Wayward Favor || ONC 2024

Chapter 2: The Stranger

With shaky hands, I grab the statue's shoulders to stop swinging. My fear-stiffened body doesn't cooperate. I collapse against Agus's carved pectoral muscles.

Lightning flickers behind the dark manor, highlighting the strange man rappelling down the wall at a more controlled pace. Is he a wedding guest? A footman told my father that there were over sixty people staying at the manor tonight for tomorrow's festivities. The count's wedding and his son's engagement party will be combined for maximum efficiency.

I'm fleeing marriage with a man whose manor can house sixty people. I am an idiot. What am I doing? I sigh bitterly as I ease down the statue, hands squeaking along wet stone. My shoes clack onto the marble dragon's scaley back, but I can't move any farther. My dress is snagged on something.

The rain falls harder, driven by a mighty wind. Heavy droplets soak my dress. I shiver. The rag I use to curl my hair falls at my feet. A thick wave of black hair slaps across my face. I splutter, spitting strands from my mouth.

The stranger drops to the ground, agile as a black cat, then disappears behind decorative hedges. I must hurry. Whether he's a thief, an assassin, or a wedding guest with an odd hobby of scaling manors at midnight I'm not keen on meeting him.

I tug at my dress. What is it stuck on? I swear under my breath. Has Sir Agus grabbed my skirt with a stone hand? The tread-less soles of my shoes slip on the slick stone. I fall. Thorny rosebushes await me. I jerk to a stop, dangling upside-down by my dress. My face hovers a breath away from Agus's marble manhood. Why do artists insist on carving statutes in the nude? I highly doubt Sir Agus fought the dragon as naked as the day he was born.

Thrashing my legs in the air, I strain my neck to look over my shoulder. My dress's hem is caught on the tip of Agus's spear. Why do I have the most rotten luck? I am as helpless as a fish, dangling on a hook.

"Good evening, miss. Do you require assistance?"

A violent gust spins me around until the stranger's face comes into view. Water drips from his hair, trailing down the contours of his face. Rain shushes around us. Lightning shines off his arched cheekbones while his dark brows cast his eyes in shadows. Thunder booms close by. He and I both flinch.

Blood rushes to my head as the wind spins me around again. "Leave her," a soft voice hisses, "all her screaming will have woken someone. We have to go."

A round, cherubic face pops from behind the stranger's shoulder. There wasn't a bag over the man's back, but a child with butchered hair, short and jagged, as if cut in the dark with a dull knife.

"We can't just leave her, Len," the man chides – his voice is deep and full, despite whispering. He kneels so the pouting child can shuffle off his back. With a huff, the little lad drops to the garden path, boots splashing mud onto his ill-fitting tweed trousers. Crossing his arms, Len clutches the black cloak tighter around his narrow shoulders.

The stranger pats the boy's head, then stands, leaning closer to examine my face. "I'm afraid we haven't met," the man says. His features are stern. A scowl is set on his unforgiving face, urging me to confess to my every misdeed. "Who are you and why are you climbing out the window in the middle of the night."

"I could ask you the same question," I grumble as I lose sight of his face, spinning around again.

"True, but I'm not the one hanging upside-down," the man says as I rotate back to face him. The hint of a laugh brightens his voice. Mirth crinkles the corners of his sparkling brown eyes and plays at the edges of his lips, softening his features.

"I'm just trying to get out of here. Please help me down," I whisper. Heat fills my face as it grows redder by the moment, blood pounding in my ears.

"What's in it for me?" he asks, trying to scowl again, but his twitching lips betray him.

I'm afraid to say anything. If I offer him a trinket from my bag, and he is a thief, then he will take everything.

The man sighs loudly, clambering onto the dragon statue's back with ease. He grabs me by the waist and, before I can protest, unhooks my dress from the spearhead. Gravity reclaims me. I fall towards the rosebushes, but his arm remains firm around me. Flailing my legs, I try to right myself. He sets me atop the dragon and my head spins as all the blood returns to my body.

"You must really not like weddings," the man says as I jump to the gravel.

"You could say that." I push wet hair out of my face. "Is that why you climbed out the window?"

He grins. "Perhaps. Did your family drag you here?"

"They had to tie me up to get me to come."

"Same," he whispers, then winks at me. "Len and I are heading to town, if you'd like to join us."

"Maggie, no," the young boy whines, grabbing the man's jacket.

"Well, Miss..." The man trails off, gesturing to me with one hand.

If he's here for the wedding, then he knows the bride's name is Estella, I'll need a false name. My gaze lands on the bush I'd almost fallen into. "Rose," I say. "My name is Rose."

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Rose. My name is Magnus Drewmond, and this little imp is my sister, Lennette."

Oh my, I can see why Count Drewmond is in desperate need of a wife – his children scaled the manor, sneaking out during a midnight thunderstorm like a pair of feral hooligans. And now, more than ever, I am convinced I am not the right woman for the job. I am guilty of the same delinquency.

Chapter Word Count: 1005

Total Word Count: 2149