Chapter 14 The Headless Horseman
THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN
She sleeps soundly on his shoulder.
The feast his magic provided her lies thoroughly devoured atop the fine mahogany table. The Headless Horseman had ensured the food was laced with extra properties to help her gain weight. The supple curves he loved so much had withered into sharp bones.
A few more solid meals, and the damage the last month had done to her would be rectified.
She was already looking better. Color blooms on her delicate cheeks.
Her hair has regained some of its usual luster, sparkling in the candlelight.
Tendrils of it tickled his cheek as her head rests firmly against his shoulder.
Her breaths are deep and even, the swells of her breast rising against the neckline of her gown.
The Headless Horseman had not intended to sit beside her. Nor had he intended to feed her from his hand when she gave a feeble protest that she was full after a few measly bites, just as he had not intended to kiss her in the dungeon.
He licks his lips, stifling a groan.
He can still taste her. Scarlett’s lips were as sweet as ever, moving with his in a fever pitch.
Kissing her was different in this form—more primal.
His blood had boiled at the thought of laying her against the hard floor and taking her roughly.
Her sweet, high-pitched moans would break through the last of his resolve, and they would be one again.
Stifling a laugh, he gently shakes his head. He had not intended for any of it, yet he cannot be surprised. She is Scarlett—his Scarlett. The only one he’d do anything for. The one who didn’t betray him.
He wants to believe her so badly. There was no hint of deception from her as she showed him the difference between the treacherous note and her vows to that vile earl.
Those sterile confessions of love were nothing compared to the ones she’d given him beneath the moon.
They may have been written by her hand, but they had not come from her heart.
Glancing down, he sees the small scar on her palm. Removing one of his leather gloves, he takes in the dark gray skin. The long, bony fingers uncurl and reveal the matching scar along his own hand.
Time will tell if she is lying to him. Has his need for revenge warped him enough that he cannot discern truth from reality?
Those weeks when he blossomed into this creature were horrible.
Rage was his only sustenance. There is a chance that he is wrong about everything.
Oh, how he longs for that to be the case.
Earl Bram will reveal the truth when confronted with his death.
The young earl is prideful—he will not want to perish to keep up a ruse he didn’t want to partake in initially.
Surely Scarlett knows that and therefore wouldn’t have vowed to kill the earl if she were also complicit in the murder plot.
He regrets killing the duke so quickly, but nothing can be done for that now.
Glancing up at the crumbling ceiling, the moon glows above, flanked by dozens of twinkling stars. It must be very late. Scarlett’s exhaustion is evident. Sleeping inside the dungeon could not have been easy.
Shame swims up his throat, and he nearly chokes on it.
In these quiet moments with her warmth seeping into his side, he can admit to truths he’d rather stay hidden.
In his heart, buried deep inside the reanimated organ, he longs to take her in his arms again.
He wants to apologize to her and tell her he will never doubt her again.
The sight of her with the blade at her throat—the idea that she could leave him behind in this world when they swore never to be parted—undid him. He had traveled through death to be with her again, and he wouldn’t allow her to slip through his fingers.
With the moon as his witness, he beseeches it to let all of this be true. Let her innocence be vindicated, and let those who deserve to pay suffer tenfold. If he finds out she was still lying…no, he couldn’t even consider it. If this were another betrayal, he would—
Scarlett shifts along his shoulder, moaning softly.
Without thinking, he rises from the table, cradling her in his arms. Her arms go around him instantly as he makes the short journey down the hall. The large bedroom at the end once belonged to a queen. It will be fit enough for Scarlett to sleep in.
His magic has cleansed away the dust and decay. The cobwebs spreading along the walls like lace are wiped clean. The Headless Horseman pushes the double wooden doors open. Their golden hinges groan at the force.
Inside, the room has been restored to its former glory. Fresh paint coats the walls, the marble floor is polished, and the bed is made with fresh satin sheets and adorned with cloud-like pillows. Without preamble, he settles Scarlett atop the soft mattress. She sinks into the welcoming bed.
Her tattered gown contrasts with the fine sheets. Blinking sleepy blue eyes at him, she rolls around onto her side, groaning softly. Pushing up on her hands, she presents her back to him.
“Help me,” she whispers thickly.
The Headless Horseman swallows his chuckle as his fingers make deft work of her corset. After all, he’s helped her with her lacings more times than he can count.
Once she is free of the bindings, her stained gown hangs limply from her body. She fights with the cumbersome tiered skirt for a moment, then tosses it onto the floor. Her corset goes next, as does the ribbon around her neck. The dingy fabric flutters to the ground.
Her shoes hit the marble with two thuds.
Then, before he can look away, she slides the sleeves of her shift down her arms and kicks the garment away.
Her naked body is gloriously revealed in the moonlight.
Pale, blue light bathes her. There is no reason for false modesty between them.
She is lovely—the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. His mouth goes dry at the sight of her.
The glory of her nudity doesn’t last for long as she slips beneath the covers with a sigh. He glances behind him towards the open door. The decision should be easy. It would be unwise to stay when so much still lies unresolved between them.
Scarlett lifts her hand and beckons him closer.
“Stay with me, please,” she sighs.
His knees lock in place as he looks at her palm like a lifeline. The silence stretches, and her eyes turn more alert. Her full lips twist into a pout he knows all too well and has never been able to refuse.
“Please. Just until I fall asleep.”
He never stood a chance. Grumbling, he settles beside her on the bed. As this creature, he does not need sleep. Sleep was just more suffering—memories from the recesses of his mind sent to torture him.
Cushioned next to Scarlett, he feels at peace for the first time in a month. Her rosewater scent fills his lungs. She curls into his side, laying an arm across his chest, the same way they’ve fallen asleep together hundreds of times.
His hand raises and threads through her hair. She sighs as he rakes his fingers through the strands—old habits.
“Good night, Krane,” she murmurs against his chest, eyelids fluttering closed.
The Headless Horseman knows it is unwise. He should bite his tongue until it bleeds. It’s too much and far too soon. The truth will be revealed soon, and if she has been loyal to him, he will make up for all this unpleasantness then.
But he is a weak male, powerless but to succumb to her. It has been that way from the moment they met—it will be that way until he draws his final breath.
“Good night, my moon.”