He’ll be explaining to our thief why he’s done wrong, but that he understands why. Angelika pictured the unfortunate villagers of Salisbury. She hated riding through there; everywhere she looked, she saw a crying child, a sad-eyed woman, a man in rags. He’ll tell him that times are hard, and jobs are hard to come by, and the crops did poorly, and scarlet fever has taken even their strong ones. Stomachs are empty in Salisbury. She wiped sweat from her temple. If I know Will, he would think a bag of candlesticks and silver would make a suitable donation. And tonight, as I think about it, I’m inclined to agree.
Angelika found herself having an odd daydream about what a silver candlestick might be able to buy. Warm bread, curls of butter, wedges of cheese? A bag of apples, like those ripening on the trees behind her?
“My goodness. I’m sitting here daydreaming about villagers’ larders and not my own first kiss?” She tapped her knuckles on her temple. “What has happened to me tonight?”
She was preparing to stand, listening for Will’s call, when she heard a stick snap behind her. With a dry mouth, she whispered, “Who’s there?”
Silence was the reply, but she felt their stare on her seated body. She took back her earlier declaration: she was a helpless maiden. Rogues were out in the village, strangers were in her house, and there was someone behind her. Frozen, she could hear the slow press of footsteps approaching, and the trembling jingle of the bridle buckles on her arm.
“I’ll give you what you want,” she said to the night air. “Don’t hurt me.”
When a hand touched the top of her head, she closed her eyes and nearly lost consciousness. It was a slow stroke, from the crown of her head, down her back, to the tips of her hair. When it lifted away, she let out a whimper. “Don’t.”
It happened again. She was being stroked like a horse in a field. Man, or ghost? Impossible to know. The moment the touch lifted away was the worst part. Would the next touch be on her side, sliding around to her breast? Or hands, wrapping around her throat? She flinched when the touch resettled on her crown. Surely this was a joke, before the tearing of clothing began. Nobody in the village had any fondness for her.
“He’ll come,” she said through her clenched jaw, shuddering through the next downward stroke. “He’ll come for me.”
“Angelika,” Will’s voice called at a distance. The touch stopped. When Will walked up to her, he found her still sitting on the stone wall. “It’s all over. The boy in the library was terrified. I gave him a coin, and we had a talk, and he promised not to come back.” He took the bridles from Angelika and laid them aside. “Are you all right?”
“I’m not. I’m not. I’m not—” She began hiccupping for air, and Will enfolded her in his arms. “Someone was here, and . . .”
“Someone? Who?”
“They were behind me. Right behind me. And they were touching me.” She felt the swell of horror in Will’s rib cage. “My hair. A hand, stroking down my hair. It was the most disgusting thing I have ever felt. But it also felt like my mother.” She gave a hysterical bark of laughter. “They could have snapped my neck, or cut my throat. And I just sat there.”
“Come inside,” he urged, and when she could not walk, he put an arm under her legs, lifted her, and carried her toward Blackthorne Manor. “At daylight, I’ll go and look for footprints. Perhaps there was a third thief, hanging back. Or could it have been . . .” He looked toward the barn.
“Victor is chasing him, miles away. He’s angry at us, besides. I’m sure he would not have been so gentle.”
They were at the kitchen door now, and Will called, “Mary, help.”
Angelika was still in a wheezing heap when she was laid down on a bed and saw a sideways bear. This was Will’s bedroom. “She’s had a shock,” Mary said. “I’ll fetch smelling salts, and whiskey. I’ve been telling Victor that there’s someone in the orchard.”
“Angelika,” Will said, unlacing her boots. “Please, come to your senses. Did he touch you anywhere else?” When she shook her head, he let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I was intoxicated by the thought of protecting the house, but I did not protect you. Victor should hang me.”
When Mary came back, they urged Angelika to sit up and drink several mouthfuls of liquor. “You’re all right,” Mary said brusquely. “But what am I always telling you?”