Page 17 of The Horseman of Sleepy Hollow
"Because I could have stripped you naked at any time since I brought you here." He caught my outstretched hands at the wrists. His own hands were massive, warm, and strong—their heat slithered along my arms to my heart.
"You are too weak to resist me," he said quietly. "It would be easy to take what I want."
"Too weak to resist you?" I forced out the words, willing my voice not to tremble. "Do I need to hit you again, to prove my strength?"
He laughed. "No need."
I moved closer, until my legs touched something—his knees maybe? Was he sitting in the chair near my bed? "You said, 'take what I want.' Does that mean youdowant me?"
"Get back in bed, Katrina."
I wanted to rip aside the blindfold, to turn the full power of my eyes on him, to see if I could entrance him the way I did so many others—but I settled for a coy smile. As I slipped my wrists from his grip, I trailed the tips of my fingers across his palms. I thought I heard a faint sigh from him.
The bed felt so comfortable I could not suppress a groan of relief as I sank back onto it. Still, anxiety clouded my comfort. "I cannot stay here another day. What will my family think of my disappearance?"
"When you return, simply tell them that you were attacked by the Horseman. Tell them that a woodcutter and his wife rescued you and nursed you back to health, but they would not tell you their names because they did not want your family to feel beholden or to offer recompense—and because they did not want the Horseman to wreak vengeance on them for stealing away his prize."
It was a good plan. My parents would likely believe it. I nodded my acceptance and fumbled around on the bed for a blanket. No sooner had I found one than he snatched it away and whipped it out, letting it drift down over me.
"I will need to check your wound later," said the Horseman. "For now, rest."
"Your favorite word—rest," I mumbled. "I am not used to so much resting."
"No? I thought the Van Tassel heiress would have little to do."
"I make things to do. I help with the work, I ride, I study music, I read, and I fish—"
"You fish?"
"Shocking, I know. I usually have to smuggle the fish to one of the boys on my father's farm, so he can claim that he caught them. My parents have no idea how many of the finely dressed fish on their table came from my line."
"What other shocking things do you enjoy?"
Tension gripped the silence after his words. I could not helping grinning even as I blushed.
"I only meant—I was curious—" The Horseman wasstammering. Flustered. Embarrassed. My heart swelled with delight at the realization.
"I know what you meant," I replied. "Let's see—I sew myself fine undergarments, as you know. Very scandalous. I sometimes make up stories in my head during the parson's sermons—the wildest and wickedest tales—you would blush and faint if you heard them. I also whittle on occasion—I have a collection of tiny figures that I have made, and the scars to show for it." I held up my hands, indicating the inner flesh of my left thumb. I knew the scars intimately, though I could not see them. "See? I stabbed myself just there. And here, a fairly deep cut. Nearly sliced the pad off this finger—see the crescent-shaped mark? I also like to hunt for nests in the forest. I take the prettiest empty eggshells, if I can find those that are mostly intact—and I paste them back together, thread them on string, and hang them above the fireplaces at home. They make the loveliest decorations. Although I suppose that isn't very shocking, especially not to a man who occasionally loses his head."
He did not answer.
"The collar you wear has something to do with it." My words weren't a question, but a statement. "I saw markings along it—perhaps a spell of some kind. Ichabod Crane—the schoolmaster, the man you buried—he told me of such things. He had a theory that you were some Celtic creature of myth—a dull-man? Dulligan? Dull—"
"Dullahan." The Horseman's tone lent the word a dark flavor.
I seized the word eagerly. "Dullahan. Yes. Ichabod said you could be human sometimes, and at other times—not. He also said something about dullahan being 'summoned' for direful deeds."
"Damn, I had no idea he knew so much. No wonder—" The Horseman cut himself off short.
"What?" My fists gripped bunches of the blanket as I waited, hanging on his every word.
"I will tell you the truth," he said. "I was sent out that night to kill your schoolmaster, Ichabod Crane."
My breath hitched. "He was notmyschoolmaster."
"But you cared about him."
"I did. He was a friend. He and Brom—they were both my friends." Tears pressed at the backs of my covered eyelids. "Why would anyone want him dead? He could be silly sometimes, yes—a little avaricious and foolish—but he never hurt anyone—"
