AUDEAMUS
Chapter 12
Lying still, trying to feign sleep, is a hard thing. The human body is not apt for such a feat when every muscle is fighting to flee. For that was what Bella wished to do more than anything else—to flee from her room.
She sensed the presence and she knew she would have to act soon. Her back was turned away from the window where the noise had emerged. The only present sound was now the flapping of curtains, dragged heavy by the wind, the iridescent moon peeking through skirmish clouds; its crescent shape partly reflecting in the mirror that stood on her dressing table across the room. Something else contrasted in the reflection: a shadow darker than the blackest night.
The gulp must have been audible for Bella swore it stopped in its tracks. Her eyes drifted to the nightstand table and to the porcelain vase, painted with swirls of Prussian blue, sitting there with a single red rose, soaking up the stale water with some petals already fallen.
Her hand reached for it before she herself could react. With an impressive force, Bella darted up, her fragile weapon in hand, her knees week and shaking, but her mind determined. She would not give up without a fight.
Her movement might have been swift—even graceful—if it were not for the fact that her feet got twisted in the sheets; the damned sheets. Bella turned to face the shadow, hovering for an instance upright on her bed, her hand clutching the vase high above her head before haplessly falling backward.
Head first she tumbled against the floor, the rug and fallen pillows cushioned her fall, but she still uttered a hard ouf! as her feet remained twisted in the linen on the bed.
Bella wasted no time in trying to figure out her confused state and wrestled with the long material of her nightgown before struggling to stand, the whole left side of her gown completely soaked from the stale rosewater.
The shadow had not moved a single inch, its head slightly tilted as it regarded her with what she could only guess was silent contemplation.
The young woman took a step back, her naked feet touching the bare floor—the sudden shift in temperature sending a jolt through her limbs.
"W-who are you?" she demanded in a trembling voice.
The figure stood as immobile as before. She wondered what went through its mind—if it even had a mind. One thing she was certain about; the shadow had not expected to be caught by her.
It did not speak—or was not able to utter any kind of sound. The clouds parted in the night sky and let strong silver lights penetrate into her chamber. She saw the familiar shadow once more but could not manage to utter a shriek.
It was the same thing that had crashed Wilson's party in the wee hours of morning some week ago.
Only one name, a word, came to mind. Two syllables, rough and sharp against the roll of her tongue as she worked the dry muscle to speak the word against her better judgment.
"Cullen?" she asked in confusion. Weeks of speculation had rendered the possibility strangely reasonable in the depth of her mind, even though she would never admit it. First Mr. Simmons, then her own run-in with the rogue, the wagging tongues—why not Cullen? What other explanation was there?
Her mind was clouded against better reason. In any other situation, Bella would have shaken the thought away before it even began rooting between her synapses. She would have laughed at her foolish innocence and strived to find a logical solution.
Her brain, however, did not seem to work all that well under stress. The only answer it gave her as she fervently clawed for help was 'Cullen'—thus she spoke the only thing making sense to her.
A deep chuckle rumbled, low, vibrating and almost decadent, she thought. It sent a jolt shocking her, the vase still clutched in her hand. Bella could not ignore how that chuckle was too careless, too comfortable while she, on the other hand, felt like a mouse caught in a trap, ready to meet her maker.
"At your service," the voice spoke with a soft bow of its head. Bella had never had any preconceived notion of what the shadow was supposed to sound like for she had never imagined she would be in such a situation. However, the deep, rich and velvety tone stemming from its lips was not it. The tone was too inviting. It almost lured her like the moth to a flame.
"C-Cullen?" Bella could not help but say again, finally processing the three words which he—it had spoken.
A black limb came up and she imagined it was his hand, reaching in the darkness as the shadow shifted its weight. It almost looked like it was pensively stroking its chin. Another deep chuckle rumbled as the shadow moved in place. Each movement so graceful, calculated.
Bella's mind started fumbling in the dark, the clouds parting evermore as more light worked its way into her chambers. Something was awfully familiar. The intensity of the voice was new, the mocking undertone, the hint of sarcasm intensified—but something about this thing…man—it rang a strange bell in her head that she had met this shadow before. Not at Wilson's estate, much before that.
And then she realized she was in the presence of a man who hid his face. Something quite alarming that her brain had not processed until now.
The vase rose higher.
