Cursed to Love: The Golden Curse

Chapter 7: A Warm Reception

Gilda was dragged from the manor and thrown out into the lawn. She sat there, dazed for a moment. On her finger was a ring that cost more than she could make trapping in an entire summer. Yet here she was, flung into a mulberry bush like a stray dog that had snuck in with the milk. She got up from her embarrassing prostrate position and brushed the leaves out of her hair. They had dragged her quite a ways before throwing her into the brush. They must really not have wanted her to try to sneak back in. As if she would try to crawl in through the window or something! How desperate and grasping did they think she was?

The bush was unfortunately fruiting, so Gilda had several large purple stains from crushed berries on her new dress. Damn! It would never wash out. Mulberry juice was used as dye for wool for a reason. That ridiculous Squire continued to ruin every facet of her life…now he had gone so far as to ruin the one nice thing she owned.

A glint of sunlight on her finger reminded her that she could probably replace the dress ten times over if she could make it home without being robbed and dared to poke her head into Mr. Grummold’s shop again. Gilda sighed and began walking. It would take her until midnight to walk home, and that was if she didn’t get lost. Gran was going to be so worried about her. Gilda felt horribly guilty for the way she and Gran had parted, and she hadn’t even scared the wits out of the poor old woman yet. Judging by the sun’s position in the sky, that was a good 2-3 hours way. She hoped that Gran wouldn’t assume the worst.

Gilda made it a good hour’s walk before sincerely wishing she was wearing her boots. The stupid little handmade shoes, while pretty, were not cushioning her feet well. She’d be lucky if she still had feet when she returned home. Gilda limped through the unfamiliar section of the woods. If she followed the road, it would lead to town, and from town, she knew how to return home. She actually found herself lonesome for the rustling that had been accompanying her for so long. At least if the Phantom was there, she was not completely alone. She must be mad if she was longing for her mysterious monster.

Gilda tried to recall when the rustling had started. It had certainly gotten worse ever since she had placed her seventh trap in the woods. The deeper into the woods she went, the more frequent the rustling. But she had heard it before then, although it had been infrequent before. She could write it off as the wind, or a curious rabbit when it had happened less often. Now it was always with her, as was the slight tingle of fear. But currently, in this section of the woods, it was not. It almost inspired some degree of fear by its absence! Was she really silly enough to think that her giant rustling phantom was going to protect her from other woodland critters? It would probably just roar to the other ones that, as it had been stalking her for years, it deserved the first bite.

The day turned to evening and evening turned to night. Gilda’s epic trek grew wearier and wearier. Her thoughts began making less and less sense as dehydration, hunger, exhaustion, fear, and the intense pain from her feet began clouding them. The gentle sound of a trickling stream informed her that she had not gotten lost in the dark! She rushed to its cool obliging surface and drank deeply. She painfully slid off the slippers and bathed her feet in the cold water. It hurt so much that it was almost worse, but she knew they needed to be washed. Once Gran finished yelling at her for scaring her half to death, she would surely give Gilda something to eat. The thought of the basket of butter and jam was nearly enough to keep her walking on its own.

No doubt Gran was right now assuming that she had agreed to be kept, and was currently being bedded down in a soft goose down bed with a cup of hot mulled wine. Gilda abruptly stopped the somewhat comforting fantasy. The only way for it to end was with a slightly overweight, very pale, very silly man coming in to tuck himself in beside her. Gilda shuddered. Well, at least that engagement was never going to happen. She twirled the little ring on her finger – what had she been thinking? She never could have borne it. Ah well. It was over now.

Dimly she could see lights surrounding the area where her cottage should be. Gran would not have planted a series of torches in order to light her way. Someone, probably many someones, were at her house. She was still a long way off, but having been in utter darkness for the last several hours, the torches appeared like a series of suns. Gilda felt a stab of fear for her Gran, and considered running wildly through the woods toward the cottage…but that would be stupid. Gilda was fully accepted the fact that she was foolish, but she wasn’t an i***t. She crept slowly toward the cottage, ducking behind bushes, trees, and brush, one to the next so that she was continuously out of sight. She felt rather like her phantom, always close enough to see, but never to be seen.

It took longer than she would have liked to reach the cottage in this fashion, but there was nothing for it. Finally she was close enough to see who was there. Half the townsmen it seemed, and Lord Phillip – on a horse. Bloody bastard had given himself a horse and beaten her there. He’d probably left several hours after she had too. Damn selfish aristocratic swine! How could she have ever have fantasized about marrying him? To be fair, that had been before she had met him. Gilda crept closer until she was within earshot.

