The Cursed One by Ronda Thompson

about his brothers, now married. Had they escaped the curse? Was it over for
them? He needed to know, but he wasn’t going to find out anything stuck at Collingsworth Manor.
    â€œI suppose it is odd,” he finally answered her. “If one believes in such things.”
    â€œSeeing is believing,” she commented, turning back to her task. “You and the lady have both seen now.”
    Mora’s speaking of the lady turned his thoughts to the parlor. Was Amelia naked now, stretched out relaxing in her bath? As much as he tried to steer his thoughts from such visions, he couldn’t seem to help himself. Gabriel still had trouble believing Amelia did not remember coming downstairs last night and practically seducing him. Was she pretending she didn’t remember?
    â€œMora, did Lady Collingsworth say anything to you about sleepwalking?”
    The girl took the potatoes she’d peeled and sliced, dumping them in a pot steaming upon the stove. “Yes. She warned me that she sometimes walks in her sleep so as not to frighten me. Now that we’re sharing a bed and all. Never seen anyone who did that myself, but have heard of it.”
    â€œDid you hear her get out of bed last night?”
    Mora turned and looked at him. “No. Slept like the dead, I was so exhausted. Did she do that last night?”
    At least he knew Amelia had not lied upstairs. “Yes. She came downstairs, although she doesn’t remember it today.”
    â€œPoor woman,” Mora clucked, turning back to her stew making. “To be widowed on her wedding night, and now all this. She’s holding up better than I imagined
a dainty social flower like her would do, though, don’t you agree, my lord?”
    â€œYes,” he admitted.
    â€œAnd so kind, she is,” Mora added. “Never worked for the upper crust before coming to this house, but I’d heard not to expect kindness from them. I’d heard they were all too caught up in themselves to care for the likes of a servant. Unless she was pretty and the lord wanted … well, you know.”
    Gabriel didn’t know, not really. When he was growing up, before the curse visited their father and their lives became hell, they had servants. Gabriel didn’t recall anyone in his family being mean to them; he didn’t really recall them at all. They were like ghosts in a house who kept everything running smoothly. He’d had to learn to do for himself. Men wanted the coin the Wulfs offered enough to work for them, stable help and the like, but not women.
    If the Wulfs wanted their clothes laundered, they took them to a woman in a nearby village called Hempshire. Women were willing enough to take the Wulfs’ coin as long as they didn’t have to work for them at Wulfglen.
    He missed his home, his brothers, and suddenly he knew that he, Amelia, and Mora must leave Collingsworth Manor and make it to Wulfglen afoot. Strength in numbers, and the numbers seemed to be on the wrong side at the moment. He would tell Amelia and Mora as soon as he’d had a chance to clean up. He would tell them over the dinner Mora busied herself preparing.

    Amelia entered a surprisingly short time later looking pink and clean and rather embarrassed by the drabness of her gown. “The bath is all yours,” she said to him. “But I’m afraid you’ll smell like Mora and me because of the soaps we used.”
    He shrugged. “A definite improvement over the way I smell at the moment.” He rose from behind the table, feeling the pull in his thigh where Mora had dug the ball from his flesh and stitched him back together. His shoulder ached, as well, but if Mora thought he wasn’t healing properly, no telling what task she might take upon herself next. He did his best to hide his limp as he left the room.
    The parlor was pleasantly warm and steamy. He closed his eyes for a moment and simply breathed in the scent of perfumed soap.