"Be gone or I—" But she stopped herself short at the grin, the low and mocking laughter. She shook at the sound of the same rich and velvety voice, like amber honey running slowly; so sweet, so inviting. Bella's brows knitted together, almost taking offense that he was seemingly not taking the situation as seriously as her.
In any other circumstance, she would no longer have been frightened of this man, merely annoyed. Maybe she would even have walked over to him, if he had not moved forward first, finally stepping out of the dark shadows so that she might see who hid within them.
The silver moon shone down on his tall form. And Bella then noted how tall this man really was. Her eyes darted to the first place anyone would have looked. Sheer curiosity demanded that she find out what his face looked like. Alas, there was no luck in that department. It was obscured by something very dark. Yet, she could still see the outline of his lips, part of his chin and some of his jaw—a very sharp and squared jaw.
The bastard was smirking as if he amusedly awaited her to fully examine him with her eyes from top to toe.
Bella grew alarmed again at the fact that he was wearing a mask. He dressed in a quite neutral style, yet the cut of his shirt was outdated; by several centuries. It looked like it had been taken straight out from a chivalrous novel of old if she didn't know any better. He wore riding boots ending just below his knee in the blackest leather, that had somehow not managed to squeak a sound.
She rose the vase at arm's length, the weak porcelain a shift-make weapon that would offer no protection if he decided to attack. As soon as the thought of a weapon crossed her mind, she remembered the conversation at the Masens. The kind of weapon he wore would reveal a little bit more about him. Alas, she found nothing tied to his hip, nor any sign of a hilt tucked into his boot. Not even a pistol. Who on earth entered people's houses or garrisons in the dead of night unarmed?
But Bella knew well who he resembled, with some minor tweaks, of course. The man before her, standing in the pale light of a crescent moon looked very much like the statue of General Edward Cullen that graced the old square.
Her brows knitted together, still mindful of him, keeping her distance, her eyes constantly darting to the door behind her. "A scream, sir, and the whole household will be here within the second!" she threatened with a hint of fear to her voice.
The threat, however, went completely past him. He waved his hand casually in the air as he started pacing to and fro' before her. "Oh, have we gone to sir now?" he continued with a dark voice, the undertone of amusement never completely leaving it.
Bella could not believe the impudence of him. "How dare you, si—" she stopped herself, a blush creeping up her face slowly.
"See, it comes naturally to you," he smirked. But while his air was casual, Bella still sensed an undertone of danger. He looked dangerous, a man best not meddled with. He had, after all, broken out a man twice from the garrison. And he had singlehandedly gotten in and out of Wilson's estate without as much as a scratch.
"Why are you here?" Bella demanded with more authority to her words.
He started walking toward her, the steps as silent as before. Bella wanted to sprint for the door the more he neared, his figure menacing, imposing. This was a man she should fear; dressed like the devil himself.
But still his imposing figure cut through the silver beams of the moon, his boots' tapping sound muffled by the rug as he walked over it. Bella shifted and backed, wanting to get away from him.
"You were not supposed to know," he mumbled as he got closer and closer. "But it cannot be helped," the dark voice whispered. It was as if he was muttering to himself. He stood before her, close now and Bella had completely frozen in place. She did not see his eyes, the shadows shielding them from insight. He was close enough for her to reach out and touch him. She practically felt the heat that radiated from his body.
This man was no ghost, he was very real.
"You have something I need." The sentence caused her skin to prickle and her heartbeat to fasten drastically.
He smelled of the forest, of sandalwood and pine.
"Why are you here?" she demanded while he approached her more. "I swear I will scream if you take another step!" Panic had now fully bloomed out when she realized how near he truly was to her. She wondered if the porcelain would break under the pressure of her clutching hand.
"Your threats are empty to me. You would already have screamed, yet something stops you from doing so," he continued in his dark and delicious voice. Another step brought him closer. She felt the faint exhalations of his breath touch her brow now.
Bella wanted to prove him wrong just for the sake of it. She would ignore the consequences, the mere fact that there was yet more to be gained from a conversation with this man—like the true face hiding behind that mask. She started taking a deep breath, preparing for an earthshattering shriek that would be powerful enough to wake the entire town.
Before she could release her yell, however, he spoke a single word that immediately silenced her.
"Ridge," the shadow said calmly.
Bella's mouth swiftly shut as she stared at him. He regarded her as if waiting for her to speak first. What did this man know of Lucas Ridge? What had she stumbled into that she had a three-hundred-year-old deceased general enter her room in the dead of night? She slowly parted her lips, dry and cracked, to ask him when a loud bang sounded on the door.
