It was a hard thing to comprehend, but I didn’t ask her to explain any further. I wasn’t sure if she could.
“I think the body is my grandmother’s.”
Given that the body of Genevieve’s mother had never been found, it was a reasonable enough assertion. I glanced at the trees, feeling a sense of unease in knowing Anushka had murdered a woman in the very spot we stood. That one day it could be Cécile she pursued through the darkened woods.
“Why was she here?” Cécile muttered, more to herself than to me. “What possible reason could she have had to come to the farm when by all accounts, she detested my father’s very existence.”
It was a good question, but not one we’d ever have an answer to. Whatever her reason for venturing to the Hollow, Anushka had caught up with her before she could fulfill it.
Without another word, Cécile turned back to the road, and we trotted along in silence before she eventually said, “I haven’t had a chance to send word to them about you, so this will come as a bit of a surprise.” Eyes forward, she walked her horse down the lane toward a modest-sized home and a larger structure that I expected was the barn. Four dogs with substantially more stature than Souris charged us, barking and baying; and ahead, I saw an older man come out of the barn, hand shading his eyes as he watched our approach. In the whites and greys of winter, there was no missing Cécile’s hair.
The door to the house swung open, and a blonde girl leaned out. She squinted at us for a minute, then went back inside, appearing again wearing a cloak and boots. An older woman followed, wiping her hands on the apron she wore.
This was Cécile’s family.
Obviously, I’d known we were going to see them, but it dawned on me now that the meeting might not go well. They knew what I was. They knew who I was. And they had every reason to hate me.
“Cécile!” The blonde girl barely waited until she was off her horse before throwing her arms around her sister. They rocked side to side in a strange sort of dance.
“We weren’t expecting you until the new year,” her father said, giving me a curious nod as I dismounted.
I nodded back, at a loss for what to say.
“It’s impromptu,” Cécile replied. Pulling off my coat, she handed it to me.
Josette’s eyes widened. “Is that blood? What happened?”
“Are you hurt?” Her father reached for her, but Cécile held up a hand. “I’m fine. It isn’t mine.” She hesitated. “Papa, this is my husband Tristan. We’ll only be here for the night – I need to be in Trianon tomorrow.” She thrust the reins in his direction. “Can you take care of Fleur? I need to get cleaned up.” Then with her sister’s arm around her, she all but bolted into the house.
Her father and I stared at each other, and I was quite certain I’d never felt so awkward in my entire life.
“You’re the troll,” he finally said. “The troll that stole my little girl and forced her into an unnatural union?”
I winced, twisting the leather of my reins back and forth. “Yes.” Trying to put the blame on my father seemed like the wrong thing to do.
“Am I to guess that the whole Isle is now crawling with you and yours?” he demanded.
I shook my head. “Only me.”
“Well, I’m sure there’s quite a story behind that.” He scowled. “What happened to her?”
“That’s complicated.”
Reaching forward, he grabbed me by the front of the shirt. “Complicated? After all you’ve done, you show up with my daughter – visibly upset and covered in blood – and tell me it’s complicated? You explain yourself now, boy, or you can get off my property.”
I stared at the grizzled farmer who had me by the shirt and realized why Cécile was the way she was. “I’ll tell you everything, Monsieur de Troyes,” I said. “If you’re willing to listen.”
Grudgingly, he nodded and let go of my shirt. “You can call me Louie – we don’t waste time on ceremony in these parts.” He glanced at my horse. “Good-looking animal you have there.”
“Christophe Girard selected him for me.” But not before first trying to convince me I should learn to ride on a pony.
“Aye? Well, Chris might not know much, but he knows horses.”
I led my horse into the stall Louie pointed at. “He has more to offer than people seem to give him credit for,” I said, examining the buckles holding my saddle on. “He’s loyal, which is a rare thing in my experience. He’s also been a good friend to Cécile and Sabine. And to me.”
Fleur was in the stall across the aisle, and I noticed Louie already had all of her tack removed and was leaning on the door watching me. “Won’t argue with you,” he said, scratching his greying head. “You know the first thing about caring for a horse?”
I shook my head.
He came out of the stall and over to me. “How old did you say you were?”
“Seventeen.”