Page 8 of The Horseman of Sleepy Hollow
"Upset? Why was he upset?"
I winced, turning my back to him.
"Katrina." Brom's voice was both compulsion and threat at once. "Why was Ichabod Crane upset?"
"He offered me his hand in marriage, and I told him—"
"You refused him." Relief colors Brom's tone.
"No. I told him I would have to think about it."
Brom snorted. "What is there to think about?" He gripped my shoulders, shaking me slightly. "You and I have been meant for each other since we were young, Katrina. You know this is what our parents want—whatIwant. I will help you care for your father's holdings. My seed will yield healthy, strong children, not the spindly stalks you'll get from that scarecrow of a man. I am stronger than he is, more handsome, better liked—I have some wealth of my own, left by my father—I am the better match! Why do you hesitate? I offer my hand to you—take it!"
I jerked away. "You can keep your hand, and yourseed. I am going to find Ichabod."
Brom snarled in frustration. "You drive me mad, Katrina. I know you want me—why else would you put your hands on me secretly?"
Ignoring him, I marched on down the road.
"At least ride with me to find the walking stick," Brom said. "Katrina! Come back here and ride."
But at that moment, Brom's horse, Daredevil, decided that he had waited long enough. A snort and a scuffle sounded behind me, and I turned just in time to see Daredevil half-rear, jerking the reins from Brom's hand before galloping back down the road, in the direction my mare took.
"The devil take you!" yelled Brom, stamping his boot impotently.
I snickered. "It seems your affinity for wild, difficult animals has finally backfired."
Brom strode up to me, grabbed my arm, and dragged me along the road toward the Old Church Bridge. "Let us find the spindly schoolmaster," he gritted between his teeth. "I have something I want to tell him."
We had not gone many steps when the treeline thinned, revealing the stone bridge bathed in silver moonlight. Unusually steep, it arched high over the stream, with yawning darkness beneath where the sun's long fingers never managed to touch. Besides its status as the particular haunt of the Horseman, the bridge was the subject of other tales. The goodwives whispered that trolls and wicked elves used to reside beneath the arch, tempting travelers to exchange their true names for beautiful gifts that later turned rotten and corrupt. When Lucas was but nine years old, he had ventured into the gloom under the bridge, on a dare. He swore ever afterwards that the very bank of the stream opened up to him that day, revealing a tunnel to Hell.
At the head of the bridge, just preparing to cross it, stood Ichabod.
"Ichabod!" Relief tinged my voice as I called to him. "Are you all right? We found a pumpkin on the road—and I thought maybe—you were—"
"Taken by the Horseman?" He turned to me, his thin face hard and bitter. "Your mother gave me a pie pumpkin to take home. But that devil Gunpowder bucked me off and trampled it. Nearly crushed me too, but I rolled out of the way just in time."
"And you were going to walk home in the dark, alone?"
Ichabod drew himself up to his full skinny height. "I am a grown man, Katrina. I am capable of walking home—and ofmuch more."
"Ichabod, it's not that I think you aren't capable—"
Brom moved quick as a snake, striking Ichabod full in the face.
"Brom!" I shrieked.
"It's no more than he deserves for daring to think himself worthy of you," growled Brom. "I'll hit him again, to reinforce the lesson." He flexed his fingers and balled them into a fist once more.
"Brom." I caught his arm. "Stop."
"No, Katrina! He needs to know his place—a scraggly scarecrow of a teacher, leeching off the good people of this valley. He is a parasite, an insect." Brom practically spat the words.
Ichabod touched his lip and stared at the glistening scarlet blood on the tip of his finger. He looked at me, betrayal shining cold and hollow in his pale eyes. "You played with me, Katrina," he said quietly. "You are a coquette and a tease."
Brom backhanded him. "You do not speak to her!" he roared. "You do not think of her, or touch her! She is mine!"
I turned, my eyes narrowing. If Brom had not already fallen in my esteem due to his treatment of Ichabod, those words would have taken him down. In that moment, any vestiges of regard I had for Brom vanished from my heart.