"Miss Swan?" It was Sara and Lorraine. She turned to the source of the sound. "Miss Swan, Glenn heard you shriek but a few moments ago. Is everything alright?" asked a jittery Lorraine as she started turning the handle.
Her heart jumped up to her throat. How on earth would she explain the presence of that man in her chambers? What would her parents say if Lorraine or Sara told them?
The young woman turned around with panic manifesting in her eyes. Blasted man for putting her into such a situation! But when she turned to face him, he was gone; disappeared like dust in the wind.
Her brow furrowed as she searched her room with keen eyes. The door opened behind her and the maids rushed in, followed by two footmen and a page.
Bella turned around and saw their curious faces eyeing her. She took in her disheveled state. Her nightgown was still soaked to the point where it was almost see-through. Lorraine quickly covered her up. Bella blushed madly as she realized that man had seen more of her than she would have liked.
"What happened?" Sara asked as she took in the pillows and sheets tumbled over the bed, the vase in her hand with the rose thrown to the side.
"Nightmare!" Bella uttered while her blush grew redder and redder. "I…I reached for the vase and fell to the floor and got twisted in the sheets."
She gritted her teeth at having to come up with such a lie—a lie that made her look clumsy nonetheless.
Relief flooded their faces. "We thought someone had broken into your room!" Lorraine exclaimed as she pointed at the open window. "Ever since you mentioned that jewelry box, I couldn't sleep easy."
"Do not worry so, Lorraine. No one was in this room with me," Bella smiled, trying to calm her friend. She had no idea why she was covering for that man. But she knew she needed to speak with him again. He had said Ridge's name with the clear intention of delving further into his mysterious suicide.
A few days passed with thunderstorms raging in the countryside. Bella could not stop thinking of that man who had so carelessly entered her bedroom. She kept blushing when she thought how much he had seen of her.
But one thing was certain, he knew something about Ridge. And she needed to know what that was.
She ran over everything she remembered about the masked man. His height, his build, his voice. She tried to compare it to other men in town but found very few who fit his description. If she could gather more information on him, it might paint a clearer picture.
Reports started rolling in those days of more bandit attacks in the woods. The townspeople of Hayes had stormed to Collins, now desperate. Many had lost significant parts of their merchandise, their livelihoods and would do almost anything for him to help them. They would even pay more taxes, so more soldiers could be sent to their town.
Collins did not know what to do. He had no idea where the source for these attacks was from, was what he told his closest men. They had not the resources to fight this threat.
Bella had ventured into town, thinking to look for Sgt. Thompson. She knew she could coax answers from him when Collins' mouth remained closed to her, despite trying to charm the major. However, with the promise of some bottles of port and a basket of meat pies, Bella knew Thompson would open up like the gossiping ladies in Hayes.
The Laughing Goose was as busy as ever. For, indeed, here people of all corners of society frequented with social acceptance. Even Bella could venture there without too much scrutiny. Today, a sunny mid-morning, the tavern held its usual patrons—Thompson being one of them.
Bella stepped in and was greeted with the burly laughter of the sergeant. A lonesome guitar played by the void fireplace, the tune fleeting as the player strummed the strings in a distant Iberian song.
Bella saw Thompson sitting in the far corner of the dining area, just under the brass chandelier, by the stairs going up to the second floors housing all the bedrooms that were for rent.
Her brows, however, knitted together in confusion that transformed into surprise as she caught sight of a man she thought she'd never see at the tavern.
Edward Masen looked out of place so well dressed, with white silly lace on his cuffs peeking out from a baby blue suit jacket lined in white thread. Matching blue breeches and polished black boots with a brown rim finished off the outfit. A hat was placed on the table next to two bottles of wine, one of them already empty. Masen held a glass of wine in his hands, still full, the liquid never traveling to his lips. Sgt. Thompson, however, was red in the face, taking a swig of his cup, downing its contents in two gulps.
"One more, eh?" he hickuped. Masen smiled a charming smile and poured another bottle for the drunk sergeant.
Bella's mouth fell agape, and she blushed while trying to stifle a laugh at the strange scene.
"What it the world…" she mumbled.
"That's what I was sayin'," came the dark and robust tone of Little Lucy as she walked past her with some folded napkins and a few more bottles of wine tucked under her thick arm as she went for the bar.
