SleepyHollow2BookBundle (24 page)

* * * * *

The night was dark, barely lit by a thin slice of moon. “I hope this headless horseman is a noisy fellow,” John said, “for I don’t think we’ve much of a chance of spotting him, unless he should appear directly in front of us.” That seemed unlikely, given the fact that the disappearing hoofprints were still the most spectacular evidence they’d managed to find. That didn’t stop a shiver from racing down John’s spine when he mentioned the possibility though, and for just a moment, he imagined that he could feel the cold, moist press of fog.
 

Brom shrugged, his broad shoulders steeped in the shadows of trees. They had just entered the forest and were riding toward the bridge and the farmland that lay on the other side. If they reached the Jansens’ property without incident, they’d ride back through the forest and the village, making sure that all was well before they retired. It had become their nightly habit, and John felt the strain of it already, though they’d just begun. The harvest was over, which meant a lighter workload for most, but not really for Brom – though he’d harvested his modest crops, the bulk of his work lay in the training and selling of horses, which was still a time-consuming business during the fall months. Likewise, John had no hope of stealing a few extra minutes of rest in the mornings, due to the fact that school was in session. He yawned, letting Gunpowder’s reins droop. The gelding seemed to have grown accustomed to the nightly inconvenience of the patrol and had been behaving marginally better during the rides, though he still raised Hell when being saddled beforehand.

“Stay sharp,” Brom said. “I know we haven’t caught sight of the bastard yet, but rumors of strange things have been flying around the village more than ever these past couple days, and I get the feeling that they have meaning – that they’re leading up to something. We may catch this horseman yet.”

John reached down and pressed a hand against Gunpowder’s neck, letting the beast’s warmth soothe his cold fingers. Unfortunately, there was nothing the feel of a warm body could do for the chill Brom’s words had sparked inside him. How strange that Brom, of all people, should have picked up on the same feeling John had been plagued by the last couple days – the sense of foreboding, of impending…what? Maybe not disaster – hopefully not – but
something
. Rumors
had
been racing through the village, tales of galloping hooves and horse screams heard in the night, things glimpsed for half a moment and gone the next. As the stories whirled through John’s mind, it didn’t seem at all implausible that he and Brom might encounter the headless horseman at any moment. “What do you make of Katrina’s claim?” he asked, eager to keep the stark silence at bay.

“It might have only been a dream.” The deep timbre of Brom’s voice was soothing, even if they were still speaking of disconcerting matters.
 

“It might have been,” John agreed. “But what if it wasn’t? The thought of a specter passing by her window gives me a dreadful feeling.” To think that such a dark creature might think to frighten or harm sweet Katrina filled him with an unbearable mix of anger and fear.

“It does me as well, but that’s all the more reason to get to the bottom of this business – if it’s only a man, folk will calm down once we catch him, and there will be no more dreams, no more ghost stories.”

John nodded, fighting the nervous flutters that had attacked his middle. Brom still spoke of catching a trickster and giving him what-for for frightening the residents of Sleepy Hollow, but he no longer scoffed at John’s suggestions that the culprit might be more than a mere man. Brom’s apparent willingness to at least consider the possibility, if only the slightest bit, was the most frightening aspect of the entire matter.

Nothing leapt out at them as they approached the bridge, nor materialized in a cloud of fog. The silence pressed in on them though, so thick and heavy that it was impossible to imagine birds singing in the morning from the very same branches that surrounded them. It was a relief when they rode over the bridge; after all, it was a well-known truth that spirits couldn’t cross water. When John had offered up that fact days ago, Brom had deemed it horse shit, so they rode on, trotting past the Jansens’ farm, where all appeared to be well. Seeing the stable, Gunpowder made a bid for freedom, but John rode out his bucks and managed to get him turned back around. When they crossed the bridge again, reentering the forest, John felt just as reluctant as Gunpowder. He might not be able to see the haunting presence in the dark, but he could feel it.

