Page 18 of The Horseman of Sleepy Hollow
But he did, after all. My mind flashed to a memory—I had been walking by the schoolhouse one bright morning when I heard the most heart-breaking wails and sobs. I hurried round the corner and there was Ichabod, with a switch poised to strike the thighs of a skinny schoolboy.
"Ichabod!" I had shouted.
He turned, shocked at my tone.
"Why are you beating this boy?"
"He will not stop moving during classes," Ichabod had said through gritted teeth. "He is constantly jiggling his knees, and wiggling around, and squirming, and asking questions—"
"As an intelligent boyshoulddo," I retorted. "Perhaps he is bored of the lesson. Perhaps he needs more stimulating material to study."
Ichabod's face had flushed red under my criticism. "Perhaps you should leave the instruction of the urchins to me, Miss Katrina, and return to your promenade."
"Only if you spare him this once."
Ichabod had reluctantly agreed, and I had kept walking. But afterward I wondered how many other times he had beaten those little children for their need to move, and to question, and tobe.
Ichabod had hurt people. Small people, yes—but people nonetheless. Perhaps that was no reason for him to die horribly as he did—but I could not continue declaiming his innocence. In his own way, Ichabod could be as merciless as Brom.
The Horseman spoke quietly. "Guilty of harm or not—it was his knowledge of the dullahan that led to his destruction, I think. That, and one other reason."
"And I suppose this 'other reason' cannot be revealed?" I pushed out my lower lip in a pout that usually got me whatever I wanted.
Apparently the Horseman was immune to my lips and their charms. "I cannot say more."
"This is completely ridiculous," I snapped. "You dribble out bits of information but you will say nothing clearly. You provide no comprehensive information."
"I understand your frustration." His voice sounded nearer than I expected—I thought I felt the puff of his breath against my hair. "But aren't you being rather unreasonable, expecting the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow to spill all his secrets to you?"
"You owe me the truth."
"And why is that?"
I could sense him—very close to me now, a tingling heat charging the air between us. "Because—well, because—"
"It is you who owe me, for tending to you, for lending you a bed and shelter, for giving you food and drink. Fortunately for you, I am a magnanimous monster and will require no repayment. Now, if you are not going back to sleep, allow me to check your wound."
I rolled from my side onto my stomach, scrunching the blanket in both hands, under my chin. The warm air of the room drifted soft across my exposed back as I waited, in an agony of anticipation, for the Horseman to touch me.
He spread the V-shaped opening at the back of the tunic, fussed with the bandage, then lifted it away. His fingers pressed lightly at the edge of the wound. "No infection. You seem to be healing well, and quickly. I will clean this and add more of the poultice, just to be safe. And a fresh bandage, of course. Be still."
"Yes, Lord Horseman."
His fingers paused. "What?"
"Lord Horseman. It suits you, I think. You would not give me your name."
"I'll be damned if I let you call me 'Lord Horseman.'"
"Perhaps I should choose another name—like Tom, or Hans. Oh, how about Absalom? I have always wanted to name my future child Absalom. Such a sensual name, don't you think? And the biblical character was rather wicked and tragic, which makes it all the better. Absalom suits you. Absalom you shall be, until you agree to tell me your true name."
"Mytrue name?" He patted a cloth across my wound. "You sound like one of the Fae, demanding my name in that way."
A devilish impulse took root in my heart—or perhaps it had taken root long ago, and my next words were merely the natural offshoot of the nourishment I gave it.
I spoke in my silkiest tones. "I do want your name, and I will give you something in exchange for it."
"Is that so." The Horseman did not sound the least bit interested. He smoothed paste over the wound and placed another bandage. I sighed at the absence of his fingers on my skin.