"Lucy," Bella hissed, trailing behind her in rushed steps. "What on earth is Mr. Masen doing here, and with Sgt. Thompson?" She had to know, her curiosity wouldn't have it any other way. Masen did not frequent establishments like The Laughing Goose. She knew he would think them far too beneath him. Yet here she saw him, and in the company of Thompson.
"Hell if I should know, girl," Lucy chuckled back. "But he paid the entirety of Sgt. Thompson's long tab. And I ain't sayin' no to that." She started wiping some claret glasses reserved for her finer guests as some more patrons wandered into the bar.
Bella turned back to the two men and squinted eyes at them. It was at that moment that Sgt. Thompson caught sight of her and waved a big hand her way, causing Masen to turn around.
"Mish Swan!" the sergeant shouted at her in a slurring voice. "Come join us!"
She saw Masen dot his nose with the usual handkerchief, his face powdered, but his posture more relaxed than usual. Bella tapped the countertop with her nails as she gritted her teeth. What would it mean if she sat down with the two men?
"Oh, join 'em, Miss Swan," Lucy urged her on.
"But Lucy—" Bella turned around.
The big woman stopped wiping glasses, serving some mead to a gentleman just walked in. "Ya did not come here to sit and watch me wipe the countertop, did ya now?" she leaned in and whispered under her breath with glistening eyes. "Maybe ya will get yer information with Masen there as well," she blinked. It was not a secret to Lucy why Bella spent time with the burly sergeant. Get him what he wanted, manipulate the situation a little and he would spill information like a waterfall.
Bella looked to see Thompson still smiling her way. She stopped drumming her nails against the countertop and ventured their way.
"Gentlemen," Bella Swan smiled as she walked up to them.
Edward got up and immediately bowed over her hand in a greeting. Sgt. Thompson was about to do the same but shook his head and uttered a small "No," as he realized he had too much alcohol in his system. Edward pulled out a chair for her and Bella sat down, pleasantly surprised at his gallantry.
"What brings you here, Miss Swan?" Edward asked as Thompson sipped his wine now that she was present. It would not do to chug the alcohol in the presence of a lady.
She motioned to Lucy. "I regularly come to visit Little Lucy here, for she is a long-time friend of mine," Bella smiled. She did not feel shame at keeping such an acquaintance. All in Hayes adored Lucy and her tavern. And Mr. Masen did not look ready to produce any insult her way.
Bella turned the questioning around. "What brings you here, Mr. Masen?" she asked with genuine interest.
Edward blotted his nose and inclined his head toward Thompson. "Why the sergeant was telling me tales of a soldier's life and I confess he had me much intrigued," Masen chuckled. "So I asked him to tell me more over a glass of wine."
"One glass, or several?" Bella leaned on to whisper as a smirk stretched across her lips.
Something tugged at the corner of his lips, but it never bloomed into a full smile. "I might have underestimated the sergeant's thirst for wine," he admitted.
"I never knew…Mr. Mashen to be so…generous," Thompson slurred further.
"Indeed, most of us did not, sergeant," Bella chimed in. She turned to Sgt. Thompson. "But how goes a soldier's life these days?" she asked. "It must be quite exciting with all the bandits and what not."
Thompson nodded with huge eyes, completely unaware of the territory they were delving into. "Yesh," he managed. He took a swig, losing his manners in front of Bella. "But fear not, mishh, these…these bandits will not touch…Hayes as long as Thompson guards her!" His glass was elevated into the air as he stared off into the distance.
"How brave of you!" Bella agreed, acting mesmerized. "I feel safer already."
"The sergeant told me, just before you arrived, that he singlehandedly fought one of the bandits that have been pestering the road leading from Sorossa through Raven's Grove," Edward added. "A most glorious battle it was, I believe he said."
"I fought…with three men, defen…defenden…defending myself…with nothing but my sword," Thompson stated.
"Oh my," Bella added.
Edward turned to face her, his emerald eyes squinting at the edges. "My reaction precisely, Miss Swan. Thank God we have men like Sgt. Thompson to defend us." The soldier did not note the small hint of sarcasm lacing Masen's voice.
He turned to the sergeant. Edward discreetly put the half-full wine bottle on the floor so that Thompson would not reach for it and get drunker. "But tell me, sergeant, what happened to these bandits that you so bravely fought?" he wondered.
"They're in the confinmts…conminfem…comfiniminitms—" he struggled to say the word.
"Confinements?" Bella filled in.
