Eye of the Wind (15 page)

‘Where did you learn all this?’

Turning away, he shrugged. ‘It’s woodcraft. For example, if you are lost a tree can tell you where north is.’

‘Really?’ He hadn’t answered her question but it would be impolite to press. ‘How?’

‘You look for moss. It usually grows thicker on the north side of a tree. But you must choose a tree that is out in the open, not one in a damp, shady spot. Or you can chop into the trunk. The side that has the thickest bark will be north, though you should check several trees to be sure.’ He turned the fish over, the firelight casting his strong profile in bronze. ‘Folklore has it that if you want to make your dearest wish come true, you write it on a piece of beech wood and bury it.’

Melissa sighed. ‘If only it were so easy.’

‘Indeed,’ he murmured.

Straightening, he went into the shack and came back with two plates, chipped but clean; and a single fork that he used to push the fish off the stick and onto the plates.

‘No, please,’ Melissa cried as he was about to add a third. ‘No more. Two is plenty.’

Handing her one plate and the fork, he paused to turn off the lantern before lowering himself to the ground beside her chair, resting his back against the wall.

She glanced at the lantern then back at him, her uncertainty returning. ‘Why –?’

He raised a finger to his lips, saying quietly, ‘You’ll see. Eat. Please,’ he added, but she sensed it was an afterthought added to soften the faint hint of command.

Flaking easily from the bone, the mackerel tasted delicious. The first mouthful made Melissa realise how hungry she was. She had almost finished the second fish when a shuffling in the undergrowth brought her head up. Immediately wary, she glanced at Gabriel.

With a reassuring smile he raised a finger to his lips again then pointed to the path. Melissa looked where he pointed, and for a moment saw nothing. Then a large badger trundled out of the shadows. He stopped, sniffed the air, then ambled forward, nose to the ground, to where Gabriel had left the fish guts. Fork poised, meal forgotten, Melissa watched, entranced, as his mate joined him. Two half-grown cubs rolled into view, tumbling over each other with soft grunts, then abandoned their game and pushed in beside their parents to share the feast.

A few moments later, after a quick snuffle round to make sure no scrap had been missed, the cubs resumed chasing one another, playing hide and seek, while their parents ambled off along the path and out of sight.

Turning to Gabriel, Melissa found him watching her. He smiled. She smiled back.

‘That was amazing. I’ve never seen … How often do they come?’

‘Most nights. But I don’t always feed them. It would not be wise.’

‘The wrong kind of food, you mean?’

He shook his head. ‘No. If I fed them regularly they might become dependent. They might come to me for food instead of hunting for their own. Then if, for some reason, I could not feed them …’ He moved his shoulders, allowing her to work out for herself the possible result.

What reason would prevent him feeding them? If he were no longer here … Melissa felt suddenly chilled. Setting down the plate, she stood up. She didn’t want to go. All the more reason to leave at once.

‘That really was delicious. I’m not simply being polite, as you can see.’ She indicated the plate now containing nothing but bones and skin.

He grinned, uncoiling and rising to his feet. ‘You were hungry.’

She nodded shyly. ‘Thank you. I’ve so enjoyed –’

‘Last year, did you jump through the flames?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘There is no ceremony in the circle. Everyone is equal when they honour the old traditions and seek protection from witchcraft and evil for the coming year.’

‘You need such protection?’

She raised her brows. ‘You need to ask? Perhaps I am foolish, but in my current situation any help would be welcome.’

‘Then we must honour tradition.’

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘I don’t think –’

‘You will risk evil?’ he enquired softly. ‘What of me?’ he added. ‘I too would welcome protection.’

As he pulled the notched sticks from the ground and tossed them aside, Melissa’s glance fell on his bandages and she felt hot with shame. Absorbed in her difficulties it was all too easy to forget the suffering he – and others – had endured.

Kicking the embers into flickering life, he held out both hands to her. The flames danced in his eyes and cast a glow across his lean, dark face. ‘Your servant, ma’am?’

Her heart quickening, she tossed her shawl onto the chair, stepped forward, and placed her hands in his. With the fire between them, their hands clasped above it, they began to circle the flames, pulling against each other, gradually building up speed. Exhilaration vanquished shyness, and, as Gabriel smiled broadly, Melissa tossed her hair back and began to laugh. Faster and faster they whirled.

