Sarah uttered yet another loud scream. She wiped the sticky fluid from around her mouth. She felt quite nauseous.
The stranger immediately jumped up from the bed. He gave out an angry growl and rushed out of the room. Even in silhouette, Sarah could see that he was clutching his manhood. He was obviously in pain from Sarah’s bite.
“Good,” she thought, in spite of herself, “I’m glad he’s suffering.”
Almost at once, Sarah heard the loud, booming voice of Peter St. Owen.
“Sarah! Sarah! What’s the matter?”
An overhead light was suddenly switched on. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut at the onslaught of the brighter light.
The old man was in his maroon velvet dressing gown. His long white hair fanned out from his head in a mass of disheveled fury.
“Sarah! What’s going on?” he said.
Sarah impulsively threw herself into Peter St. Owen’s surprised but waiting arms. She began to sob uncontrollably.
“An intruder, sir. An intruder. He tried to…to…”
Sarah couldn’t say it.
“My dear girl,” said Peter St. Owen, in a shocked tone of voice.
“Did you manage to make out who it was?” The concern in his voice was heartwarming to Sarah’s frazzled nerves. The old man held her close, protectively.
Sarah nodded her head.
“Your grandson, sir,” she said through muffled sobs.
“Hugh?” said the old man. His voice sounded puzzled. “How could Hugh do such a thing?”
Sarah vigorously shook her head and pulled herself away from her host’s protective embrace.
“No, sir,” she said. “Not Hugh. Your other grandson.”
“David?”  The old man’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “But how could he get in here? I never gave him a key. What makes you so sure it was him in the darkness?”
“Well,” said Sarah, “Apart from anything else, there was no mistaking that thick, Welsh accent.”
Peter St. Owen nodded in assent.  He walked briskly out of the room. Sarah could hear him moving around the cottage, opening and closing doors.
Sarah sat down at the foot of the bed in a daze. Her protector soon returned to the guestroom.
“Well, he’s gone now, my dear. You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” said Peter St. Owen. “It’s strange, though. There are no signs anywhere of forced entry,” he mused. “It’s almost as though someone let him in ? or maybe he had a key somehow.”
“But who would do something like that, Mr. St. Owen?” said Sarah. Her voice sounded cracked and tired to her.
“The old witch,” Peter St. Owen replied. He looked intently at Sarah.
“It’s very obvious to anyone who has half a brain, my dear, that your stepmother is far from dead. I wouldn’t be surprised if she engineered everything from the start.”
Sarah looked back at her benefactor.
“But sir,” she said, “To what end? Why go to all this trouble? For what?”
“For power, my dear,” the old man answered. “I’ve told you already. That’s all Vivien lives for.”
Sarah nodded in agreement.
“So she wants to keep alive the mystery of the Abbey,” she said.
“Exactly. But with attempted rape she is going just a little too far.”
There was an edge to the man’s voice that Sarah could determine. It spoke of purpose and resolve.
The old man looked around he room. His eyes grew wide as he looked at the bed.
He pointed with a very still finger at the white eiderdown covering the bed.
“What’s that on the coverlet?”
Sarah looked towards where Peter St. Owen was pointing. She approached the bed and peered down.
Sarah immediately realized what it was. She looked away in shame.
“It’s blood, sir,” she said.
Peter St. Owen looked at her in a questioning way.
“I bit him as he tried to escape.” Sarah started to blush.
The old man turned away with a half smile.
“Then, for the sake of propriety, I won’t ask you where you bit him, my dear,” he said. He peered closely at Sarah’s face.