His dulled eyes smiled back at her. "Y…yesh, confininiminents," he continued, still not able to say the word correctly. "Garrison!" Thompson finally shouted. It was apparent to anyone who saw that Thompson had drunk more than he could handle. Bella had never remembered seeing him in such a state and she started growing nervous. Why would he get this intoxicated?
"How intriguing," Bella added.
"I suppose Collins will want to interrogate them, so that we may rid Raven's Grove completely from these pesky bandits."
"The major—" a hiccup stopped Thompson, the hiccup followed by a restrained burp. "The major has gone to Coldwick pershonally to get a…ma…magistrate to join in the trial…he said that…I would…be…in…charge…great…responsibil…ity."
Thompson's eyelids grew heavier and heavier. In the course of a few minutes, he had rested his head on the table. A few moments later a snore now rocked the entire room.
"Fer God's sake!" Lucy exclaimed from the bar. She turned to some of her workers. "Take him to the double-bedded room, in the far end of the upper hallway. He won't disturb no-one there," she sneered.
Bella watched as two men struggled to remove the fat, sleeping sergeant. They had to call for two more. Four men dragged, pushed and pulled Sgt. Thompson up the stairs, rounding the upper corner. Their faces were red and beady with pearls of sweat when they returned; getting that big and heavy man up those stairs a most exhausting task no doubt.
But it left Bella alone in the company of Edward Masen. "Why Miss Swan, how ghastly that you should be witness to such a scene," Edward stated, the nasal tone reinforced.
"I pity the sergeant," she retorted back at him still looking up the stairs.
"Why pity a man who is living his dream?" he asked nonchalantly.
"Because, Sgt. Thompson is left in charge of the garrison with Captain Forster breathing down his neck. I would not want to be in his shoes. That was probably the reason for his intoxication this mid-morning." Bella started getting up, Edward mimicking her action. When she had mentioned that Collins had rather given Thompson the charge than Forster, Mr. Masen could not help his eyes widen slightly.
"You fear Captain Forster?" Edward asked, his tone less nonchalant and more serious.
Bella had gathered her skirts and aimed for the door. She looked at him for a long while, wondering how he of all people would understand. "Who doesn't?" she asked him as she headed for the door. She would have no luck with Thompson today.
Masen was left looking at her figure leaving the door. And he was not the only man in that tavern watching her striking figure. One of the craftsmen working at the tannery got up hastily as if he was to follow Bella.
"Ya will wait until that girl is on her horse or ya will be havin' me stalkin' after ya!" Lucy's voice boomed across the room. Edward smiled at her overprotectiveness of the young girl. The big woman looked about the room. "That goes for the whole of ya lot!" Her eyes stopped at him as well. "Even for the gents."
Edward bowed while taking his cocked hat. He was offended that Lucy would think him ever capable of harming that young woman.
He found himself before the garrison with squinted eyes. "So, Collins is gone, eh?" he mumbled to himself. Edward saw the gates open and caught sight of some men in the cells by the garrison courtyard. He placed the black hat atop his head and produced his walking cane while strolling to the coach. Edward Masen rarely rode directly on horseback.
"Joseph, home," he said, rushed.
"Were you not invited to supper at the Stanleys'?" his servant asked. Joseph followed him to most places, unofficially turned into Edward's personal servant, it seemed.
"I shall extend my apologies." He settled into the cushioned carriage, keeping a sophisticated and arrogant air about him. "A sudden burst of headache has taken me."
Joseph said no more and urged the horses back to the Masen townhouse.
"The only thing I see you do Edward is sit, and read, and read and sit…and attend those blasted soirées!" Carlisle had had enough of his son for the third time that week when he caught him in his chamber with his shirt unbuttoned, an opened bottle of wine on the table to his side and a book in his hand.
"How unfortunate, father, that you cannot find peace in reading," his son drawled.
Carlisle stopped pacing and squinted his eyes at his son, a nerve popping in his forehead, but the man kept his wits. "You linger in your vices like a sinner and a foppish clown, Edward," he said with an unpleasantly calm voice.
"Well," Edward wafted his hand in the air, still not removing his eyes from the book. "It seems nothing I accomplish or do will ever please you," he closed the book with a snap. "So I stopped trying," he added with a nasal drawl and bored expression.
"Emmett has been waiting for you to fence for the last thirty minutes and you will go to the garden courtyard and meet him."
"He cut me last time." Edward leaned in with wide eyes. "And I think it was on purpose, father," he stated, aghast at the very thought—fright slightly hidden behind arrogance.
