Chapter 33
Van Helsing swung down from the horse, landing in the snow, and led it toward a small stable beside the cabin.
“You lucky bastard.”
Mina looked up to see a man standing at the front door of the cabin, a black knit cap pulled low over his head, a great brown beard framing his face. His skin was ruddy from the cold, his eyes a vivid blue.
“Didn’t think you’d make it out of there alive,” he called out.
It was then that Mina caught the man’s accent—American, and not like any she had heard before. There was something of the southern states in it, unfamiliar and out of place in the Carpathian Mountains. She could not begin to imagine how such a man had found his way here.
“A pack of wolves was closing in on us at the end,” Van Helsing replied. “Keep an eye on the trees, if you will.” He turned to Mina then, wordlessly placing his hands at her waist and helping her down from the horse. “You can go inside,” he said quietly. “I’ll be right in.”
She nodded, but as she looked toward the cabin—where this new stranger now stood, having just retrieved a hunting rifle from inside—hesitation arose.
A nearby howl was all it took to push her forward, and she crossed the snow quickly, ignoring the stiffness in her ankle as she climbed the steps to the porch.
“You must be Miss Murray,” the man said jovially when she reached the door. “Or do you prefer Countess?”
She cleared her throat. “Just Mina is fine.”
“Very well,” he said, removing his hat and giving a gentle bow. “Quincey Morris. At your service.”
If spoken by someone else, she might have thought he was teasing her, but there was a glint of sincerity on the man’s face.
“Go on inside, Miss Mina,” Quincey said. “Warm up by the fire. You must be just about frozen.”
“Thank you,” she said softly, stepping through the open door.
The cabin was small but sturdy. A couch and hearth occupied the wall to the right, while a small table sat tucked into the far corner.
The kitchen took up the remaining space, its large window overlooking the trees beyond.
To her left, a short hallway led toward what she assumed were the sleeping chambers.
A shot rang out, and Mina flinched, spinning around to see Quincey standing in the front clearing, his gun still raised toward the treeline.
“Hey!” Van Helsing called out. “You’ll frighten the horses.”
Quincey glanced back at him, all innocence. “You told me to watch the trees,” he said, a note of amusement in his voice. “A couple of them were getting a bit too bold for my liking.”
Mina turned away, her heart still pounding from the sudden crack of the shot.
As she moved farther into the room and took her place before the fire, she felt a faint pinch in her chest at the exchange she’d just witnessed.
There was a camaraderie between the men—an ease that showed itself even in so brief a moment.
It was so unlike anything she had known in these past weeks.
Quincey walked in through the front door, shutting out the cold—and Van Helsing—behind him. He hung his gun on a hook next to the door and kicked off his boots, thick snow flying all over the ground.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, a brightness in his eyes that warmed something in Mina. Before she could respond, he walked over to the stove where a large pot was waiting. “You two have good timing,” he said, “the stew should be done by now.”
Mina didn’t particularly feel hungry, but then again, she couldn’t remember the last time she had. “That sounds lovely,” she said.
“You know it’s hard to get beef up here, but venison is a great replacement,” he went on, ladling the mixture into a bowl.
He placed it on the wooden table and pushed it toward her.
“Oh, guess you need a spoon, don’t you?” She fought a smile, walking over to the table and sitting down at one of the chairs.
“You be honest if you don’t like it,” he said, grabbing a spoon from a drawer and handing it to her. “I can find you something else to eat.”
“I’m sure this will be great,” she said. She took a spoonful of the stew, the steam wafting over her. As she took a bite, the flavor was far more than she’d been accustomed to in some time. “This is delicious.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said from where he stood in the kitchen. He was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, but his posture was relaxed. “Stew is just about all we can manage up here this time of year, but we make do.”
Just as Mina lifted another spoonful, the front door opened, bringing with it a gust of frigid air as Van Helsing stepped into view.
She took the opportunity to watch him as he kicked off his boots and shrugged out of his jacket.
