Bisclavret

Chapter 25

We keep our distance from the other riders for the rest of the journey, staying close enough that I feel a glimmer of their collective energy but far enough away that I'm not in danger of being invaded by other people's thoughts.

This time I see a figure as large as Henri raise its hand in the front of the column - the baron? - before the horses slow to a stop. Movement erupts down the line as the torches are extinguished. Henri follows suit, plunging us into darkness, and I blink, momentarily blind. My gelding stops without my urging, no doubt as sightless as I am.

"Here, give me your reins," Henri rumbles, and I see his dark outline leaning toward me.

I hand them over, straining my eyes, wondering what the other men are doing. The sounds of moving horses, hushed conversation, and rattling weapons fill the night. Is this our ambush point?

Henry leads my horse up the embankment bordering the road - I think we're heading in the opposite direction as the rest of the men - and then we're inside the tree line. My eyes were starting to adjust, but I see almost nothing in these deeper shadows, just the outline of trees rising out of the gloom like sentinels on either side of me. Leaves crunch beneath the horses' hooves. Somewhere nearby, a night bird calls, low and mournful.

The scent of pine fills my nose as Henri leads me onward. We walk a good way into the woods, far enough from everyone else that I can't hear them anymore. With their energy gone, the cold creeps back in, and I tug my cloak closed and pull my hood up to try and trap my body heat. Finally, Henri stops the horses.

"Now comes the hard part," he says, and I think I hear him dropping from his saddle. "We wait."

I squint into the darkness, barely able to distinguish his bulky frame as he leads his horse to a low-hanging branch. He ties the reins to it and comes back to me, arms reaching. "Here, I'll help you down."

I cling to the pommel as I swing my leg over the saddle, terrified of slipping and breaking an ankle in this godforsaken gloom. Henri's hands land on my hips, and I tip forward, planting mine on his shoulders and trying desperately to ignore how broad they are, the way I can feel his dense muscles flexing even through layers of clothing and the leather of my gloves. His grip tightens, and then I'm airborne, descending gently to the ground.

"Stay here," he says, leading my horse away.

"Not like I could go anywhere," I grumble. I can't see a damn thing, and I don't like it. I'm still unsettled by what just happened - I heard someone else's thoughts - and even Henri, a man who is most likely some sort of mythical creature, was visibly shaken by it. That can't be good.

At least I got one questioned answered: I'm not turning into whatever he is. But that fact doesn't do anything to soothe me right now because if I haven't been infected by some supernatural ague, then what's happening to me would still be happening whether I came here or not. This isn't a foreign force corrupting me; it's been inside me all along.

My breath hiccups and I can feel panic fighting its way to the surface. I grab at Henri as he returns from securing my horse. "Turn it up."

I don't have to explain what I mean. His big hand palms the back of my head, pulling me into him even as his energy flares, soothing me. My cheek lands on his chest, the itchy wool of his cloak abrasive on my skin. I shove it out of the way and bury my nose in the softer fabric of his jacket. It smells like him, like sunshine and pine and musk, that particular wild scent that makes me think of deep forest in the middle of summer.

I wrap my arms around his thick waist and breathe him in, and his come up to band around my shoulders, pulling me even closer. I feel him exhale beneath my cheek, chest concaving and muscles loosening as the tension leaves his big body. My own begins to drain away with it. It's hard to panic when I'm wrapped up in his embrace. I feel shielded by him, protected, like the forest could erupt into violence, and I'd be safe here, sheltered in his arms.