“No,” Ryan managed, turning her face to the wall. “That is, I haven’t been until recently. Sorry. I’m not—” She took a deep breath, trying to control her racing heart. “They are not aggressive—your dogs?”
“No. They help with the horses and are companions to me.”
Ryan nodded to the wall, trying to regain composure. She loved dogs. Winscombe had been home to many dogs over the years, and several of them had slept nudged against her in her bed. One incident should not destroy a lifelong affection.
“Hugo,” the man said gruffly, “Tatin—bed.”
The dogs made a whining noise but retreated, padding into the night.
Ryan let out a slow exhale. “Thank you.”
“I’ll set you up inside,” he said. “The dogs will be too curious not to return. And I assume you want in out of the rain.”
“Well, only if it can be quickly managed. I would not detain you...” She glanced around but saw only a wash of dark greens and blues and grays. Somewhere nearby, horses whinnied and stamped. She smelled wet hay and manure.
“I would ask you not to...” he exhaled “...touchanything.”
Ryan laughed in spite of herself. “Understood. But I’ve not come here to rob you, please be assured. Or if I have, I’ve been very inefficient about it, have I?”
“Don’t touch anything,” he repeated. He stomped away; she heard a door open and close. When he returned, he held a glowing torch. She peeked around the corner and watched him light lanterns on posts, illuminating the rainy night at intervals.
“Does this mean that I’ll be left alone here? You live alone, sir?” She wanted to confirm this.
“It is only the animals and me.” When four lanterns were aglow, he mounted the torch on a stake.
“No staff?” she pressed, just to be certain.
“No.”
“No one at all to help you mind your horses?”
“I’ve two grooms, but they’ve gone for the night.”
“Of course.” Ryan looked at the sky. The rain was slowing and silver clouds parted to reveal a bright moon. “Honestly, it’s not necessary for me to wait in your... dwelling if you prefer me outside. You’ve been so very kind and...”
Now Ryan stopped. In fact, she wanted very muchto wait in his dwelling. She was soaked to the bone and shivering, and, oh—tosit downfor ten minutes. If there was water and a crust of bread, all the better.
“It’s through here,” he said, summoning her with a jerk of his head. She followed him around the corner of the structure. Was it a house? If so, the roof was very low, almost sunken, and—
—underground?
Ryan blinked at the domicile illuminated by flickering lantern light. It was less of a house and more of a... bunker? It protruded from beneath the gentle rise of a small, grassy hill. A wide, low doorway had been cut into the hillside like a human-sized mousehole. On either side of the door, the earth was held back by stone ledges.
It was half house, half hill; part bunker, part cottage. It was sunken and settled and clearly very old. A stout chimney poked from the side of the hill like a cork; a small window beside the door was one open eye. It was the type of abode that children in a storybook might stumble upon in the forest; a magical dwelling for fairies or wood nymphs or a witch. It looked far too small to accommodate the man who’d abducted/rescued her. It hardly looked large enough for Ryan.
“Shall I—?” she began, trying not to stare. She glanced behind her. She heard the horses milling in the darkness.
“I’ll not be gone long,” the man said.
He stepped to the door and Ryan had the errant worry that she was about to be led inside, knocked in the head, and baked into a pie. She never learned thenameof this man.
“I beg your pardon?” She cleared her throat. “I’ve been remiss in not learning your name, sir. I should hate to impose on your hospitality without knowing to whom I’m indebted.”
He wrenched open the heavy door with a creak and disappeared inside. She held back, hovering between the stone ledges.
“Sir?” she tried again, her mind conjuring terrible names, the names of madmen and murderers.
He didn’t answer. She heard the scrape of iron on stone and saw orange flames flicker in a corner grate. Light tumbled from the fireplace, and she could see his silhouette amid the outlines of crude furniture. A chair. A table. A shelf.
