Free Autumn by Lisa Ann Brown Page A

her warm, fleecy nightclothes. She climbed into bed and blew out her candle, tucking the red stones from Baltis safely underneath her pillow.
                  Arabel’s bedroom was pitch dark, with the exception of the random slivers of pale moonlight escaping from underneath her curtained windows and the red flames of the fire, which still burned merrily, casting both shadows and warmth. The dark room was calming and Arabel felt a languid ease penetrate her body.
                  Her mind flickered back to her goodbye with Eli. He’d leaned in so close to her, she’d almost felt his breath upon her cheek, and she’d been certain he’d finally kiss her goodnight. But he hadn’t. Eli had pulled Arabel close, her body melded to his for a fraction of a scorching moment, and then he’d released her abruptly, and ridden away once she’d safely entered the front door of her home.
                  Arabel thought next of Klara. The image of her white limbs draped across the base of the Great Torch would haunt her for some time. Arabel shivered under the thick blankets; Klara would never be warm again. Arabel fell asleep reflecting upon the tragic fate of the poor dead girl, but thankfully, no haunted dreams chased Arabel in the dark. Mireille’s tonic worked wonders and Arabel’s slumber was both nourishing and easily come by.
                  At dawn Arabel awoke. She stretched and quickly washed for breakfast. She packed a few items into her haversack and tucked it hastily underneath her bed, ready to take with her. She tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen where Cook was already up and busy baking bread. Cook nodded good morning and continued to knead the dough over by the window where the heavy, slashing rain beat down against the pane.
                  Arabel filled a small bag with fruit, cheese and fresh buns then filled a large flask with lemon water. She helped herself to some oatmeal and quickly drank a fresh cup of strong tea. Her head felt clear today, no hangover of nightmare tendrils disturbed her. Indeed, she felt more refreshed than she had in some time.
                  Arabel took her foodstuffs upstairs to her room and tucked them into the haversack and then went to seek out Morna, to tell her she needed cover for this evening. Luckily Morna was all too eager to play the role of lying helpmate and they hatched a plan to cover Arabel’s absence, should Amelia Bodean seek her out. They would tell her she was visiting at Shelaine’s and Arabel consoled herself that this was partly truth. She would be seeing Shelaine today as she wanted to see if she could borrow Whipsie again, so Murphy Estates was the best and most honest ruse to go by.
                  Arabel set off for Murphy Estates on foot. A large, black, hooded cape shielded her from the monotonous precipitation, the sheets of rain which poured down as effusively and relentlessly as mournful tears from baleful gods. Altogether it was a miserable day, and the inhospitable chill in the air seemed to beckon snow and sleet to add to its imposing unfriendliness.
                  Arabel wore her stout black boots again and was glad her riding habit was wool and underneath she had three layers of cotton undergarments to keep the cold at bay. Around her wrist she’d wrapped the red stones from Baltis; the stones seemed to be humming and they brought no small comfort to Arabel’s unsettled mind.
                  In all of the chaos of the previous night, Arabel realized she’d not asked Eli about the locale of his father’s painting. The red sun and the sunflower. Just thinking of the painting now brought a sense of calm to Arabel. She vowed to seek out Eli at the stables to see if he could tell her where the odd landscape lay, and what the story was behind its mystery, and of course, to let him know she had set her plan to return to Magpie Moor this morning in