Carlisle massaged his temples, begging God to give him strength and patience with his son. "Because you slipped, Edward."
"I cannot help it if the flooring is faulty," his son whined. The shirt peaked open and Carlisle caught sight of a very faint bruise across the left of his chest. Edward tied his white shirt shut. "One should not fence on marble, father."
"Marble? You were fencing on stone, with adequate shoes. Listen, Edward, all I wish for you is to learn what you should have learned at Oxford. Yes, you came back with heaps of philosophy, literature and other vast knowledge. But you completely ignored the trainers I had contacted for you—the men who were supposed to teach you the art of fighting."
"Because it did not go well with the crowds and circles I frequented." Carlisle was about to protest, and Edward put his hands up. "If it pleases you, father. I shall have another go at it." He cast the book aside. The Rape of the Lock, by Alexander Pope stared up at Carlisle in bold lettering and he snickered at it.
But he did not see the defeat plastered over Edward's features. Yet, the young man thought as he headed down the stairs to another session that would leave him looking more pathetic in front of his father and brother in law: he had chosen this.
It was another summer night descending upon Hayes. Major Collins was still away, leaving the garrison to Sgt. Thompson, something that did not sit well with Captain Forster. That the higher command should not be in charge was humiliating. Forster knew Collins wanted him removed, but, of course, the major's hands were quite tied. Forster wondered if it was the reason he had gone. The moment Collins had left town, however, Forster had shut Thompson out and ruled with an iron fist, doing as he wished once more, knowing there'd be little consequences.
The bandits were kept for interrogation and awaited their hearing that would most likely develop into a full-blown trial. They had been caught in the act. But Forster had to see to it that they were disposed of before Collins returned.
And this was the night.
The garrison was sleepy, the usual sentries relaxed as they had not seen a shadow creep around for the past few weeks.
And as fate would have it, the night when the moon was absent, a dark figure blended in perfectly with the backdrop of darkness.
He slipped past the whitewashed wall silently and with little effort. His first stop was the office. It was dark, with no light, nothing to tell him that someone could be in there. Information was always of importance to him and he quickly managed to get the window open.
Major Collins usually left his office impeccable, but after Forster had once more taken over, it was messy; messier than usual.
The shadow started going through documents until he found what he was looking for. A silent exhalation of air told of his satisfaction as he tucked it into the sash of his pants.
He slipped out of the window and looked around.
Forster was still up, and he walked up to the sleepy sentries. "You fools! I shall have you flogged if I see you as much as blinking again!" he shouted at them. "You are to keep eyes on those thieves at all times," he said, pointing to the bandits sleeping in their cells. The sentries nodded, afraid to speak against their captain.
Sgt. Thompson came running to their rescue. "Captain, I am afraid these men should be taken off duty as they have been standing since afternoon and no one has come to relieve them," the burly sergeant stated in his baritone voice.
Forster turned to him. "And who would relieve them? You? Don't make me laugh, sergeant!"
"But—"
"Back to your quarters!"
Sgt. Thompson's shoulders fell as a look of childish defeat plastered on his unshaven face. He sloped back to his quarters and once more the garrison fell silent.
It was time to act. While the exhausted sentries fought against everything to stay awake as the hour ticked closer and closer to midnight, the shadow snuck to the stables and set the horses loose. The beasts flew to the opened garrison doors and across the plaza, separating in all directions.
Lights flooded the garrison courtyard as lancers and soldiers rushed out sans uniforms, having only jumped into their boots. Some had not even put on shirts.
"What is this commotion?" Forster had stepped out too, still in his garb. Even the bandit prisoners chuckled at the commotion. "Go after the horses, you fools!"
The soldiers—ever warry of their captain's wrath—all set after the horses. "Not all of you!" he cried after them, but it was too late. Only the sentries, him, and Thompson remained.
Forster fumed at the stupidity of his men. "Who left the gates opened?" he shrieked in anger, the hair coming undone from its ribbon and falling into his face.
The shadow thought it the best time to act. He had to speak with the bandits, extract information from them as soon as the captain settled back in his quarters.
Thompson looked like a child getting scolded by his mother as Forster yelled at his foolish incompetence. However, that soon died down. And when Forster went back to his room and Thompson went to sulk in his quarters, the shadow stepped out into the open with a smirk on his lips.
He slipped closer to the cell and saw one of the bandits lying unmoving on the floor.
