Page 7 of Lord of the Hollow Court
The piercing screech of a frightened horse made Inge rear. Though Katty clawed desperately at the reins, they slipped through her hands like water. Katty lost her seat on Inge and was instantly dumped onto the road. The impact left her ears ringing, while Inge, eyes rolling, raced back in the direction of town. By the time Katty sat up, Katrina's mare was gone.
Wincing at what was surely a bruised tailbone and a well-wrenched knee, Katty drew her sprawling limbs inward, whimpering at the growing hurts in her body. It wasn't until she heard the pounding of hooves that her head snapped up—just in time to see Ichabod's great chestnut gelding steaming towards her.
Katty threw her injured body toward the grassy edge of the road, covered her head with her hands and prayed the racing horse would miss her. She yelped as the percussion of hooves neared, shaking the very ground beneath her.
And then the fierce clop of the Narragansett Pacer began to recede. Katty reared up, just catching the crescent moons of the frightened horse's eyes.
Two spooked horses in half as many minutes. What on earth had caused it?
Gingerly, Katty raised herself onto her elbows, squinting down the black stretch of road. The moonlight left piebald patches on the span of dirt leading to the bridge that shimmered in the breeze.
Something rustled near Katty. Fearing a fox or coyote, Katty scrambled to her feet, whimpering as she put her weight on her twisted knee. As it turned out, her ankle had fared little better. She backed up, limping toward the bend in the road. If she were lucky, Inge would be waiting for her.
She was not lucky. There wasn't a sign of the second horse, either.
Mrs. Beekhof's house is closer,Katty thought with distaste, already picturing the rumors that would begin. A jilted rider, following a jilted lover? She would be the laughingstock of Sleepy Hollow, all without achieving her aim.
Katty forced herself around the bend in the road, making for the curved stone bridge. The way the eerie moonlight fell upon it, she half expected a troll to crawl from beneath it. Instead, she heard a frightened cry.
Bracing her hand above her knee, Katty bustled to the top of the bridge, searching for the source of the shout. She could not make anything out but a dark figure, and—
Was that Ichabod?
The Connecticut schoolmaster crawled face up on the ground, backing clumsily from the shadow that loomed over him. Katty twisted the fabric of her skirts in her grip. With the full moon to light the roads, the highwaymen shouldn't be out. Even on the new moon, they rarely bothered with Sleepy Hollow.
Katty swallowed, the sound too loud for comfort. If she was being honest with herself, the silhouette before her was far too large for a highwayman. It appeared to be a long-legged horse, almost like a Friesian draft horse, heavy feathering on its fetlocks swaying as it reared. And, above that—that should have been its rider, keeping his seat handily as the horse reared and stamped.
Why, then, did it appear as though the rider had no head?
A bolt of ice shot through Katty. She remained frozen in place, teeth shattering, as the creature approached Ichabod, who climbed to his feet only to fall prone again. He was even more frightened than she.
The headless rider urged his horse toward Ichabod unhurriedly, as if toying with the schoolmaster. It was too horrifying to watch. For as the horse's body shifted in the moonlight, she saw an unspeakable thing held tightly at the horseman's side: the head missing from his shoulders.
Holding back a scream that made her throat burn, Katty did a strange thing then. She raced down the bridge, collected the first stone she saw and, releasing the tearing cry she'd previously tamped down, threw the rock at the rider.
It should've landed at his shoulder—though she aimed for his back. Instead, it sailed through, clattering to the ground on the other side. The rider turned with terrifying slowness, even as the shadow of him rippled.
The horseman laughed, a deep cackle that echoed off the stream below. Then he guided his horse toward Katty.
With another ragged scream, Katty begun to run, clawing her way into the shadowy fold of brittle-leaved trees where she hoped the horseman would not follow. But he was a cannier rider than that, keeping pace with her no matter how many trees she darted behind or fallen trunks she climbed over. She ran until the woods changed from shaded reds to deep sable, untouched by the sickly moonlight.
She was lost, sightless and frightened. Her every breath was as loud as a crash through the trees and left clouds that somehow caught slivers of silver light. Soon she was running to escape not just the horseman, who broke the underbrush behind her, steady in his pursuit, but the signs of her very breath.
At last the branches thinned. Moonlight skimmed Katty's sweat-streaked skin, her body shining in the misty night and pink dress incongruous amongst the scarlet leaves and sable trunks. She was too conspicuous. If she had not heard a branch break close by, she would have darted back into the woods. But she could no longer hear the difference between the clop of hooves and the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears, and so she used the last of her breath to dash toward a house she could barely see, the eaves visible between the trees. She set her sights on its gables and charged with every scrap of energy she had left.
Katty burst into a clearing, too winded to feel relief at the sight of the house. It was a grand one—so much so that her eyes darted futilely for a door she could pound on. More castle than house, it was too large for her to run around to the front on wobbling legs. She set her sights on a low window instead, fists chugging against the weight of her skirts and the cramping of her muscles.
As she neared the window, a pair of men in livery streamed from the house, each carrying an enormous lantern. She had no breath to cry out to them. Instead she burst forward with the last of her energy, seeking whatever door they had come from.
There it was: a pair of elegant French doors, flung open to the night air. Katty jogged through them, legs seizing up, and ducked into an unlit side room before anyone could stop her. She heard rather than saw the bustling staff in the halls. The clang of pots told her the kitchen was nearby.
Katty climbed a heap of flour sacks, holding in a cough as the familiar smell puffed toward her, and with a last strangled cry, she collapsed.
Chapter Four
The Lady of Lindendam
Tonight is going to be perfect. Tonight is going to be perfect.The air was crisp, the night sumptuously dark, and the rounded drive before his Hall layered with myriad enchantments. Powdered until he looked ghostly, Braam was the height of fashion with an inked mole beneath his eye. His folk had changed into form-fitting black uniforms with gold accents for the night, reminiscent of the Hollcat, one of the two symbols of his court. Every final touch had been completed, every thoughtful detail hidden in plain sight. His folk had thought of everything, prepared for everything. Beneath the mist of the foyer, the Hollcat and raven crest of the Braams glistened, polished and waxed until it shone like water.