“These are serious crimes Mrs. Ovark. If you tell us where your granddaughter is, we may be able to leave you out of the litany of accusations. I’d hate to see an old woman rot in a cell, or worse yet burn for aiding a known witch in her escape.” Lord Phillip said, his posture very righteous.

“An I’d hate to see an innocent girl arrested because some fool men with evil in their hearts got an itch they’re too lazy to scratch themselves!” Gran said standing in the doorway while several men searched the house. There was a lot of unnecessary breaking of fragile objects that were clearly not Gilda-sized. It was not as if she could have hidden in the sugar bowl! Poor Gran was rubbing what looked like an injured wrist. She must have argued with them at the door awhile before they forced their way in.

“Innocent? Innocent? You dare call your granddaughter innocent?” Mr. Grummold said stepping forward in the crowd. “We have witnesses to a long list of things that only a true affirmed witch would do!” He said brandishing a piece of paper that he had to know Gran could not read.

“If there’s a single one on that list that don’t have nothin’ to do with puttin’ desire in the hearts of innocent menfolk – an that ain’t witchcraft, it’s called lust – I’ll eat my Sunday bonnet.” Gran said emphatically. Mr. Grummold gave her a sickening grin.

“Why there are several on this list that fit that description. Did you know your granddaughter talks to a “phantom” familiar invisible to all but herself?” He asked with a sneer. “We have a witness who will testify to it.” He said in a self-important tone. Gilda but her lip…that wretched man from the other day had heard her talking to her mysterious stalker. Her word against his could only go one way.

“And we have three witnesses who will say they saw her consorting with a man in black – a man who jumped out of a tree like a cat. Clearly a rendezvous with the devil incarnate.” Mr. Grummold said triumphantly. Gilda bit her lip harder to keep from shouting out an explanation. So Mr. Vanhelstad had been right about her needing an escort. Three men had watched them walk home from the party that night. It was just like that wretched woodsman to turn a rescue into something that could be used as proof of witchcraft.

“There is also the small matter of her putting my father into a ‘t****l’.” Lord Phillip said with a voice full of deep shame. Gilda sneered to herself; that was clearly an act.

“t****l? You mean he likes her? That ain’t witchcraft, that’s cause Gilda has a pretty face and not enough sense to go with it.” Gran said with anger rising in her voice. She knew for a fact that her silly little Gilda-lily was no witch.

“He put it into writing that Gilda compelled him to give her lavish gifts…did you not receive a basket?” He asked challengingly. He showed her another sheet of paper she couldn’t read. Gilda knew it must be a copy of the letter Lord Gravely had sent her. How Phillip had gotten it from the Squire or copied it from his desk she didn’t know, but she did know that his exact wording had been “compelled.” He had also mentioned being in her t****l. Damn it!

“She compelled me to give her a dress for less than half of what it was worth!” Mr. Grummold chimed in. “I’m a man of business, only witchcraft could cause me to do that!” He said in a wounded air. Gilda gritted her teeth. Or a botched attempt at forced seduction, she thought savagely. That one was partially the fault of her woodsman as well.

Gilda realized that she was going to have to make an appearance. If she continued to hide until they left or simply ran away, they might harm Gran in order to get information out of her. That was something she could not allow. She was vain and selfish, but she was not selfish enough to let Gran be hurt for her sake if she could avoid it. Gilda shook slightly, from cold, sheer exhaustion, and apprehension. She knew Gran would forgive her if she simply ran. Gilda also knew she couldn’t forgive herself if she betrayed Gran that way.

“One last time, woman. Where is the girl?” Lord Phillip asked arrogantly.

“You saw her last! I haven’t seen her since she left here in your father’s carriage.” Gran said with a tinge of concern in her voice.

“I threw the witch out of my house at 4 o’ clock this afternoon. She should have returned home by now.” He said. Gran’s eyebrows shot up.

“A carriage only takes two hours or so to get here from your estate. She must injured or in trouble!” Gran’s voice jumped an octave with panic.

“You think I gave that creature a carriage? I sent her home on foot.” Lord Philip said with a sneer. Gran struggled against the man who was holding her off to the side of the door.

“You sent my baby girl on a 7 hour walk through the woods alone at night? It must be two dozen miles to your estate from here! She could be hurt, or lost, or killed! You come here and ask me where she is? You’re the one who marched her to her death! Search the woods for her, I’m sure you’ll find her pretty corpse!” Gran was furious. She was twisting and kicking at the man who held her, spittle formed on her lips as she screamed and raged at the Squire’s son. Lord Phillip raised his eyebrow.

