Alf squinted into the gloom, his mouth dropping open when he spotted it. “Is that...?”
“Fabric. Clothing. Now climb.”
He hesitated, eyeing the tree’s skeletal branches dubiously. “Master Gaspard, I’m not sure it will hold my weight. Perhaps thy nimble master could—”
“Climb. The. Tree.” Each word fell like a stone between us. “Unless you’d prefer I found someone more capable to accompany me next time.”
The threat worked, as it always did. Alf moved to the tree trunk, testing lower branches before hauling his bulk upward with surprising determination. The wood creaked ominously beneath him, but held as he inched higher toward the fluttering cloth.
While he climbed, I replayed my time with Isabeau in my mind. Those precious days after her father’s sacrifice, when she’d been mine. Locked safely in my spare room where her beauty couldn’t torment other men. I’d been patient, allowing her time to adjust to her new position in life. I’d fed her, clothed her, even spoke kindly to her, let her feel my cock. And how had she repaid my generosity? By attacking me when I finally came to claim what was rightfully mine. Her womb for my young.
The memory made my fingers curl into fists. Her body beneath mine, soft and perfect until that strange light had erupted from her, throwing me across the room like a ragdoll. The bruises had faded, but the humiliation hadn’t. Nor had the want. If anything, her resistance had only made me hunger for her more intensely. My hunt for her captured every waking thought as my slumbering ones dreamed of having her.
“I’ve got it!” Alf called down, triumphant despite his obvious discomfort. He clutched something green in his pudgy fist, carefully navigating his descent.
When his feet touched ground again, he held out his prize with trembling fingers. “It’s a dress, Master Gaspard. And look—it’s torn to shreds at the back.”
I snatched it from his grasp, running my fingers over the familiar fabric. Yes, this was one of the dresses I’d provided for her during her stay in my home. Simple but well-made, designed to enhance her natural beauty without drawing too much attention from other men. And Alf was right. The back was completely shredded, as if by massive claws.
“She must be dead,” Alf whispered, a mix of horror and relief in his voice. “No one could survive an attack that would tear clothing like that. Some beast must have dragged her off and—”
“No.” I held the fabric to my nose, inhaling deeply. Beneath the mustiness of forest decay lingered Isabeau’s scent—cleanskin and something floral, like the wildflowers she used to gather. But no blood. Not a drop. “There’s no blood on it.”
“Perhaps it washed away in the rain two nights ago?”
I shook my head, examining the tears more closely. They were deliberate, precise, not the random shredding of an animal attack. “This wasn’t done by a beast. Not the kind you’re thinking of, anyway.”
Something else had claimed her. Something that had removed her clothing without spilling her precious blood. The possibilities darkened my thoughts, stoking the ember of rage in my gut into a roaring flame. Someone or something had taken what belonged to me.
“Then thy maiden could still be alive?” Alf asked, his eyes darting nervously around the decaying forest.
“Oh, she’s alive.” I folded the torn dress carefully, tucking it inside my hunting vest. “I’d know if she wasn’t.”
The certainty in my voice wasn’t just bravado. I’d felt connected to Isabeau since the first moment I saw her, a pull that transcended mere desire. Every night while she was locked in my home, I’d dreamt of her—vivid dreams where she yielded to me completely, body and soul. Sometimes I’d wake to find myself standing outside the her door, with no memory of having left my bed. On my hunting trip, I had to come back early because I kept waking up, walking back toward the village.
It was fate. Destiny. A bond that couldn’t be severed by distance or magic or whatever man now kept her from me.
My gaze drifted upward, beyond the torn dress’s resting place to the canopy above. The trees grew thicker here, older, their skeletal branches interlacing to form a barrier against the sky. We were deep in the forbidden part of the forest now—far deeper than I had ever ventured. Only I entered because of the shield of darkness that shrouded me. My protection the villagers never questioned.
“Do you remember Thomas Beaufort?” I asked suddenly, still staring upward.
Alf frowned at the abrupt change of subject. “The miller’s son? The boy who drowned two years back?”
“Yes. Handsome lad. Strong. Girls fawned over him.” I lowered my gaze to meet Alf’s, watching understanding dawn in his dull eyes. “He had his eye on Isabeau. Used to wait outside her father’s workshop just to catch a glimpse of her. Left flowers on their doorstep.”
Alf’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. “I remember.”
“No one questioned when his body washed up after the spring floods. Tragic accident, they said. Boy shouldn’t have been near the river during high water.” I smiled at the memory, at how easy it had been. “But you and I know better, don’t we, Alf?”
He paled visibly, taking a small step backward. “Master Gaspard, I never—”
“Never what? Never knew I held his head under the water until the bubbles stopped? Never suspected why I asked thee to meet me by the river that night with clean clothes and a horse?” I advanced on him slowly, enjoying the fear that bloomed across his round face. “Of course thou knew. Thou hast always known what I’m capable of.”
Alf’s back hit a tree trunk, leaving him nowhere to retreat. “I’ve been loyal,” he whispered, voice trembling. “Always loyal.”
“Yes, you have.” I reached out, brushing a leaf from his shoulder with false tenderness. “And that’s why I know you’ll help me with what comes next.”
Relief softened his features. “Anything, Master Gaspard. We’ll find her, I swear it.”
