Page 93 of Winterset

“I don’t understand,” she began, “what you mean about me. About my being meant for you.”

“We are destined for each other!” He flung his arms wide in a dramatic gesture, and Anna saw that beneath his cloak he wore a plain shirt and trousers, and tucked into the waistband of his trousers was the gardening instrument that Dr. Felton had mentioned, its four sharp tines bent forward like claws.

A shudder ran through her. He had used this on his other victims; he intended to use it on Reed. She swallowed hard against the nausea rising in her.

“We are both the Children of the Wolf,” he went on. “I am not the person you think you know. The people who call themselves my parents are not really my parents. I was adopted. I know that now. I realized it several years ago. At first, I didn’t understand who I was. I was just relieved that those foolish, weak, ordinary people were not really the ones who sired me. But then I learned that I was heir to the Wolf.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do! Of course you do! Or have they so indoctrinated you that you do not believe? Don’t worry. I will teach you.” He placed his hand upon his chest, saying earnestly, “My grandfather was Lord Roger de Winter.”

“That cannot be,” Anna said before it occurred to her that it was not wise to contradict this unhinged man. “I mean…Lord Charles has no children,” she went on in a conciliatory tone.

“Not him!” The man waved her mention of her uncle away with a gesture. “I don’t know who my father was, but my mother was the illegitimate child of a maid at Winterset. My grandfather was Lord de Winter.”

“I see.” That was, Anna thought, not an entirely preposterous idea. According to what Nick had said, the old lord had been a terrible husband, and he had clearly been a cold, hard person who would not have balked at seducing, or even raping, someone who worked for him. God knows, he had killed a maid; he would not have stopped at a lesser crime.

Who was this man? His voice, she thought, sounded a little familiar, but she could not place it.

“Winterset should be mine,” he went on, his eyes lighting fanatically. “Once I knew that, I got into the house. I searched through it, and finally I found my grandfather’s treasure trove.”

The lights in the house that Grimsley had seen, Anna thought. “You found the masks.”

He nodded. “Yes. You have seen them? Have you read his journals?”

“A little,” Anna admitted.

“Then you must know!” he said excitedly. “We are descendants of the Wolf. He doesn’t belong there.” He gestured wildly toward Reed. “It is you and I who should be at Winterset. I am the heir to Lord de Winter. It is I who should rule there.”

“So you are going to kill him?” Anna asked. “That won’t get you Winterset.” His belief was so impossible, so preposterous, that she scarcely knew where to begin. “It would go to Reed’s heirs. And even if it reverted somehow to the de Winters, you would never inherit the estate. You just said that you are illegitimate.”

“Ah, but I have figured that out,” he said craftily, his eyes taking on a gleam. “I will come into possession of the property after you and I marry.”

“Marry!” She gaped at him. “But how will that—my brother Kit is the heir…” Anna’s voice trailed off as she realized that it was because of Kit’s link to Winterset that this man had tried to kill him.

“You think I would marry you after you had killed my brother?” she cried. “After you killed the man I love? I would never marry you!”

“You must!” he snapped back, his eyes flashing. “We are destined for each other. We carry the de Winter blood. We belong together.”

“I may have that tainted blood flowing through my veins,” Anna flared. “God knows, I wish that I did not. But I am not like you. I am not like Lord de Winter.”

“You are.” His eyes flamed with anger. “You and I belong together. We are de Winters!”

“I will never marry you,” Anna said slowly and distinctly, her voice like iron. “You repulse me. No matter who you kill or what you do, I will never marry you.”

He let out an inarticulate roar, his hand coming up and back, as though he was preparing to strike her with the knife. But he stopped himself and stood for a moment, looking at her wildly.

“It is him!” he shouted, whirling around and pointing at Reed’s recumbent form. “He is why you act like this!”

He thudded down onto his knees beside Reed, raising his hand. With a shriek, Anna threw herself at him, grabbing his knife hand and pulling back with all her strength. Cursing, he rose and turned, trying to fling her aside, but Anna clung to his arm tenaciously, sinking her nails into his wrist. He howled with rage and clumsily cuffed her with his other hand.

His blow made her head ring, but Anna held on, screaming, hoping that Kit or Rankin might hear her and come to her rescue. He yanked one of her arms from his wrist, but by the time he removed the other, she had grabbed his wrist again, and so they struggled. From the corner of her eye, she saw Reed’s legs twitch, and hope surged in her. She struggled on with renewed strength.

She could see her attacker’s eyes grow dark with rage, the insane light burning brighter, and he let out a howl of frustration. With a burst of strength, he flung her away from him, and she stumbled backward and fell onto the ground. Before she could get up, he threw himself at her, raising his knife.

“Let her go!” a voice bellowed, and the next instant, a man barreled into her attacker, knocking him off Anna.

The knife went flying off into the grass, and the two men grappled, rolling across the grass. Anna scrambled to her feet, staring at them in amazement. “Uncle Charles!”