‘Now!’ he cried, and swung her over the flames so she landed lightly by his side. Releasing one hand he leapt across the fire. Their hands rejoined, and after another circle, he swung her though again. Rockets fizzed skyward from the beach below, and Melissa heard the pop of firecrackers exploding.

‘Don’t let go!’ he warned, his eyes gleaming. ‘You know what they say: “bad luck to weak hands”.’

‘I’ll hold fast,’ she vowed.

In turn they leapt to and fro, trampling out the fire. When the last flames had died, both were out of breath and the darkness shrouded them like a blanket.

‘Now you are safe for another year,’ he murmured softly.

‘You too,’ she replied. Her heart thudded so loudly she feared he would hear it. Her hand was still clasped in his. She knew she should withdraw it, for the ritual was over now, but it was warm and strong, and she felt
safe,
which was ridiculous. She was permitting a liberty beyond all that was proper. She cleared her throat.

‘I should – I really – Thank you. I don’t mean just for this: the fish and the badgers and – I mean for all your help. If you hadn’t –’ Her breath caught in a tiny gasp as he laid a calloused finger gently against her lips.

‘It was my privilege.’ His finger moved lightly across her cheek and freed a damp, clinging curl.

Glad of the darkness that hid her fiery blush, she knew she should move away, berate him for his impertinence. But, trembling in the grip of something outside her experience and beyond her control, she did neither.

She heard him swallow, could feel the heat emanating from his body so close, so very close, to hers. He drew her like iron is drawn to a lodestone: an attraction as elemental as that holding the moon to earth, and as impossible to break.

He made a sound, too brief to be a groan, and stepped back, releasing her hand. She pressed it to her midriff, trying to retain the fading sensation of his touch, of his infusing strength.

‘I’ll see you home, miss.’ His voice was as harsh and strained as it had been the day they had first met here on this same path.

Her eyes pricked and her throat was stiff with loss, and bewilderment at her reactions. ‘There’s no need.’

‘Just to the park, miss. For your safety.’

Not trusting herself to speak, she simply nodded.

Night wrapped them in velvet darkness, and though stars could be glimpsed through the tree canopy, the moon had not yet risen. She was not afraid of the dark, but nor could she easily see the ruts and dips in the path, and tripped twice. But instantly his hand was at her elbow to steady and reassure.

They reached the edge of the woods and he stopped. She knew he could not see her face, but she forced a smile anyway. A smile would alter her voice and mask feelings she could not explain and feared would shame her. She did not want him thinking … What didn’t she want him to think? Why should it matter what he thought? Who was he anyway? All this raced through her mind as she turned toward him, clutching her shawl as she drew a deep, careful breath.

‘Thank you, Gabriel.’

‘No, miss.’ His voice was a gravelly rasp. ‘Thank
you
for the honour of your company.’

On impulse, she offered her hand. It was what she would have done on taking leave of someone of her own class. But he wasn’t, and she shouldn’t have. Before she could withdraw, he took it. Instead of a brief, polite shake, her hand was raised and her heart stopped at the warm pressure of his lips on her knuckles. Then he was gone.

Reaching the terrace she paused and looked back. In the distance she could hear shouting and laughter, drums and singing, punctuated by more firecrackers. A rocket, trailing brilliant sparks, shot high into the sky.

The next day was feast day. While the men worked, women would be down on the quay setting up stalls to sell sweets, ribbons, trinkets, fruit, and pastries. When the men finished work and joined them, there would be games and singing, and fiddlers would play for those who enjoyed dancing.

From late afternoon until dusk, sailing boats, rowing boats, and gigs would take groups of villagers aboard for short trips out of the creek and into the Carrick Roads. In the evening, there would be a ram roast, and drinking, and more fireworks.

Picturing it all, drawing on memories of other years, still vivid, she stayed at home. 

Chapter Thirteen

When Melissa arrived at the clearing on Monday morning the atmosphere was noticeably subdued. After offering a brief salute or mumbled greeting, the men went about their work in silence, the after-effects of two days of celebrations painfully obvious.