“Calm yourself woman. Your excessive concern only solidifies her guilt, you must be in her t****l as well. She could easily have returned home more quickly if she so desired… I’m sure she is capable, as other witches are, of transformation. She could have become a raven and been here hours ago. Your age will not keep us from applying stronger methods for prizing information from you. It would be best…for you to tell us what you know.” He said stepping off his horse and advancing towards Gran, riding crop in hand.

Gilda said a silent prayer of thanks that they had not planned on searching the woods. If they had brought dogs she would be out of luck. As it was she had half a chance of escaping him on foot. If only the wretched woodsman had the good sense to offer her a rescue when men came after her with torches and pitchforks! Where was he? She cared more about saving her neck than her virtue, but it appeared that he did not feel similarly.

“Good evening Gentlemen.” She said in a cold voice, deeper and slower than her usual tone and cadence. She stepped into the clearing surrounding her cottage. They all turned to look at her in surprise. “If you are going to accuse me of crimes, at least get them right.” She laughed loudly. “You forgot that I bewitched this poor old woman into housing and caring for me.” She smiled with her head c****d to the side like a bird of prey, looking as frightening as she could. “Poor stupid old woman never figured out what I was…not in 12 years, the old bat.” She said derisively. A few of the men stepped towards her.

“I wouldn’t come towards me.” She said raising her arm toward them. “If I can cause you to lust after me, I can certainly cause you to turn on each other. Do you wish to be stabbed to death by your comrades?” She asked with a particularly vicious laugh. “Don’t do anything foolish.” The men looked as though they were having trouble deciding if they should approach her or not. They turned to one another to see what action their comrades had chosen. She grinned at them with all her teeth.

“Two choices gentlemen. Prove that I am a mortal maid by capturing me, and you shall prove also that you are nothing but violent, and evil men who would kill an innocent girl to hide their adulterous intents. Or let me, found out as I am, flee unharmed, because you fear my otherworldly power.” She did not wait to see what they would decide, but with a trilling laugh, darted into the woods. They could follow her, and look very guilty, or let her go and look fearful. Either way, Gran should be safe. She had insinuated on no uncertain terms that Gran was one of her victims.

Gilda ran along the snare path that she knew exceedingly well. She kicked off her shoes, which were so damaged that they could scarcely be referred to as shoes anymore. She could run faster on bare feet anyway. The track her snares were on was thankfully known to no one but her. A clear path would scare away the animals she sought to catch. Hers twisted and turned and wound through the woods. She really wished that she hadn’t just walked over two dozen miles. She was dizzy and delirious with hunger, thirst, and exhaustion and now she had to outrun 15 or 20 men. She could hear them entering the woods. All the crushing and snapping of branches made estimating their distance easy. They even shouted to one another in the dark.

“After her! If we let her escape she could come back and kill us all in our sleep!” Someone shouted.

“She and her coven will kidnap our children!” Another person responded.

“She’s too dangerous to let live.” A voice she was pretty sure was Mr. Grummold’s yelled, then he let out a yelp. Judging by the sound, he had ended up in one of her snares. Ha. Two benefits to using her snare path. They sounded far enough behind… Gilda stopped momentarily to tie off a giant snare, one tree branch bent and held so that a small movement would cause it to snap and recoil at whoever was unfortunate enough to be in the way. Gilda kept running, jumping over brush she knew was there, ducking under tree branches she had ducked under a hundred times.

She heard the satisfying sound of the branch snapping back and hitting something solid. A man cried out in pain and anger. Gilda tried to figure out how far behind her they were based on how long it had taken for them to trip the snare she had made. Far enough, she hoped. Gilda tore the sash off her dress and tied it between two trees like a trip wire. She had to force her bruised and painful feet to keep running. These men were worked up enough that they would chase her a good while before they gave up. They had developed that dangerous herd mindset which made them capable of almost anything. She only hoped that the energy one gets when running for their life would keep her moving long enough before she collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

The sound of a man tripping on her sash and falling was almost far enough behind that she didn’t hear it. She didn’t hear the sound of him hitting the ground, just the higher pitched sound of him crying out. Gilda let herself move somewhat more slowly. She didn’t want to run herself out and collapse. Gilda continued stumbling ever forward, distressingly aware that she had no idea where she was going.

Theodore followed quietly behind the others. He didn’t want to find Gilda tonight. If she was found tonight, she would be hurt and he couldn’t bear that. He didn’t care if she was a witch. He loved her, and he was going to find her and keep her safe. He quietly triumphed every time one of the men was injured and turned back. She was keeping herself safe, safe so that they could be together. She must love him very much to go to all this trouble for him.

