Page 13 of The Horseman of Sleepy Hollow
"Would your ladyship rather I bathe first, and then feed you? My stench might turn your appetite."
My stomach twisted with hunger at the thought of having to wait longer for food. "No, no—please. I need food now."
"Hm. I think not. I think I shall draw water, and heat it, and luxuriate in the bath awhile. And then we will see about your meal."
I groaned, lurching against the bonds, but when the wound pained me sharply, I quieted again. "At least remove the blindfold."
"I cannot let you see me, or your surroundings. I cannot trust you not to tell anyone about me, or my haunt, as you call it. If you should glimpse my face, or see where you are, why then—I would have to take measures to protect myself."
My breath quickened. Would he kill me to hide his identity?
"I would rather not see your face anyway," I said. And because I could not resist— "You are probably hideous in both face and form."
A chuckle rumbled from him. "You wish that were true."
His scent and his presence vanished, and I heard the clanking of a pot as he prepared to heat the water.
"If you were handsome I would have seen you around, and I would recognize your voice," I threw at him. "All the most handsome young men in this valley and beyond come to court me."
"Is that so?"
"It is."
"And why is that?"
"Because I am beautiful, rich, and accomplished. And I am pleasant to be with. Good company."
"Good company?" he snorted. "You are nearly as unpleasant as I am—perhaps more so, because of all the whining, and the questions."
"You are nothing but a fiend. An unholy demon of darkness, who committed some vile original sin and was condemned to an equally horrible fate."
Something squeaked—a door? His voice traveled to me from the vicinity of the sound, and its depth and timbre sent a shiver through my body. "And what sin do you think me guilty of?"
"Murder? Greed? Envy?" I swallowed. "Lust?"
"I am guilty on all counts. But none of those sins caused my condition. I was born into this curse, and I will die with it."
The door slammed.
He went in and out several more times, carrying the water for his bath, but I did not speak to him again. My mind raced with possibilities. His corporeal nature ruled out a ghost or spirit, though it did not eliminate the possibility of his being a demon. But since when did demons sweat, and bathe, and stitch up a human's wounds?
Lying on my belly, with my wrists still bound, I could not remove the blindfold; but it seemed to have loosened a little. Maybe I could shift it by rubbing my face against the pillow. I desperately wanted a glimpse of him, though he might kill me for it.
The splash and hiss of water told me that he was nearly done preparing the bath. Firmly I rubbed my cheek and temple against the pillow, scraping the blindfold gradually until it inched up a fraction, allowing me a narrow slit of visibility from my left eye.
First I saw an expanse of thickly-muscled back, a sweep of powerful shoulders, a massive neck holding up—thank God—aheadof close-cropped black hair. A wide band of gold circled the Horseman's throat. There seemed to be faint markings on it, but I could not tell for sure at this distance, with my limited field of vision.
Then my gaze drifted from the golden collar, down that naked back, to the beautifully curved rump and strong legs of the Horseman.
He stepped into the round wooden tub and sank down with a sigh of relief. With his nakedness partially hidden from me, I remembered the necessity of breathing occasionally. My face burned with shameful delight at what I had just seen.
The tub he had filled was not very large; he had to fold his legs up to his chest to fit into it, and he kept shifting his body to get comfortable. After a few minutes he began passing a bar of soap over himself, leaving a glistening trail of iridescent bubbles across his tanned skin.
Reluctantly I shifted my gaze to the room. I could not see much of it—a fireplace, table, chair, the tub—a bundle of herbs hanging against the wall. All commonplace items, but nothing that triggered a memory or familiarity. Yet he must be somewhat known to the people in the valley, or he would not be so concerned about me recognizing and revealing him.
The Horseman stood up in the tub, water trailing from his body in sheets and droplets. With his back toward me, he began to wash his—nether regions.
I shut my eye tight. And then I opened it again.