Sarah felt herself blush in spite of Peter St. Owen’s amusing comment.
“It looks as though you got some on your face as well, my dear,” he said. His tone was gentle and considerate. “Why don’t you run along to the bathroom and wash it off.”
Sarah hastened out of the room. She was relieved to be left on her own. She scrubbed her face hard. She brushed and gargled to wipe away the taste and the memory of the recently aborted tryst.
Sarah looked at her face in the bathroom mirror. She looked harassed and harrowed. Her lovely features looked pale and gaunt. She really needed to take a rest. She needed to go somewhere quiet and peaceful. She needed the time off to regain her spirits. She could not go on like this much longer.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” she murmured to herself. “I would definitely leave for a while if I knew that Hugh St. Owen was safe and well.”
Comforting thoughts flooded her mind as she thought of the man she wanted for her lover. Sarah returned to the bedroom after brushing her thick, curly long red hair. She undressed and lay down on the bed. Peter St. Owen had kindly replaced the soiled eiderdown with a fresh one. Before long, Sarah fell in an exhausted, deep sleep. Her dreams were filled with images of wild Abbey stone walls, naked male bodies, and huge, gushing fountains.

Sarah awoke to the sound of birds singing. A late Welsh spring sun was already high in the sky.  Sarah glanced at the bedside clock. With a shock she noted that it was almost ten-thirty in the morning. She had slept right through the rest of the night.
Sarah went to the bathroom to attend to her toiletries. She dressed quickly and went into the front cottage parlor. Peter St. Owen was sitting by the window smoking a pipe. He was reading the Perris-on-Sea Gazette.
The courtly old gentleman rose to his feet.
“Good morning, my dear. I trust you slept well,” he said.
Sarah nodded.
“Oh, yes sir. I did indeed. I was so exhausted after such an ordeal.”
Peter St. Owen nodded.
Sarah was offered breakfast. After partaking of some toast and coffee Sarah sat down and told the old gentleman of her desire to leave the area for a complete rest.
Her benefactor agreed with her.
“But where will you go, my dear?” he said. His kindly face was full of concern for his young charge.
Sarah hesitated for a moment.
“I have a very good friend in London, sir. We were at school together. We were as close as sisters. Marianne is married now, but I know she would welcome some company. Her husband is in the Royal Navy, and he is stationed overseas in Japan at the moment.”
“Why don’t you telephone her now, if you have her number. Try and see if she is available.”
Sarah looked down despondently and sighed.
“Unfortunately I cannot, sir. I lost my handbag at the Abbey yesterday. My address book was in the handbag.”
Peter St. Owen smiled. He turned around and handed Sarah her blue handbag.
Sarah looked at the old man inn astonishment.
“But how did you manage to recover it, sir?”
Hugh brought it around this morning,” said her host. “He picked it up from the police station when he went to give a statement to them this morning. They found it in the Abbey grounds.”
Sarah smiled. Then a frown creased her beautiful features.
“My dear, whatever is the matter?” asked Peter St. Owen.
“I couldn’t leave the area without knowing that Hugh was safe and well, sir. I have to be sure he is out of danger, “ Sarah replied.
“Then he shall come and visit you from time to time,” said the old man.
Sarah breathed a welcome sigh of relief. She smiled at her benefactor. Then, without further ado she telephoned her friend Marianne. Her former school chum was only too pleased to hear from her. Life had been lonely since her husband had been stationed in the Orient. He wasn’t due to take some leave for quite a few months.
Sarah bid Marianne goodbye and put the phone down. She felt her spirits lift.
She turned to Peter St. Owen.
“She says I can come on down as soon as I want and stay for as long as I want, sir.”
The old gentleman smiled back at her.
“Sarah, my dear, that is capital,” he said. “ I know you will miss Hugh, but you badly need the rest.”
Sarah nodded back in assent. She knew that she must say goodbye to Hugh before she left.
Peter St. Owen telephoned his grandson. Hugh offered to drive Sarah to the Perris-on-Sea railway station in the morning. In the meantime, the old man invited the young man over for dinner that evening.
Sarah could hardly wait. It was a warm spring day. The young woman spent the rest of the day relaxing in the large garden at the back of the fairytale cottage. Surrounding the perimeter of a large lawn was a gravel path and a host of spring flowers, from golden daffodils to scarlet tulips. That day the bluebells appeared to Sarah to be the bluest she had ever seen.; the yellow and purple irises the tallest she had ever set eyes on.  There were garden seats placed at intervals along the walk, so if Sarah felt tired she could sit and rest awhile. Sarah was not in the mood for reading. She just wanted to take advantage of an unusually fair- weather Welsh spring day.