* * * * *

Katrina pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders and peered across the field, squinting as she scanned the farmland across from the house for any sign of horses and riders. A horse’s whinny had just sounded, causing her to jump, nearly dropping her shawl. The silence had been so absolute beforehand that the sound had seemed like cannonfire. Now, though, it rekindled both her determination and her nervousness – Brom and John would come into view at any moment, and she’d explain how and why she’d kissed her betrothed’s closest friend.

Her eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, and yet, she saw nothing as she waited. They were nearby, though – the muffled clip-clop of hooves against dirt was still audible. Had they turned around before emerging from the wood? She gripped her shawl tightly, her nails digging into her palm, even through the fabric. Every moment she spent outside was a moment she risked her father waking and realizing she was gone. The hooves weren’t racing; their pace was slow enough that she might be able to catch their attention if she hurried to the edge of the woods and waved her shawl, and perhaps gave a slight shout. She took off at a hasty walk, eyes trained on the edge of the dark wood as she focused on the sound of falling hooves.

* * * * *

“God, but it’s a cold night,” John said, buoyed by the sight of the edge of the forest. Within a couple short minutes, he and Brom would emerge from the gloomy shelter of the forest road and make their rounds of the sleeping village. His heart lifted at just the thought of escaping the shadows; the eerily distinct feeling that something was lurking among them seemed to fade with each step toward the open area beyond the fringe of the wood.

“It is,” Brom agreed, his breath rising in a cloud in front of his face. The sight was reminiscent of a ghostly fog, and John shivered in the saddle. “Were it not for this horseman business, I’d much rather have you beneath me than this damned saddle.” One corner of his mouth curved in a suggestive smile.

John sucked in a breath, surprised as much by the sudden desire Brom’s confession sparked within him as by his actual words. Brom rarely spoke to him that way – at least, not while they were riding down an oft-traveled road. The man had a wicked tongue at times, but he rarely said such things in a tone above a whisper, and only then when they were utterly alone. Now his words hung in the air along with his breath, and the novelty of it had John’s mind whirling with carnal imaginings, both rough and sensual. The cold that chilled the air permeated the body and the soul, and Brom’s embrace was surely capable of warming both. “Perhaps after we finish our patrol, we can make that a reality.” His body heated at just the idea of Brom’s hard muscles against his.

“Perhaps.” Brom urged Torben toward Gunpowder, and soon the horses were walking shoulder-to-shoulder, rubbing noses and snorting with interest. Brom’s knee brushed John’s, and he reached across the gap between them, laying a hand on John’s thigh. “God, you’re warm.”

John sighed, his breath rushing out in a voluminous cloud. “So are you.” Brom’s hand was more than just warm – it was hot, and causing heat to rush up John’s thigh and into his groin. Holding Gunpowder’s reins in one hand, John reached out with his other and touched Brom, laying a hand on his firm thigh. It felt good to be connected, anchored by warm human touch even as the cold air caused the skin on the back of his neck to pebble. There was no “perhaps” about it – they’d have each other, even if it meant another sleepless night.

Brom withdrew his touch so suddenly that John saw his hand retreating before he felt the absence of his body heat. John began to ask what the matter was, but Brom dug his leg into Torben’s ribs, putting space between the two horses. John’s hand fell limply at his side. “What –”

“We’re not alone,” Brom said, his voice low. “There’s someone ahead.”

John’s heart leapt into his throat, and he gripped the reins, head snapping to look straight ahead.

A figure had indeed appeared at the edge of the forest. John’s stomach clenched as his arousal rapidly turned to alarm. Just how far could one see down the darkened forest path? Could their interrupter have seen them laying hands on each other? “Good God…”

“It’s very dark,” Brom said shortly.

It was, but darkness did nothing to disguise the sound of voices, and it was a silent night. How long had the unidentified person been standing there? John’s heart beat brutally against his ribs. If the true nature of his and Brom’s relationship was known, a hunting party would be sent out for
them
.
 

