Page 9 of The Horseman of Sleepy Hollow
"You do not own me," I hissed at him. "No man does."
He stared at me as if I had struck him. "You are getting emotional, Katrina, as women often do. You should go home. It is improper for you to be out here with no chaperone. Leave us."
I darted a look at Ichabod, who stood shivering yet defiant, his narrow shoulders lost in the fine greatcoat.
"You will walk me home, Brom. Come. I cannot go alone." I tugged at his sleeve, but he shook me off and shoved me away so roughly I staggered backward into the underbrush near the head of the bridge. Something sharp pierced my back, near my spine, and I cried out. When I moved forward, I felt the sharp thing retract from my body with a sucking, sickening pop.
"How dare you hurt her?" Ichabod charged at Brom, swinging wildly. Brom caught both Ichabod's fists in his own huge hands and marched the schoolmaster backward, onto the bridge.
"Stop!" Tears pooled in my eyes, both from the pain near my spine and from the fear that they would do each other a permanent harm. "Please stop!"
I reached around to my back, fingers trembling, and felt the stickiness of blood under the curve of my ribs. "Brom," I said faintly. "I have hurt myself, I think."
But he was too busy grappling with Ichabod to take notice of me. He gripped the schoolmaster by the coat collar, shaking him like a wayward pup. Then Brom threw him to the ground, and kicked him—kicked him again and again, furiously.
"Brom!" I screamed, sobbing. I turned, locating the sharp branch I had stumbled into. I wrenched and cracked it free of the trunk, driven by some vague notion of striking Brom over the head with it so he would stop beating Ichabod. With the pointed branch in both hands, I stumbled forward, gritting my teeth against the pain flooding my back and side.
Brom hauled Ichabod to his feet again and, with the force of a gale wind, he slung the schoolmaster along the length of the bridge.
Ichabod's skinny body hurtled toward me, collapsing against the spike in my hands—and there he stuck, pierced through the neck.
I froze, staring at the schoolmaster's head, thrown back, with the horrible blood-slicked spike of wood protruding from the front of his throat. More blood bubbled around the branch, glimmering darkly wet in the moonlight, splashing down onto the stones of the bridge. Ichabod's arms and legs flopped limp, like a scarecrow's.
My heart lurched, yearning to scream, but my voice would not work.
Every muscle in my body was frozen in place; I could not force my fingers to uncurl from the branch I held.
Brom stood paralyzed on the bridge, but he recovered faster than I.
"Katrina, you killed him," he said hoarsely.
"I—I was only trying to—"
"You killed the schoolmaster, Katrina."
Words spilled out of me, frantic and fast. "But you threw him at me. You were beating him, kicking him—I was going to help him."
"You would have struck me, Katrina? Me? You and I have been destined for a life together since we could toddle across the green." Brom advanced toward me. "Drop the stick."
My hands unclenched, and as Ichabod's body fell, Brom caught it and heaved it over the side of the bridge. "There. He fell on his way home, and that's an end of it. Maybe that foul devil of a horse threw him. You and I were never here."
"But Brom—we should everyone tell the truth." I shook my head, trying to dispel the dizziness that clouded my thoughts. "At least I am going to tell my father what happened. His death was an accident, but you—you beat him. That was wrong—"
Brom rushed forward, catching my throat in his hand. The vehemence of his words flecked my face with his spit. "You will say nothing. The schoolmaster was thrown by his horse, speared by a stray branch that he fell onto when he tumbled from the bridge. A terrible accident."
I squirmed in his grasp, trying to suck air through my compressed throat. "Brom—"
"Katrina." He swept a broad palm over my hair, dragged his knuckles down my cheek as I strained for breath. His mouth collided with mine, bruising my lips against my teeth. His grip loosened so I could breathe a little through my nose, but the assault on my mouth did not stop. Brom pushed me against the stone balustrade of the bridge, and the pressure against my wounded back made me whimper. He took it as encouragement and moved one hand to my chest, stroking and squeezing.
A cold wind rushed along the road. It rattled the black twigs and sent a flurry of crunchy brown leaves racing past my feet.
Hooves drummed faintly on packed dirt, ringing sharply against stone once or twice.
A wicked laugh echoed somewhere in the trees beyond the bridge—and then again, from the opposite side. I could have sworn I saw an orange star, or a lantern, or an amber will-o-wisp darting through the moon-silvered boughs of the trees.
Brom shoved himself away from me, nearly knocking me over the side of the bridge in the process. "Ho there! Who is it? Show yourself!"
Another trickle of inhuman laughter was his only answer—and the hoofbeats were growing louder.
