Heart of Thorns - Nicolette Andrews

Prologue

It was not advisable to be out at this time of night. Any respectable woman would be tucked away in bed. She just could not stand going back there and let Miss Brown humiliate her. Who would've thought country folk were so cruel? she thought as she wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Her auburn braid swung back and forth as she hurried down the road. The night pressed in around her. It was darker here in the country and too quiet. Each step on the gravel crunched and echoed through the night. The air was thick with moisture. As the darkness grew, she wondered if she should turn around and face the music. I'll bet she's waiting for me, that smug look on her face, knowing I was too much a coward to do it.

Something scurried across the road up ahead. She stopped, heart hammering in her chest. But maybe being a coward is better then becoming supper for a monster.

"Who's there?" A shiver ran up her spine. Silence answered. It ain't real. They're just stories.

In the distance, she heard the howl of a dog. Alone in the dark, it was easy to imagine a slavering beast on the hunt for blood, instead of the old farm dog it most likely was. You're letting the night scare you. You know better, Evelyn, she chided herself.

She continued on her way, a warm cider at the inn and pub, The Fairy Bride, would take the bite away from her fear. The hardworking folk of the village reminded her of those she missed back home. They were not like the posh servants back at Thornwood Abbey. They looked down on her for her accent, and her inexperience working in such a grand house. I'll have me a drink and sit by the fire and let Miss Brown worry about explaining to Mrs. Morgan. Just the thought of Miss Brown sputtering a flimsy excuse when the housekeeper came around to do her nightly check brought a smile to Evelyn's face. She clutched her shawl close to her chest with one hand and rubbed her arms with the other. There was a definite chill in the air. The mournful howl left an eerie silence in its wake.

Footsteps thumped on the gravel behind her. She did not look back but quickened her pace. The distant light of The Fairy Bride, peeked from just past the grouping of trees at the end of the road. Yellow light spilled from behind opaque diamond-shaped glass. The door swung open, and local patrons tumbled out, the sound of laughter drifting on the air. Almost there, she thought. A hand fell hard on her shoulder. She screamed. As she swung her hands at her her assailant, he spun her around and grabbed her by both shoulders, forcing her to face him.

"Please let me go. I never did no harm to no one," she sobbed. Her chin wobbled.

He laughed it was a mocking sort of sound that brought her back from her terror quicker than anything else could. She looked up through her tear-clustered lashes into a handsome face.

"Miss Smith, it's a bit late for you to be out and about," he said with a crooked smile that made her heart skip a few beats.

She exhaled with relief. "Mr. Thorn, I thought you were one of those terrible creatures, the one the villagers are always talking about."

He grinned. Something about his smiles were oddly intimate, as if they were sharing a private joke. It set her heart to pounding, even though she didn't know the joke. She had noticed Mr. Thorn before; how could she not? He was tall with wide shoulders and long wavy hair that bordered on obscene. He was almost pretty, with neat angular features, full lips and long tapered fingers on his hands. Almond eyes and olive skin gave him an exotic look and there was much speculation as to whether he was English at all. She'd heard a story passed around that his mother had been a Spanish dancer who had fallen in love with an Englishman.