Seeing Joe wince and shudder at the crash of a falling tree, and glimpsing Billy bent over behind a bush, Melissa maintained a tactful distance, appearing not to notice pallid faces and hands that shook. It wasn’t difficult with so much on her mind, not least the prospect of seeing Gabriel again.

Following the direction of Ned’s trembling finger, she led Captain toward the newly felled trees beset by vivid memories: the meal she and Gabriel had shared, and their own private honouring of St Peter’s Tide.

In the short time she had known him, an unspoken agreement had evolved between them. When they were alone the guarded formality so carefully maintained in the presence of others might be lowered. How this had happened she wasn’t sure. But the ease with which she found herself confiding in him took her aback.

Rarely conscious of it at the time, it was only at the day’s end, when she lay in bed replaying their conversations, that it would occur to her how freely she had spoken. Then she was shocked at how much she had told him.

When she saw him with the other men he was as self-effacing as it was possible for a man of his size to be, remaining silent unless directly addressed. Yet when they were alone, though he volunteered little about his past, and virtually nothing of a personal nature, his posture, his speech, and his manner seemed to her to undergo a subtle change.

There was still constraint – given the difference in their circumstances how could it be otherwise? – but that too altered in a mysterious way, though a barrier remained beyond which she could not see.

He did not press her to talk. If some of his rare questions might, on other lips, have sounded impertinent, somehow from him they did not. His understanding, when she found herself blurting out her anxieties, was far beyond what she would have expected.

With his acceptance of responsibility and skilful organizing of men renowned both for their independence and their suspicion of strangers, he must surely have been a great asset to his previous employer. Why then had he left? Why had he gone to France? How had he ended up in prison? What secrets had he known and kept that warranted such dreadful torture?

Holding Captain while Ned unfastened the chains around the second log of the morning, she was almost knocked backwards when the big shire jerked his head up, ears pricked as he whinnied softly. Trying to ignore the sudden quickening of her heart, she released her breath, kept her face carefully expressionless, and waited, soothing the shire whose tense muscles quivered beneath her unsteady hand.

A moment later, she heard the thunder of galloping hooves and, glancing round, saw Hocking hurtle into the clearing on Samson. Seeing her, he hauled frantically on the reins, bringing the huge thoroughbred to a skidding halt.

‘Miss, you got to get up to the house right away!’ he gasped.

‘What is it? Is there a letter?’ Her brother? Her mother?

Panting for breath, the groom shook his head. ‘Tis your aunts, miss. Mr Lobb done his best, but they say they aren’t leaving till they seen you.’

She shut her eyes. Oh no. It was too much.

‘Give me a moment.’ Her thoughts raced.

‘Why has everyone stopped?’ Gabriel demanded, striding from dense undergrowth and wiping his sweating face with his neckerchief.

‘Miss is needed at home urgent,’ Hocking explained, throwing himself off Samson’s back and grabbing the bridle as the thoroughbred danced sideways, nostrils flaring, sides heaving like bellows as he mouthed the foam-flecked bit.

‘Not bad news, I hope?’

Melissa grimaced. ‘Unwelcome visitors.’ She turned to the groom. ‘Will you ride behind me?’

‘No, miss. That beast don’t like me no more than I like him. Tried to pitch me off twice he did. I’d sooner walk. Bleddy animal,’ he muttered, glaring at the object of his loathing. ‘Go on, don’t you wait for me. Just leave ’un in the stable.’

Melissa switched her gaze from Samson to the big shire whose bridle she held. ‘But – what about Captain? He’s too strong for John.’

Handing his axe to Ned, Gabriel strode forward and took the rein from her suddenly nerveless fingers. ‘I’ll drive him. Go home,’ he urged.

‘Best not linger, miss,’ Hocking warned. ‘Time’s wasting, and you can’t go in to them looking like that.’

‘Yes. No. You’re right.’ Biting her lip, Melissa hurried to Samson, gathered up the reins, and put her mud-caked boot into Hocking’s cupped hands. As she threw her leg over his back the highly-strung thoroughbred sprang forward, scattering the watching men. Giving him his head, she crouched in the saddle and raced back through the wood. If Lobb had sent a message to Hocking to fetch her, surely he would also have had the foresight to guide her aunts into the small parlour, whose windows faced the garden and not the park.