As the day wore on, Sarah returned to the cottage for a light lunch of tea and hot buttered scones baked by Peter St. Owen himself. Sarah thought they tasted better than the scones at the Perris-on-Sea café. The old gentleman insisted on preparing the evening meal himself. He refused to let Sarah do anything.
“Just relax and enjoy yourself, my dear. You need it.”
A call to Sarah’s father was inevitable. Peter St. Owen took it upon himself to inform the Doctor that Sarah was going away for a much needed rest and recuperation. Doctor Llewellyn promised to send his daughter a financial allowance to her London address while she was vacationing.  Sarah still had no wish to face the man who disclaimed his being her father, and had attempted to rape her.  She still felt confused and angry with the Doctor. He was the only father she had ever known. What did he mean by telling her that he was not her father? Could it really be true?
Sarah was pondering these thoughts as she made her way down the garden pathway again late in the afternoon.  Just at a distance Sarah could now make out what looked like a very well trimmed privet hedge that looked very green and cool. As she advanced towards it she could see that the hedge stood about eight feet tall and looked very thick. Sarah advanced closer still. She started as she realized with some degree of surprise that what she was looking at was not just a hedge, but a maze.  An actual maze.
“In this day and age,” she breathed. “It’s years since I have explored one. Not since my mother was alive,” she murmured to herself.
Sarah looked around. The sun was getting low in the sky and it would soon be time to change for dinner. There really wasn’t time to do any investigating just now. It would have to wait, she decided.
Sarah turned to go. Just at that moment she heard a sort of rustling behind her. Sarah wheeled around just in time to see Hugh St. Owen walk quickly into the maze.
Sarah’s mouth opened wide in astonishment. Why was Hugh going into the maze?
“Sarah! Sarah!”
Sarah started abruptly as she heard Hugh’s voice call to her, loud but muffled by the large hedges of the maze.
“Hugh,” said Sarah, “What do you want? Why don’t you come out of there? We will be late for dinner.”
“Sarah! Sarah!” Hugh’s voice carried over. This time it seemed even more urgent.
Sarah smiled indulgently.
“Stop fooling around, Hugh,” she said, “And come out here.”
“Sarah! Sarah!”
Hugh’s voice insisted upon calling her.
Sarah folded her arms somewhat in annoyance.
She advanced forward and entered the shadowy gloom of the maze with its eight-foot dark green privet walls. Sarah shivered. There was quite a temperature drop in here. She was wearing a spring frock of light cotton material.
Obviously Hugh wanted a very private farewell in this very private of places, thought Sarah.
As the young woman proceeded further and further into the labyrinth she could still hear Hugh’s voice call to her, but she couldn’t see him. Very soon she found herself in the center of the maze. There in the middle of the maze was a garden seat, but no Hugh.
Sarah was beginning to feel a bit tired and a little uneasy.
She sat down on the garden seat to rest. The inner cool and gloom of the maze was becoming more and more apparent as the sun was beginning to set.
Sarah shivered again. She was becoming more and more ill at ease.
What was going on? Where was Hugh?
Suddenly from behind her there was a rustle of silk. And then a familiar voice.
“Welcome to my parlor said the spider to the fly.”
Sarah stood up and spun around. There in front of her, posing in what looked like a black shroud in the dimming light stood her stepmother. “Vivien!” Sarah gasped.
The old witch glared at her stepchild with all the malevolence of an evil presence.
“You little fool,” she hissed, “Did you really think you could escape my clutches for long?”

Sarah was too shocked to speak. She was trembling with fear and disbelief. But before she could react to anything she felt someone grab her from behind and put some kind of rag over her mouth. Just as Sarah slipped into unconsciousness she heard a voice whisper “Take her back to the Abbey.”
 
 

Why did her stepmother hate her so much? Why had Hugh St. Owen lured her into the middle of this maze? What had this to do with the secrets of the Abbey? What was going on and why was she so important to the Guardians of the Abbey? See the next exciting installment in Chapter 18 of Sarah Llewellyn and the Druid’s Curse!

Read Chapter 18: Journey through the Mist
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