Despite spending the past few hours with him, she felt as though she was truly seeing him for the first time.
He moved with surprising grace for such a large man, and her gaze lingered on his broad shoulders, the sharp cut of his jaw.
His hair was a mess, and it was clear he hadn’t shaved in a day or two, but there was something almost endearing in his lack of regard for his appearance.
Mina glanced toward Quincey and found his eyes on hers. She flushed and returned her attention pointedly to her stew.
“You hungry?” Quincey asked Van Helsing. “Got a pot of stew ready.”
Van Helsing only grunted, walking over to the pot and ladling out a serving.
A flicker of agitation stirred in Mina at his lack of manners toward Quincey, but she reminded herself that Van Helsing was the reason she was still alive.
She shifted in her seat, suddenly aware that she was the intruder here.
“I hadn’t known there were any living this close to the castle,” she said to Quincey.
“That is by design,” he replied. He opened his mouth to say more, then glanced toward Van Helsing.
The two exchanged a look.
“What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious. She turned to Van Helsing, who gave Quincey a shrug before reaching for a spoon. It felt like a private language, and she wondered what had just passed between them.
“Pardon my manners, Miss Mina,” Quincey said. “But you’re married to the Count, are you not?”
Shame warmed her cheeks as she glanced toward Van Helsing. He was watching her closely, as though measuring her reaction.
“After all he’s done, after locking me in the dungeon of that castle, you think my loyalty lies with him?”
“Well, I don’t know you yet,” Quincey said simply. “I have to assume there’s some loyalty there, considering you’re his wife.”
Agitation flared within her. “I assure you, that title means very little to the Count,” she said. She looked down at her bowl, no longer hungry, though she knew she should probably eat more.
She wasn’t sure why it upset her so much that these two strangers didn’t trust her.
It wasn’t as though she trusted them either—she knew nothing about them.
Yet the thought of being regarded as the enemy by the man who had just risked his life to save her felt like a kind of betrayal.
Why rescue her at all if he already believed the worst of her?
“I truly mean no offense,” Quincey said, his voice softened now. “It’s just that matters of the heart are never so straightforward. Wouldn’t you agree?”
To that, she said nothing. Her thoughts drifted to the version of the Count she had slowly come to know—the version who was kind, thoughtful, gentle.
But then again, she supposed it was easy enough to maintain such a facade within the walls of the castle, a place where he held complete and utter control.
Quincey walked over to the table, kneeling so he was at eye level with her now. Something about the gesture almost made her want to cry—the softness she found in his vivid eyes.
“No matter what our hesitation,” he said, “we will do everything in our power to protect you. It’s vital you understand that, miss. Please, do not fret.”
Mina nodded, finding that somehow, after all she’d experienced, she believed him. This stranger who she knew nothing about. Whether that meant he was sincere, or it simply meant that she was foolish, she couldn’t say.
Quincey stood up, announcing to the room that he was going to check on the horses. He paused for a moment, and in her periphery, Mina saw that he gave a pointed look to Van Helsing, who was leaning against the counter, eating his stew.
“Why did you come for me?” Mina asked once the front door had closed. “You clearly knew I was in that dungeon. But how? And why?”
Van Helsing shifted, looking—for the first time—uncomfortable. “How much do you know of the Count’s travels?” he asked.
Mina furrowed her brows. “Nothing, really. He never shared with me where he went or what he did while he was gone.”
“Do you know about his time in England?”
She paused. “You mean . . . earlier this year?” she asked, thinking back to when he had made the gamble with her father.
“More recent than that,” he said.
And then, she remembered Carfax. The property the Count was meant to purchase. The paperwork Jonathan had brought with him.
“I know he signed the paperwork for a property in England. Just outside of London, I believe.”
“Did he ever take you there?”
“No,” she said. “I’ve only been here a few weeks.
There was hardly reason to return to London so soon.