“It’s a woman,” Brom said as they drew closer.

John nodded. “I see her skirts, and the white of her cap.” His heart sped even more when the woman waved what appeared to be her shawl in the air – clearly, she saw them. His heart nearly stopped when he recognized her.

“Katrina.” He and Brom said her name at the same time, and a sickly feeling descended upon John. If she saw them and was trying to get their attention, clearly she wasn’t sleep-walking. A new fear quickly overlapped his initial alarm. “Do you think something happened at the farmhouse, and she’s come for help?”

Brom heeled Torben into a fast canter in response, and John followed suit. They reached the edge of the wood within moments, where Katrina stood, white-faced.

“What is it?” Brom leapt out of the saddle and hurried to Katrina’s side, laying a hand on her shoulder, searching her blue eyes with his dark ones. His face was a mask of concern – first and foremost for her, surely, but he had to be just as shaken as John for their own sakes, as well.

Katrina had caught her lower lip between her teeth and clasped her hands in front of her skirts. Each of her knuckles stood out, dainty and ghost-white.
 

“Has something gone wrong at the farm?” Brom demanded. “Your father—”

“No,” Katrina said quickly. “No, nothing like that.”
 

None of the tension went out of Brom’s rigid shoulders. He hadn’t been fooled anymore than John had by her reassurances – clearly, something was wrong.

“I must confess something, Brom.”

A cloud that had been partially obscuring the night’s modest moon moved out of the way, and in the new light, Katrina was the picture of distress. John felt torn in half – on one hand, he knew he was imposing, but on the other… He wanted nothing so much as to slide off his horse and put an arm around her, to tell her that everything would be all right. He forced himself to stay in the saddle, and realized that he was holding his breath as he awaited her confession.

“Tell me then,” Brom said, his voice softening to a tone that John had heard on only the rarest of occasions. Most of those times, he’d been in Brom’s arms, and that realization leant an increased air of intimacy to the conversation. Winged creatures erupted into flight inside his belly as he fought the roiling tide of contradicting emotions that struggled for dominance within him.

Katrina stood a little straighter, her eyes locked with Brom’s. “I kissed John.”

For a moment, no one said anything. Gunpowder shifted his weight onto a different foot, and John righted himself in the saddle, for he’d slumped a little with relief at Katrina’s words. His heart ached with guilt and sympathy when he saw that the matter troubled her, but at least she hadn’t been harmed, or encountered anymore possibly supernatural phenomena.

“I know,” Brom said, still in that same gentle tone. “John told me.”

“Oh!” Katrina recoiled, pressing a hand to her mouth. In a flash, she was beside John’s horse, a hand on his knee as she peered up at him, her eyes searching his face. Whatever she’d feared finding apparently wasn’t there, for she wilted visibly with relief. “You’re all right then, John?”

“Quite. What were you afraid of, Katrina?” John was careful to keep a tight hold on the reins, making sure Gunpowder didn’t have enough slack to turn his head and bite Katrina.

She shook her head, taking a step backward and looking sheepish. “It’s only that… I thought you would tell Brom, and I thought he might – well, strike you.”

“You abandoned your bed and ventured out into the night alone to see whether I might have a blackened eye?” He was aware that his voice was edged with dissaproval, but that was for the best, considering the tenderness that had welled up inside him at the idea. How very foolish…and utterly sweet.

“I’d hoped to arrive before it came to that,” she said. “I wanted to tell Brom myself.” Straightening her shoulders again, she turned to face Brom. “I wanted you to know that
I
kissed
him
– did he tell you that?”

Brom shot John a quick look, his dark eyes gleaming with interest, and was that amusement? “No, he didn’t.”

“I did,” she said. “I kissed him, and he couldn’t have avoided it – at least, not at first.”

“Was it a very long kiss?” Brom asked. There was an undertone of amusement in his voice, but Katrina clearly didn’t recognize it.