The Squire’s son was angry because his father had proposed to Gilda after only just meeting her. That meant she had never been his woman. She was innocent, true and faithful to their love. Pretending not to know him when he had asked her to the fair had been her shyness…she was so untried, so sheltered living in the woods. She was just a green girl, unused to the ways of men. No doubt her own feelings had frightened her. He understood now that he had not been wrong, they were in love. He would follow her, find her, and protect her from these other men and their accusations. He could be patient.

It was nearly dawn. The sky was the kind of pale gray that indicated the approach of morning. The other men were tired, most of them injured. It had been hours, however, since any of them had come across a trap. Most of them were grumbling about how late it was and how they’d still have to walk all the way back to town. She had run in a zig zag fashion which had led them all over the woods.

“An’ is’ like, if she is a witch, then she’d have just popped into one of them hills you see? We’ll never find her now.” One of the men said to another man as he turned to head back.

“She could’a turned herself inna some other creature and be long gone by now. Best just ta keep an eye on her Gran’s house a case she comes back.” The other man replied as he turned back also. Theodore smiled to himself. Good. He wanted them all to give up and go home. One by one the others decided to turn back also. Theodore alone continued to follow the girl’s trail. A heel print here, some blood there. His precious girl was injured. He needed to find her and care for her. She was going to be so relieved to be found by her one true love. He could just imagine the effects of her deep gratitude. Heat suffused his face as he pictured it, and continued his search.

Gilda hadn’t heard anyone behind her in quite a while. It was nearing morning and she had zig and zagged back and forth all over the woods so much that she had no idea where she was anymore. All she wanted was a cave, or hell anywhere that she could lie down relatively hidden and sleep. Not all she wanted. She felt like she could drink a river and eat an entire rabbit – dead or alive…but sleep and getting off her feet was more pressing. Her feet were cut to ribbons from her flight. She could barely walk and was afraid that if she kept going she might soon be unable to walk ever again. She’s once prided herself of the delicate beauty of her feet…that was pride she knew was gone after today. Gran had always admonished Gilda not to cry due to physical pain, it was weak. Gilda found it ironic that she was near to losing consciousness from pain, but not shedding a single tear.

Gilda stumbled into a clearing. It was indicative of her decreased mental awareness. She had been trying to avoid them because of the lack of cover. But she was so tired now that her vision was blurring and in an effort to find the light she had stumbled into one. There she was in a clearing, and in it – a miraculous heaven sent stone cottage with a darling little thatched roof. She didn’t care if bandits or pirates or grave robbers lived there. They were too remote from town to know who she was and they would have to let her in. If nothing else she could buy a glass of well water and a bed in their small barn with the lovely engagement ring she was wearing. Gilda fell against the front door in her attempt to knock. Her feet simply stopped allowing the imposition of her weight being upon them and she collapsed. The sound of her falling against it did not cause anyone to come and answer the door. Gilda knocked properly while kneeling in front of it. Still no answer. Gilda tried the knob. Maybe it was abandoned? The door opened and Gilda fell in, onto a cool stone floor.

On the table as she entered she could see a pitcher of water and jug of milk on the table. Gilda climbed on her knees to the chair and pulled herself painfully up to the table. She drank the entire pitcher of water, and was surprised when she was not instantly sick. Generally drinking so much after running was a bad idea. Gilda then noticed that there was food – warm food – left on the table. It was porridge, which seemed like the greatest of ironies…but it was food. Gilda grabbed the smallest bowl as it was not steaming and seemed the right size for a stomach full of water. She ate the entire rich, creamy, perfectly sweetened bowl in three bites. She tore a chunk off the loaf of bread in the center of the table and half walked, half crawled towards the stairs. It was a two story house! The current level was the kitchen, dining and living area. The bedrooms must be upstairs. Surely they could not be grave robbers if they had such a lovely house. If they were not criminals then perhaps they would be kind and not instantly murder an injured accidental intruder.

Gilda’s feverish over-tired thoughts were startled by the realization that she had tripped unseeing over a small footstool and crushed it. She was going to have a terrible bruise on her shin in an hour…no, more than a bruise, blood was running down her leg. She hobbled over the pieces to the staircase. At the top of those stairs were beds. Probably very nice beds. A two story house meant feather beds. She just had to get to them. It felt longer than the run through the woods to get up to the top of the stairs. Every step, every crawl was agony. Her wretched scraped hands were acting as feet to pull her up the stairs. She walked on all fours into the first room at the top. It had a bed in the center. Without caring to see if the person whose room it was seemed to be male, female, highwayman or governess…Gilda fell on top of the bed face down and was asleep without even tucking herself in. It would have been rude to do so anyway…she was sweaty, filthy, and bloody.