Shutting Samson – still saddled and bridled – in his stall, she raced across the yard and into the house through a rear door. Wrenching off her filthy boots, she left them on the flagged floor of the passage and sprinted up the back stairs. Sarah was waiting for her with hot water, clean stockings, kid slippers, and a demure black gown.

Ten minutes later, washed and changed, her hair brushed and pinned into a neat chignon with soft curls fringing her forehead and in front of her ears, Melissa stood in front of the mirror and pressed her hands to shiny glowing cheeks.

‘I look like a beetroot!’

‘Shall I fetch some of master’s wig powder, miss? That would take off the shine a bit.’

Melissa shook her head. ‘Aunt Louisa would be bound to notice. She does not approve of cosmetics. In her opinion, one should be neither too proud nor too humble to present to the world whatever complexion one has been blessed with by nature.’

Sarah snorted. ‘One rule for she, and another for everyone else, is it?’

‘Sarah!’ Melissa admonished.

‘Well, I aren’t so stupid to believe nature made her hair that colour. I swear each time she come calling ’tis a different shade.’

Melissa scrutinised her reflection. ‘I must go. I dare not keep them waiting any longer. Do I look all right?’

Clutching Melissa’s discarded skirt and jacket, Sarah gazed critically at her young mistress. ‘You do look handsome. If you got a bit of colour ’tis no surprise, seeing how you just walked up quick from the park.’

‘Yes. Of course!’ Flashing a grateful smile, Melissa hurried out to the landing, and peered over the balustrade. Waiting in the hall below, Lobb glanced up and nodded.

Running swiftly down the stairs, her slippers silent on the wide, carpeted treads, Melissa paused outside the door of the morning room to square her shoulders and lift her chin. Then, taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

‘Aunt Louisa! Aunt Sophie! What a lovely surprise! How kind of you to call again so soon. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you. It’s such a lovely morning I thought I should get some fresh air. I had planned to go no further than the garden, but when Medlyn told me about the damage, I thought I should take a look.’

‘What damage?’ demanded Aunt Louisa, elder and more forceful of the two sisters-in-law, resplendent in black satin with quantities of lace.

‘The horse chestnut in the park,’ Melissa replied, her gaze straying involuntarily to that part of her aunt’s elaborate coiffure not hidden by the plumes decorating her hat. Sarah was right. Normally brown, the carefully dressed curls had acquired a definite hint of red. ‘The recent heavy rain has caused a large branch to break off. I understand,’ she plunged on, trusting in her aunt’s total lack of interest in any subject not of her own choosing, ‘that the gales we had in early June have brought down a number of trees in the wood.’

‘Indeed?’ her aunt interrupted. ‘Well, I’m sure your brother will take care of it when he returns.’

The door opened and Lobb appeared with a silver tray bearing ratafia and a dish of macaroons. ‘I trust you’ll forgive the liberty, miss, but I thought the ladies might welcome some refreshment after their journey.’

‘Thank you, Lobb.’ Melissa’s smile was heartfelt. ‘I was just about to ring.’

‘Will there be anything else, miss?’

‘Not at the moment.’ With a stately bow, the butler made his exit.

‘Takes a lot upon himself.’ Aunt Louisa frowned as the door closed.

‘I’m sure his intention is good,’ her sister-in-law placated. Smaller, plumper, and ever conciliatory, Sophie hated what she termed “upsets”. But as she was her sister-in-law’s confidante and companion, accompanying her on the morning-calls required by civility, and less formal visits to various members of the family, she spent much of her time smoothing the ruffled feathers Louisa invariably left in her wake.

‘He is invaluable, Aunt Sophie,’ Melissa said with unfeigned warmth. ‘I don’t know how I should have managed without him these past weeks.’

‘Yes, well, never mind that.’ Louisa was dismissive. ‘Let me look at you.’

Melissa regarded her aunt, her brows slightly raised as she waited for the inevitable criticism.

‘You’re looking tired,’ her aunt observed. ‘And you have a high colour. I hope you are not starting a fever. These summer colds can be most unpleasant. Fortunately I am rarely troubled by the minor afflictions to which so many of our acquaintance succumb.’