"Who goes there?"
"Shh!" he hissed, turning around to see that the sentries had not heard the bandit speak. But they were too tired to even notice. "Someone seeking answers."
What appeared to be the leader of the group, a gangly man in his late forties with some bruises on his left eye and a split lip stood tall and proud. "Who are you?" He appeared frightened when he could not discern any features; only black shadows on the figure.
"That does not matter," the dark voice rasped. "I need to confirm something," he continued.
"Harry, don't say anythin'!" the other bandit rasped to his friend, clutching his leg. "It's another trap. We'll end up like Sebastian." Sebastian was presumably the man sprawled on the floor, unconscious after what seemed like a harsh beating.
"Hush, Jonah!" Harry hissed back, and his black eyes turned to the shadow once more. "What do you want to know?"
"You have been robbing the trail going through Raven's Grove, yes?" the shadow asked. The clouds parted slightly, some stars illuminating the courtyard, yet they were still not able to discern any features. It unsettled the man named Jonah even further. The leader Harry, however, spoke as calmly as he could.
"Aye," he confessed. "When I starved, that was fine, but when my family started doing so as well, I took action." He did not seem ashamed to admit to what he had done.
"But you were paid to steal on that exact road." The shadow inched closer now, more clouds parted. Harry' hand clutched the thick bar of the iron gate that enclosed the cell.
"How did you know?" he whispered. There was something amiss in this entire conversation. This man managed to rattle him more than any other man had before.
All he saw was the flash of teeth as the shadow grinned. So at least it was human, he thought. "I have my ways," it whispered. "But I need to know who paid you, it is very important." The shadow stepped closer and the stars were fully visible on the night sky now.
For the first time, the two men got to see just to whom they had been speaking with. Harry froze while Jonah's eyes widened, and he paled as his mouth dropped. "C-Cullen?" he trembled, speaking a bit too loudly. They had heard the rumors circulating Hayes; that the long-dead general was back from the grave.
"That is my name," the shadow said. He looked ready to pounce, like a panther, oozing predatory instincts that unsettled them. Suddenly, Harry was very grateful for the iron-barred door that separated him from that...thing. He had seen paintings, he had seen the statue in the old square for he had been to Hayes before turning into a bandit. And this looked like Edward Cullen to such a degree that he believed it from the second he saw him. "But I wish to know who contacted you—who paid you." He had inched closer and Harry took a step back, an involuntary action that showed his true fright.
"Forster," he breathed. He would not lie to this man—thing—shadow; whatever it was! "Forster," Harry whispered as his voice broke. "And it was Forster who set us up and had us arrested."
"The other bandits who were captured a few weeks ago…did you know them as well?" the menacing voice asked.
"N-no, we did not even know there had been bandits in Raven's Grove before us before we ventured into Hayes last week."
Suddenly movement rattled behind them and Cullen turned around hastily, taking a battle stance. Harry pressed against the door to his iron cage. "You may be a ghost, sir, but you should get away from here before Forster gets his clutches on you," he hissed.
The sentries had gotten waft of the movement at the far end of the courtyard and when one of them had seen the shadow the soldiers had been speaking about non-stop for the last month, he had sounded the alarm.
"What on earth—" Forster yelled once more, now stepping out in a white tunic and dark emerald robe hastily thrown over.
The masked face turned back to the bandits. "Maybe it is Captain Forster who should be wary of me," he smirked, his voice suddenly catching a strangely jovial and relaxed undertone.
Forster first paled when he saw the familiar shadow. "You," he uttered in disgust.
"Well met, Captain!" the stranger saluted.
Sgt. Thompson had stumbled out with sleep still in his eyes. He had never seen the ghost of Cullen before and, thus, as he lay eyes on the black-garbed man, he thought he was still dreaming, until Forster screamed his throat out to get a weapon while he rushed back to his room, no doubt to get his own sword.
The shadow side-stepped a lancer rushing at him with a drawn rapier. The lancer fell, and Cullen managed to land a hard punch at the back of his neck, knocking him out. Harry and Jonah stared in silent awe as they watched Edward Cullen toying with the soldiers. He picked up the sword and deflected a strike from the other lancer, disarming him with ease and knocking him out as well.
Sgt. Thompson was the next one to reach him, but as soon as he realized the man before him was not an apparition in a dream, he hesitated. A boyish and uncertain smile of pure nervousness and awkwardness plastered on Thompson's features as his mind slowly tried to process what to do. What surprised Harry most of all was that Cullen waited for Thompson to process what he should do next.