“Is that her? I can’t see her face, but the hair is unmistakable.” A soft female voice was murmuring in the background. Sigh. It had been less than an hour, Gilda was sure of it. She still felt 90% dead. She kept her eyes closed. Maybe they would go away and let her sleep. The fact that they thought she was someone they knew about was alarming, so she kept herself on the edge of consciousness, to listen.

“Yes, that’s Gilda.” A familiar male voice said. But while she couldn’t place the voice, it did not inspire fear. Comfort rather. Odd. “Of all the people that could find our house…it has to be the one that will bring all the rest.” He continued in an irritated…yet disinterested tone.

“She’s beautiful! Look at her!” A younger male voice said. The female one laughed.

“That’s why you’ve never been allowed to watch her.” She said firmly, but her tone was kind.

“Well apparently Freyr did a really bad job of it, because here she is – in my bed!” The younger male voice said in delight.

“I don’t watch her at night. She never goes into the woods at night! I assumed she was gone for good. She’d been invited to the Estate by Lord Gravely…I didn’t think she’d be leaving. Or that he wouldn’t ever let her leave more like. I had every reason to believe my task was over.” Freyr replied, sounding defensive. Gilda felt suddenly more awake. She was in Freyr Vanhelstad house? Well…not really Vanhelstad, that was an assumed name. How on earth had she ended up in the house of that woodsman? If she hadn’t been half dead, she was sure that the possibility would have occurred to her, given that it was a cottage in the woods.

“It’s all right Freyr. No one blames you. How could you know there would be a witch hunt through our woods?” The female voice said again.

“She’ll need to be dealt with now. There’s no avoiding it.” Freyr said quietly.

“Freyr! The girl is injured. She will die if we throw her out. And if her death is what you mean by ‘dealt with’ that will not be necessary. She will heal here, and when she is well again she will know that we are not to be feared. She will not betray us.” The female voice said, gently. Gilda could think of no reason why she should fear them, that was, if they were not discussing the possibility of killing her. She kept her eyes tightly shut, so that they would not know she was awake. “She has nowhere else to go. Turning on us will only leave her homeless and in danger. Be reasonable Freyr.” The female one finished. The younger boy spoke again.

“Look at her hair, it’s not blonde, or even flaxen, or like corn, it’s like gold. It shines like actual metal.” Gilda felt something touch her hair as he spoke.

“What do you remember of gold? You were a child the last time you saw it.” Freyr said derisively.

“I remember things! I remember more than you know!” The other voice said petulantly as he continued to stroke her hair. She hadn’t noticed at first, but suddenly she was very aware that what was stroking her hair was not a hand. It was hard, and had several points like claws, or knives. Gilda opened her eyes a tiny pinch – terrified –what the hell was touching her? Dimly she saw dark fur, light fur. russet fur by the bed. They were monsters. Huge, furred, monsters with claws. One of them was touching her. Gilda pinched her eyes shut again…no she was hallucinating. One of them was Freyr Vanhelstad and he was human. She knew he was human. She must be too tired to be seeing properly…perhaps she was infected from the cuts on her feet. Could she have ingested something? Could something have been in the water she drank or gotten into one of the cuts on her feet? Gilda opened her eyes a sliver again…still monsters. The cold clawed hand touched her cheek. It was too much.

“Stop!” Gilda cried out sitting bolt up in the bed. Moving to a sitting position had tugged at her feet. Gilda cried out in pain.

“Shhh… It’s alright Gilda. None of us are going to harm you.” The reddish colored creature said. It looked like a bear. A huge, russet colored, bear…that was talking to her. It was impossible. It was bigger than she thought a bear should be, but that could have been perspective. One didn’t usually see bears inside a little bedroom. A blondish bear with the boy’s voice spoke.

“Don’t be afraid.” It said. Then the dark brown bear turned its face toward Gilda. The dark brown, almost black eyes were the same. They were Freyr Vanhelstad’ eyes. Gilda fainted dead away, tipping and rolling off the bed, hitting her head on the corner of the side table on the way floor.

“You shouldn’t have spoken to her. It’s even more disconcerting that way.” Freyr said picking her up and putting her back on the bed. “She hit her head hard enough to sleep awhile. We should go out and lock her in. She’ll need to be dealt with when she wakes. She’s terrified enough to be very rash.” He said turning toward the door. His sister and brother followed him.

“She can’t even walk Freyr. You can stop worrying.” Freya said in her usual gentle tone. Freyr made a grunting sound that expressed his profound disagreement with that statement.

“You don’t know her. Logic is not her pervasive quality.”