Alexander-Fyn-Sanguinarian

and knew she was not there. She had run away! The fact that she was going to leave anyway was irrelevant. She should not run away from him.
    Furious, he ran along the corridor and down the main staircase to the front doors. All the bolts were in place and he knew she could not reach the top ones. He ran on to the servants’ corridors to fetch Munk, to ask her advice. It was outside the kitchen that he stopped, calmed himself, and inhaled deeply. There it was, not her perfume which she had not been bothering to wear the last few days, but the essence of Evangeline, her own personal scent.
    She had left through the kitchen where she could stand on a chair to reach the top bolts. He kicked open the door and walked in. Like cold water in his face, a strange unfamiliar smell hit him. Ether! It was ether. He looked about, searching for what was disturbed. A glass stood on the table, smelling of brandy. He picked it up, inhaling deeply. Great Mother God, it was that Harding boy. He could smell the blighter.
    Raven’s brain exploded with images. Harding had made another ridiculous rescue attempt. Evangeline resisted, seeing the stupidity of trying to leave in a snowstorm. Harding had put Evangeline to sleep and carried her off. She was afraid Raven would harm Harding if he caught him there and she was right, he would kill the young pup when he caught up with him. He could already feel the pleasure of taking a sharp blade to his throat. It would not be difficult to kill him and dispose of the body.
    Unconscious in this weather, Evangeline could freeze to death, being so sensitive to the cold. If Harding harmed one delicate blond tress on Evangeline’s beautiful head he would not escape with his life.
    Raven opened the door and saw one set of footprints in the snow, deep as if a heavy person, or one carrying another, had walked that way. Praying they had not long left and suspecting they had a good hour’s start on him, he charged out into the storm after them.

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    Fyn Alexander

Chapter Twenty
    Halfway across the moor toward the village, Raven had still not caught up with Evangeline and Harding, making him increasingly concerned for her physical well-being. Harding’s tracks were fast filling up with snow, but Raven had no trouble following. Even with the wind blowing hard and the air heavy and thick with the smell of snow, he could pick up Harding’s scent, but most of all Evangeline’s.
    Harding had veered off in the wrong direction a number of times and Raven followed, fearful that they were both freezing to death down a pothole, or had fallen down a hill. Harding could kill himself if he chose, but Raven could not bear the thought of losing Evangeline. The footprints were leading unmistakably to the village.
    At last the snowfall began to slow down, making walking easier and increasing the visibility. Though the moonlight reflecting off the snow was scant, Raven still found it hard on his eyes. He could have walked faster had he put on his tinted lenses.
    At the village he stopped. Thick snow had covered the tracks and the scent. Thinking for a moment, he decided there were only two places Harding was likely to have gone, the inn or the vicarage. He could not have left the village as there would be no coach leaving in this weather and Harding had no carriage of his own.
    The inn lay in darkness for the night and he detected no lights at all in any of the cottages or shops. Closing his eyes he sniffed the air to catch the subtle scents that ordinary mortals missed. It was windy as it had been on the moor, causing any scent to be lost to him. Where are you, Evangeline, my Evangeline? He drew himself inward, focusing hard on her face, on her smell and the sound of her voice.

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    Then the images came.
    She was at the vicarage. He saw Evangeline and Harding and that silly little cleric. Not even a little tired after his long trek across the moor, Raven broke into a run. The vicar’s cottage was attached to the little church, off to the far side, and when he rounded the church he saw a faint glimmer of candlelight between heavy curtains.
    Raven banged on the door with his fist so hard that the frame shifted. The voices raised in fear within were both male. Banging again, the door was opened by the two men, standing side by side as if they thought between them they could bar his way.
    “You have Miss Rutledge.” He glared down at Harding, who trembled noticeably. “Give her back. She belongs to