Page 16 of The Horseman of Sleepy Hollow
"You cut off people's heads. I think it is afairquestion."
"I have taken seven heads in my twenty-four years."
"Why?"
"Put some bread in your mouth, I beg you," he groaned. "Why the devil didn't I leave you on that bridge?"
I decided not to press the matter until I had eaten and he had slept. While I ate, I heard him arranging something on the floor—probably some blankets. After a while there was no more sound, save for his slow, deep breathing.
When I finished my meal, I thought about taking the blindfold off. I could peek, just once, and he would never know. But a crawling dread in the back of my mind prevented me from yielding to the impulse. Did I really want to know what he looked like? Did I want to risk his wrath? He had hinted that he was not completely in control of himself when it came to his victims. Was that merely an excuse? Or perhaps someone or something else was controlling him, some demon, spirit, or ghost. In that case, the mysterious entity might be able to perceive me, to know if I removed my blindfold or not.
Weariness weighed my head and limbs again. I took the plate and reached it downward, over the edge of the bed, until I felt it touch the floorboards. Then I resumed my position on my left side and let myself float away into sleep.
3
Still half-swimming in sleep, I sensed something brushing my upper arm. Fingers, warm and rough.
My right breast felt strangely bare, the cool air of the room teasing it to a hard peak.
Was the Horseman removing my clothes?
I lashed out with a fist and by sheer luck caught him square in the throat, one of my knuckles knocking against the collar he wore. He choked a protest but continued the movement of his hand—tugging the loose tunic backup, over my shoulder.
"Your shirt slipped down as you slept!" he said. "I am only trying to cover you."
"So throw a blanket over me," I snapped. "Do not touch me."
"Foolish, vain girl," he growled. "Do you think I wanted to touch you? I would much rather be left alone."
"Then I will go." I lurched upright, biting back a cry at the flare of pain. "Point me to the front door, show me the road home—I will travel it. I do not care if my wound opens again. Anything is better than this strange place, and you." I threw as much venom as I could muster into the words.
"No one can know you were here." Distress tinged his voice. "It could be dangerous."
"Because the people of the valley might come after you with muskets and fire?"
"No, fool. Dangerous foryou. If my m—if the one who controls me learned of your presence here, you would not be safe."
I halted, wavering on my feet, clinging to the bedpost. It was as I suspected, then. "The one who controls you? What does that mean?"
He groaned. "I cannot—I should not say—"
Canting my head to listen, I moved toward his voice. "But you will tell me. You must."
"Rest here one more day, and I will tell you what I can."
"Why? Why should I stay here any longer?"
"Because if you try to walk back down into the valley, you will die. You nearly bled out on that bridge, Katrina."
Katrina. The way his deep voice flowed around the syllables of my name was a delight I had not anticipated.
In addition to the gift of my name on his tongue, he had given me a clue about our location. He said, if I tried to walk back down into the valley, I would die—so we were somewhere in the hills above Sleepy Hollow. Several families—woodcutters, trappers, and such—resided in the hills. Mentally I ran through the few names I could remember, but I knew I was missing some of them. The hill folk tended to be reclusive, visiting the floor of the valley only to sell their goods and fetch supplies, or to attend the occasional holiday frolic.
I kept moving in the direction that I last heard his voice. The stitches on my back tugged painfully with every step. "Were you truly trying to cover me, to preserve my modesty?"
"Yes."
"Why should I believe you?"
