded at Munk who stepped forward.
    “Where is your portmanteau, Miss Rutledge?”
    “I have only that valise.” She indicated her old suitcase looking pathetically small in the vast entranceway.
    “You left your trunk behind because you thought you were running away and wanted no hindrance.” Raven raised a dark brow in question.
    Hodder piped up. “I’m afraid, my lord, that both ladies’ trunks are still in the hallway at Wimpole Street. When I found the ladies gone, I panicked and left everything behind.”
    Evangeline blushed, yet she met his eyes squarely, craning her neck to do so. “There was nothing in mine worth bringing, my lord, if the truth be told.”
    With a gesture Raven set the servants in motion. The young maids took their leave, still without a formal introduction to their new mistress. The footman took both suitcases and walked behind Munk toward the dark, stone staircase. She held a candelabrum aloft to light their way. Evangeline offered Raven a small curtsy and followed, Mrs. Brackett behind her.
    “Miss Rutledge,” he called after her. She turned at once to face him. “Let us have no more nonsense.” When she did not reply he said Sanguinarian 39
    more loudly, “Miss Rutledge! I said let us have no more nonsense.”
    “Yes, my lord, no more nonsense.” She dropped another small curtsy.
    “You may go.”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    Raven strode the vast distance across the Great Hall to the fire, dragged his chair several feet away and threw himself into it, one long leg draped across the wooden arm. “Wine,” he said absently, knowing a footman stood somewhere close by waiting to serve him.
    A glass was brought to him at once and he held it up to the light of the fire, looking into the gleaming ruby depths. He sipped the dark, dry wine, swishing it around his mouth. Wine was all well and good but what he really needed was to feed. From the pocket of his waistcoat he pulled a small vial of oil of cloves and tipped a bit onto his tongue, wondering if Dominica was in the mood to give.

    * * * *

    Evangeline gripped Mrs. Brackett’s arm tightly as they ascended the stairs. There was no banister to assist her, just stone walls on either side. She was suddenly dreadfully tired. It had been a long, exhausting day and everything was so dark and cold in the castle.
    Would daylight make it feel safer and warmer, if daylight could actually penetrate these thick, cold walls?
    At the end of what seemed an interminable walk, the strange, sullen Munk came to a halt and opened the door to Evangeline’s chamber. Like the rest of the castle, the walls were of ancient gray stone with no wooden paneling to give them warmth. The corners disappeared into darkness.
    Evangeline hated it at once. “It’s horrible,” she whispered to Mrs.
    Brackett, taking in the heavy, old furniture, all made from