Pursuit

1

Sorry for the font change- it's weird! I've never done a historical fiction or a mystery, so I hope it's okay!  Please comment, and vote if you like it!! :) 

Chapter One

Branches rake across my window like skeletal bones trying to get in. I sit up and light my candle, looking around the small, dark room. The candle throws shadows onto the side wall, making my silhouette impenetrable and distant. My bedroom is the farthest from my parent’s; it has served me well.

            I get out of bed and look out the window. I push the white curtains aside, and spot a crescent moon hanging over the dark sky like a twisted smile. This time, I am the one who smiles. Then, I reach under my bed and take out a pile of clothes. They are a boy’s clothes. They don’t belong on my body, but just the same, I put them on, and feel freer than when I had my nightgown on. My feet are bare, but my shoes will make too much noise, so these I carry.

            Silent as the stars, I creep down the back staircase, wary of the occasional servant that could be still awake. I hesitate near the parlor, for it is the room nearest my parents. Finally, I make my way to the back of the house and out the door, carefully closing it behind me.

            The coolness of the wind is a beautiful heaven compared the cramped and dry house. My family may be wealthy, but our house is as stuffy as any other in or around Williamsburg. I drink in the air, then walk silently towards the woods behind our house. I do not fear the woods, exactly, but I do respect them, as one should respect fire.

            I enter the trees, and continue down a deer trail. I can still see the crescent moon above me, like a tireless beacon. My feet crackle down on some branches, causing a whippoorwill to begin calling. It is a haunting, lovely melody, though I prefer the hoots of owls.

            Another whippoorwill answers the first as I approach a stream. It is quick running, but lower than my ankles and thin as a twig, so I easily step across it. I eventually come across an opening in the trees, and I get a good view of a dark, rectangular shape: the stables of the Lanchester estate.

            I hesitantly creep out from the safety of the trees. Then, I hurry to the fence of a smaller, side pasture, a little ways from the main stables. There are four or five horses in this field. Two of them are docile looking geldings, and one a great draft horse. One is chestnut in color, but I feast my eyes on the last ones; an agile stallion of midnight black, blacker than tonight’s darkness.

            I begin to climb over the rail. But suddenly, hands grab my waist, then cover my mouth to prevent my screams. I kick back, but the hands are stronger and pull me down to the ground. My mouth is released, and I am about to yell when I recognize my attacker.

            He is tall, with a thin but athletic build. His hair is as black as the midnight horse, but his eyes are the color of the chestnut one, though softer and full of mischief. He is almost sixteen, about seven or eight months older than I, and his smile is crooked, trying to cover up his mirth.

            “Sander!” I whisper furiously. “I thought I’d die of fright.”

            “Well, you didn’t,” he says, now not even bothering to hide his amusement. He chuckles, and would have probably laughed had I not pushed him against the fence. “Whoa, Verity,” he says. “You might be dressed as a boy, but you can’t hold a candle to the strength of one.”

            “Shut it,” I reply tersely. I love Sander and hate him with the same breath.  

            He pretends to rub his shoulder, then one I had pushed. I ignore him, and gesture to the horses. “Are you ready?”