” She swallowed. With all she’d experienced, somehow she’d forgotten about Carfax.
She supposed she’d begun to believe she might never truly see the place herself—that the possibility of returning to England was getting more and more unlikely.
“I believe the Count is in England,” he said. “And not just on a brief trip. He hired men to transport some of his belongings from the castle.”
She frowned, confusion coursing through her.
What belongings did he possibly want to take?
The castle was sparse enough as it was. But then Mina thought back to the noises she’d heard from the dungeon, to the voices that had ignored her calls for help.
They had to have taken something from the underground, but what?
“Are you suggesting the Count left me here and went to London?” Van Helsing nodded slowly, and something about his expression made her chest tighten. “But, why would he do it?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “But I don’t believe any of it was an accident.”
“You think he chose me because I’m English? Because he wanted that property?” She considered it, but why go through the trouble of getting a bride—it wasn’t as though he needed her to buy the abbey.
“All I know is that this is far beyond you or I. He’s planning something, and the plan is in motion now that he’s gone to England.” He swallowed, something shifting behind his eyes.
Mina stared at the man, sensing that there was something else he was not sharing.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” His gaze flicked away. “What is it about? He won’t try to hurt my family, will he?” Mina’s stomach churned as she thought of her loved ones in London—of Lucy, Jonathan, Aunt Emily. “Do I have reason to fear for them?”
He was quiet, inhaling deeply. The front door opened, letting in a great gust of winter air with Quincey.
“I can’t say,” he replied again. “But wherever the Count is, I don’t think any are safe.”
“I’d agree with that,” Quincey said.
“I need to get back to London,” she said, fear tightening her chest. She didn’t know what she could do to prevent the Count from harming those she loved, but she couldn’t let him take them by surprise.
“That’s where we’re headed,” Van Helsing said. “We’ll stay here tonight and carry on at dawn.”
She nodded but couldn’t help but feel unsettled by the conversation. She was desperate to ask him more questions, but he had already turned away, seeming to end the discussion.
“Quincey will show you to your room.”
“You’ve been through a lot, miss,” Quincey said, his eyes soft as he looked at her. “You must be exhausted. Let me show you to the bedroom and you can have a lie down.”
Mina looked at Van Helsing. “You still haven’t told me—”
“We have many hours of travel ahead of us,” Van Helsing cut in. “You’ll have plenty of time to ask your questions.”
She noticed that he didn’t say he’d answer those questions, but she supposed that would have to do for now.
Hesitantly, she nodded. “Alright.”
She stood from the table, leaving her empty bowl for the men to clean up, and followed Quincey down the short, dark hallway.
Unlike the castle, each of the doors they passed stood open, and she saw that there were three small rooms at this end of the house—one bare of furniture, one with a narrow cot and a wooden trunk at its foot, and the one at the end of the hall held a full bed that took up most of the space.
The room was dark, with a wall of windows each covered by closed shutters, and a newly lit candle on the stand beside the bed.
“Feel free to make yourself comfortable,” Quincey said. “But make sure to blow that out before you sleep. The last thing we need is a fire.”
She gave him a small smile. “Thank you,” she said.
He left, closing the door behind him, and leaving her alone within the shadows.
The floor beneath her was wood, not stone, the bed topped with a mattress and blankets, and yet, her chest tightened at the darkness.
Mina walked over to the window, opening up the shutters and looking out into the evening beyond.
The sun had set, but the sky hadn’t reached its full state of night yet, and the stars were just starting to appear.
She was most grateful for the snow, its bright white reminding her that she was not in the dungeon beneath the castle—she was free.
Safe.
At least for the time being.
She moved along the line of windows, opening the shutters one by one. Perhaps she should have been more mindful of hiding, but if any of the wives came looking for them—or if the Count himself did—she doubted a closed blind would deter them.
When she finally climbed into bed, her mind raced, and she didn’t expect sleep to come easily. Yet beneath the covers, she was quickly pulled into slumber.