And then, with no warning, and out of nowhere, a staff hit him in the side of the head, knocking him away from Giselle and off the bed.

In the light of near-continuous lightning, skirts and cloak billowing in the wind, a veritable Valkyrie armed with a staff that she wielded expertly stepped between Giselle and her attacker. Johann scrambled to his feet, pulling a knife from a sheath at his waist, snarling.

“Get away from her, you bastard!” shouted Mother, her face a mask of fury in the lightning flashes, her hair loose and whipping around her. “Get him, boys!”

It was Johann’s turn to shriek as Mother’s three black shepherd dogs avalanched up the stairs, leapt on him and attacked him, tearing gashes in his arms, savaging his legs. The knife fell from his hand. Blindly he threw himself toward the window, arms reaching for the rope he had left there—

The rope that wasn’t there anymore.

With a howl of terror he balanced for a moment in the window, when a single thrust of Mother’s staff sent him tumbling into the storm.

The dogs howled their victory as Mother turned to Giselle, who was still reeling from the shock of her sudden rescue.

Mother didn’t bother with trying to untie Giselle; she picked up Johann’s abandoned knife from the floor, slashed the cords holding her wrists and gathered Giselle into her arms. Giselle sobbed with relief and hysteria as Mother soothed her, stroking her hair, saying words Giselle barely heard.

“Oh, my little rampion, my little darling, I meant for you to never, ever be hurt. That is why I kept you here, to keep you safe. When the gnomes told me there was a strange man here, I started back as fast as I could,” Mother sobbed, almost as wrought up as Giselle. “I nearly killed the horse getting here. There was no one nearer than me to help.”

Giselle sobbed in Mother’s arms as the storm outside abated until, as the last of the thunder faded away and light returned to the room, she fell asleep, exhausted.

When she awoke, she heard voices below. Her face ached, and the back of her head had a huge, painful lump on it. As she pushed back the covers, she could see that Mother had put her into her nightgown, but that there were scratches and bruises all over her arms and legs, and her wrists were raw with rope-burns. She felt her eyes grow hot with tears and dashed them away, reminding herself that Johann might have beaten her, but Mother had saved her before he had done—that—to her. Or murdered her. As narrow as her escape had been, it had still been an escape.