Melissa wondered if the illnesses claimed by her aunt’s friends were on occasion more diplomatic than real: the only way to limit the frequency and duration of her aunt’s social calls.

‘I am perfectly well, thank you. I confess I went into the garden without my bonnet. I had not intended to stay out above a few minutes. But then …’ She made a small helpless gesture. ‘I fear I may have caught the sun a little.’

‘A
little?’
sniffed Louisa, shaking her head. Sophie echoed the movement, though more in anxious concern than irritation. ‘Melissa, such behaviour cannot be condoned. As one already disadvantaged you really cannot afford to be so careless. How can you hope to attract a husband when you are so unmindful of the things that matter?’

‘Indeed, Aunt Louisa, you are perfectly right,’ Melissa agreed humbly. ‘I cannot see myself ever becoming the wife of a man who would choose his life partner on the basis of her complexion.’

Catching her Aunt Sophie’s shocked and widening gaze for a fleeting instant, Melissa quickly lowered her eyes, waiting for Aunt Louisa’s wrath to break over her deserving head. But, having made her point, the redoubtable lady’s attention had already passed to more pressing matters.

‘When is your mother coming home?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Has she not written to you?’

Melissa shook her head. ‘Not yet. I am sure she will as soon as she is feeling better. Dr Wherry thinks it far wiser for her to remain with Aunt Lucy until she is properly recovered. I must agree with him, though I do miss her.’

It was the truth. She loved her mother very much. Perhaps not quite to the same extent that she had loved her father, for she had had more in common with him. Nor was it easy to love without reservation someone whose love for her daughter was less than her love for her sons, despite her efforts to pretend otherwise. It was the fact that she had to try so hard that hurt.

‘I have found Dr Wherry to be a most able man,’ Louisa announced. ‘Perhaps his manner on occasion tends toward the brusque. But that is not to be wondered at when so many people call upon him over trifling matters. However, though his advice concerning your mother may indeed be sound, I cannot feel it at all the thing for you to be alone in this house.’

Melissa masked her stirring alarm with a display of mild bewilderment. ‘I do not understand you, Aunt. I am not alone. I have Lobb, and Mrs Betts, and Sarah, and Hocking in the stables, Medlyn in the garden, all taking excellent care of me.’

‘So I should hope,’ Louisa sniffed. ‘That is their purpose. But that is not what I meant, and well you know it.’

‘Indeed, Aunt, I hope you are not concerned on my account. Truly, I do not wish for company other than family just now. Besides, while I am in mourning, it would not be fitting.’

‘I am glad to hear you say so. I must allow, Melissa, that your attitude does you credit. I would not have expected you to show such sensibility. Though it pains me to say so, and one hesitates to speak ill of the dead, in the matter of appropriate behaviour your father did not deal with you as he should. As a result you have too often shown a disturbing lack of decorum. However, if that is now all in the past, I yield to no one in my delight that you have recognised the error into which you had fallen.’

Trying desperately to ignore the swift succession of images of her appallingly indecorous behaviour, each one painfully vivid, Melissa dipped her head as guilt burned from her toes to the roots of her hair. ‘You are too kind.’

‘One should always give credit where it is due.’ Louisa settled herself more comfortably and permitted herself a satisfied smile. ‘Well, this is most pleasant.’ She turned to her sister-in-law. ‘Is this not delightful, Sophie?’

‘Indeed, it is, Louisa. Such a pleasure.’ She beamed at her niece. ‘We see you so rarely, Melissa. Of course, I know how much you used to enjoy being with your dear father.’

Melissa winced inwardly. Her Aunt Sophie was totally without malice. But she could have said nothing more likely to provoke another tirade.

Louisa drew herself up. ‘Yes, well, it is certainly not my place to question the wisdom of my brother-in-law’s actions. But I would be less than truthful if I did not admit to grave concern at the way he permitted – no, I would go so far as to say,
encouraged –
Melissa’s interest in matters of no concern to members of our sex.’

Melissa had hoped their visit would be a short one, but neither of her aunts was showing any inclination to leave. Resigning herself to the inevitable, she forced a smile. ‘I was just thinking, if you are not expected elsewhere, could I persuade you to stay a little longer and join me in a light luncheon?’