"You know, sergeant, I do not have all night," Cullen finally sighed and walked past the burly soldier, deflecting a clumsy swing of Thompson's sword, sending it flying through the air. Thompson watched it land a few feet away in awe, taking the hint and rushing for help. There was no way in hell he would face that man again.
It was in that moment that the captain flew out to the garrison courtyard, a cocky expression on his features for he thought to be dealing with a masquerading idiot who had only gotten lucky thus far. Forster thought himself to be far superior with the sword. Even more so ever since Collins had insisted that they practice daily.
"Well, captain," the masked stranger said with a cheerful undertone to his dark voice. "It seems your soldiers have gone out horse-hunting."
Forster directed the tip of his rapier to the man. "So, it was you," he snarled through gritted teeth. "Know that I will take great pleasure in skinning your tawny hide!" he spat in hatred as he lunged for the masked man.
They started their fencing dance. Forster knew himself to have the situation under control at first. He started taking the offense right away, as he always did. He fought with the style he was comfortable with, not having to adapt too much to the stranger, who fought carefully at first. But what Forster did not know, of course, was that Cullen was analyzing his fighting style. It did not take long until he found several of Forster's weak spots.
What had started out as an offense strategy on Forster's part soon turned into pure defense as the stranger lunged and easily parried each of his own lunges. How did he know where he would strike next? He had never fought against such a skillful swordsman! "Sgt. Thompson!" Forster suddenly screamed out when he unwilfully admitted to himself that this man would not be bested by his sword. And the sergeant was nowhere to be seen. Where had that imbecile gone off to?
"Sgt. Thompson!" he shouted louder. And the stranger laughed. He laughed. The mere action of indifference and clear amusement shining in his dark eyes made Forster even more furious. They started moving toward the cells. A wooden shed was placed on the far end of the long line of cells, stacked up against the wall. Forster saw an opening and lunged straight for the masked man.
But something went wrong.
For the furious captain, the moment drew out with the length of his breath as he had to grasp the situation.
"Beautiful coupé into the wall. You must show that to me sometime, captain," Cullen said rather amused, faking a sense of awe at the expertly demonstrated movement. Forster noticed his sword was stuck, that he himself had embedded it into the side of the wooden shed. He pulled, but the sword remained steadfast in the wood as if it were Excalibur stuck in the stone. His gray orbs met with shrouded black ones as a devilish grin came his way. But, despite the air of amusement, the undertone of danger and menace was still there.
The tip of Cullen's sword came to rest on his chest, just where his heart was. "Now, will you please get into the cell?" But he was not really asking, Forster noted. He bit back several remarks, noting that he was not exactly in any position to be quipping at the moment.
The proud captain backed until he stepped into one of the cells and saw the door come to a close and the stranger produce a set of keys—keys Cullen had found earlier in the office. Forster, however, had no idea where he had gotten those keys. But the deafening sound of a locking door together with those pearly whites taunting him made Forster want to choke the living daylights out of that man.
"I will get you, Cullen," he spat.
The man chuckled and bowed. "I look forward to the day you best me. In the meantime, I suggest you practice more. Your offense was rather sloppy," he advised, and Forster kicked the iron bars in anger.
Cullen turned around just as Thompson lunged at him, stopping right in his tracks as he saw that the shadow's attention was now fully on him. Cullen whistled, the sound making Thompson jump in place. He rushed with drawn sword and placed the tip on the rotund belly, only to cut the sash. Thompson screamed in fright as his trousers started slinking down his legs until he dropped his own sword to grab the garb from falling completely.
"Thompson pick up your sword and fight!" Forster shouted angrily from his cell. But as Thompson turned around to go after Cullen, he was caught in the sheer size of his trousers and fell on his face just as a magnificent black steed entered the courtyard of the garrison.
The stranger mounted and gave a mocking salute to the captain. "Captain Forster, let us repeat this delightful encounter sometime!" he chuckled as he kicked the stallion into a gallop, thus leaving the garrison through the open gates with no resistance.
Forster popped several veins in neck and forehead as he shouted in anger and the masked stranger laughed the whole way back into Raven's Grove.
A/N: Hi again. Thank you for all the reviews on the last chapter. I will not leave you waiting too long after that cliffie so here is chapter 12. I hope you enjoyed it!
Cheers,
Isabelle