With less than half-a-mile between her and her grandmother’s cottage, she may not even encounter the wolf again, he may be content with simply following her. In her mind she travelled the remaining path to safety. She tried to imagine herself as the wolf and think which places she would attack an unfamiliar prey.
Instantly one place sprang into her head. She inhaled sharply, and tiny droplets of sweat prickled on her warm forehead. It would be at Black Rock Dell. There the path dropped, and ominous black rocks rose through the trees. With only a small entrance and exit to the rocky pass it felt like a secret cave. If she were a wolf, she would attack in the creepy formation. Plenty of ledges to leap from and nowhere easily to escape.
Each step took her closer to the hollow. Normally she was not afraid to enter, even when she travelled after dark, but she was the only one in her village. No other villager would enter the Black Rock Dell alone or at night time. On nights when the village was wrapped in the fiercest and iciest winds, talk around the roaring Tavern fire would inevitably turn to tales of Black Rock Dell. Margaret had often heard the tale of how the rocks had been forced out of the ground as the Devil clawed his way out of Hell and scorched the rock with his breath. They spoke of witches cavorting between the stones, forming their alliances with demons who lingered around the entrance to Hell.
Margaret had secretly chuckled at these tales. Now her own monster was stalking her, the formations no longer seemed like her own private cave to pass the time of day in or protect her from the wind and rain. They had become a trap.
She followed the path round a tight curve and a gloomy orange light engulfed her. The sun dipped below the trees and Margaret realised that it would soon vanish completely. The journey had been longer than usual. She had spent too much time moping about becoming a woman and about her pathetic life. Then she faced Black Rock Dell in the dark with a monster at her heels.
The dark formation of rocks loomed through the trees. Her breath struggled to find its way into her lungs; it caught in her throat and formed into an icy ball that forced its way down into her chest. The air filled with a menacing tension as if hidden eyes watched her every move and coiled muscles were ready to spring.
Margaret stumbled and grabbed hold of a branch to steady herself. The dead limb broke from the tree with a sudden snap, and she fell, cracking her knee on a stone. Leaving the basket behind, she stumbled to her feet, wildly waving the heavy branch around.
“Leave me alone!” she screamed down the dusky path. “I’m not scared of you!”
For a moment, the only sound was the rasping of her breath. The forest was still and silent—waiting. Then a noise shattered the hushed dusk—a noise so evil and terrifying that Margaret dropped her branch. A deafening howl filled the air and forced its way into her head. It ripped at her ears and, with its razor edge, tore through every cell in her body. She fled with the wolf’s howl snapping at her heels and raced down the path straight into Black Rock Dell without a second thought.
The dark stone towered over Margaret cutting out the last of the hope-filled sunlight. She collapsed against a rock. The forest had betrayed her. The only thing she had ever trusted was its protecting arms, and then they gave her up to the monster. Her muscles burned, and her breath stuttered out from her shaking body in short, sharp bursts. Fear had won. It had drained all of her strength and would not let her take another step.
Small stones scattered down the rocks facing her. Margaret gasped. Her pursuer would not let her rest. Forcing her head up, she slowly raised her eyes. Perched on top of the rocky outcrop stood a beast, so magnificent in his size and prowess that, for a second, Margaret could not help but be impressed at his elegant and dominating stature. Light from the full moon, speckled his thick grey fur. His strong legs supported a muscular, tensed body. The wolf shook his dark coat and sprung from ledge to ledge with a casual grace, until he landed on the dirt, not six-foot from the tip of her dusty boots. Margaret knew all it would take was one effortless pounce. With no energy left in her frail, tired body, she stared into the dark cold eyes of the wolf.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she said with a weary voice.
Motionless, the beast stared at her, saliva dripped from his open jaws.
“You remind me of someone I know, except you have the honesty not to dab away at your desire with a pathetic white kerchief.” Margaret let out a humourless laugh.
The wolf tilted his head at her as if puzzled by the strange noise. The warm stench of his breath wafted over her face.
“You know what? I am far happier for you to take me that to be taken by that disgusting monster who calls himself a lord. It is a far nobler death.”
A small, growl escaped from the creature and a giant, padded paw stretched out.
“Take me now. I am willing. I give myself to you.”
The wolf bared his teeth. Margaret took one last look at the moon then closed her eyes.
The wolf pounced on her, tearing the cape from her body. His sharp teeth pierced her defenceless skin. His jagged claws ripped at her weak arms. His strong jaws wrapped around her fragile neck. Margaret felt the hot blood gushing from her wounds and then felt no more.
MARGARET OPENED HER new eyes and squinted at the bright sunlight that wrapped its warm arms around her naked body. A shadow moved and blocked the rays. She stared up into the frowning face of Lord Sanburne.
He folded his arms and tutted. “Well, what have you been up to?”
Margaret shook her head, trying to clear the fogginess that filled her brain. She shivered. Coldness seeped up from the stone into her exposed skin. Like a sleeping dog, she lay curled up on the front step of her grandmother’s cottage. How had she gotten there? The last thing she remembered was walking through the forest. A picture of a wolf’s jaws sprung into her mind, its mouth widening until it engulfed her completely. She scrambled backwards, looking frantically around, until her back hit a stone wall.
“I don’t understand...” She wanted to add “I should be dead” but stopped herself.
“It looks like a wolf attacked you and the old woman.”
She shook her head. “No...no.”
A body shuddered in racks of icy disbelief.
“She’s dead. I don’t know how you managed to escape unharmed...” he looked at her with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes and added, “And naked.”
Margaret covered herself as best she could with her arms. She couldn’t believe what he was saying to her. “She can’t be dead...”
“Go see for yourself... and cover yourself up. I don’t want everyone seeing my future bride in that state.” He threw a pile of crimson cloth into her lap.
Margaret untwisted the material, but even before she had straightened it out she knew what it was. The familiar feel of the cloth added to her confusion. It was her mother’s old cape, but it was no longer a warm fawn colour. It was stained red and brown.
“I found it up at Black Rock Dell. The wolf must have dragged it up there. Maybe the smell of your grandmother’s blood on it confused him. It probably saved your life.”
Margaret held the stained red cape in her trembling hands. She knew it wasn’t her grandmother’s blood, it was her blood. She had seen it spurt from her ragged veins over the material.
Despite its stiff and odorous nature, she wrapped the cloak around her body welcoming the covering. Sanburne’s eyes had not stopped wandering over her naked flesh.