The Forest Lord (42 page)

He nodded with an air of victory and urged the horses onward, up a gently winding road that climbed the fell. He kept up a largely one-sided conversation, but
Eden knew that he was biding his time for far more serious discourse.

When he stopped the carriage again, it was at a glade beside a lovely little beck, a level portion on the fellside secluded from the outside world by a thicket of alders.
Eden braced herself.

"I have had much time to think,
Eden," Rushborough said, "and I have come to realize that my feelings for you have not changed." He met her stricken gaze. "I think I may reasonably hope that yours have undergone a corresponding alteration since last we were together. I am no callow youth, Eden. I can provide your son with the advantages you wish for him. The boy may not bear my name, but he will have everything else befitting a gentleman."

He swept his hand wide to encompass all that lay below them. "I bought this estate for your sake. Hartsmere is not a proper setting for you, my dear. I would give you free rein to make any changes you wish. Indulge yourself, with no thought of expense." He finally smiled at her, certain that what he offered was impossible to refuse.

He knew as well as she that a woman in her situation must be an utter fool, or mad, to turn him down. For Rushborough to promise to give up his carefree bachelor's life for her sake, and Donal's—her illegitimate son—she could scarce credit the change in him. It was almost as great as the one in
herself
.

"What you offer… is beyond generous."

He seized her hands. "You know what you can do to make my life complete. Ah,
Eden… once we are wed, nothing can prevent us from becoming the most sought-after couple in
London. Those who cut you before will come begging to your door. You may have all the servants you wish. You need never lift your hand to any labor. You can devote your life to pleasure once again, as you deserve." He kissed her hands, one after the other. "Say yes,
Eden."

Her throat closed, barring the painstakingly phrased speech she had prepared for this moment. Rushborough gazed at her unflinchingly.
Confidently.
Believing he had left nothing unsaid.

The same words that Hartley had left unsaid.

Hartley…

The horses shied violently, nearly upsetting the carriage. From the midst of the undergrowth a fox came running, low to the ground and frantic with fear. It dashed between the phaeton's wheels, through the trees, and onto the open fell.

From the distance, growing nearer by the second, came the fierce belling of the pack.

"The hunt!"
Rushborough cried. He steadied the horses and guided them out of the glade. "Look!" He pointed up the fell, where the first of the hounds was just cresting the rise. "They are much closer than I had suspected." He watched with keen interest as the fox
zigzagged
an uneven course toward the level ground of the park. Spotted hounds, in full cry, barreled down the hill in pursuit.
Eden felt a stab of fear that was not for
herself
or for anything human.

"The fell packs are unlike those of the south, in that men follow afoot rather than on horseback," Rushborough
said,
an edge of excitement in his voice. "This country is too dangerous for galloping horses. And the local folk pride themselves on their sturdiness and stamina. There is sure to be an excellent kill today."

He nodded up the fell, where the dogs had been. A handful of men appeared at the crest, bristling with guns and holding still more panting, straining dogs. One of the hunters pointed downfell and gave a cry.

Sick with dread,
Eden held her seat. She had the absurd desire to run after the fox and place herself between it and the bawling hounds.

"I do not care for this, Francis," she said. "It is cruel, and if I had my way, I would banish such hunts entirely."

He stared at her in surprise. "Cruel? Why, we do the farmers and shepherds a great service by killing their vermin. They'd destroy the foxes themselves if we did not. For what purpose were such creatures born, if not to amuse us?"

Eden
clutched the side of the carriage. The dogs, growing more distant, were closing in on the hapless fox. Soon it would go to earth and wait to be dug out and torn apart by the terriers.

She could do nothing to save it.

"You do look pale, my dear," Francis said, smiling indulgently. "It is your womanly nature that is offended. I shall take you home at—"

He stopped short with a gasp. She followed his line of sight to the place where the fox had last been.

The fox and the hounds were no longer alone. A human figure was with them—but one far too small to be one of the pursuing hunters. He stood between the
snarling,
snapping dogs and the fox crouched at his heels.

Some primal instinct told Eden who that
figure
was. She tried to scream, but her breath came out in a long, high wheeze. "Donal," she whispered. "It's Donal."

"Your son?
Impossible.
Was he not to come tomorrow? Hartsmere is miles away—"

"It is my son, I tell you!"

Rushborough frowned. "You are unwell, my dear. Let me take you back—"

She snatched the ribbons from his loose grip, slapped them down on the horses's backs, and drove a reckless path down the fellside. The marquess sputtered a protest, which she ignored. She had no thought for him now. The carriage bounced and jounced over rough ground and stones, but her grip on the lines was iron.

Donal's pale, set face looked up as she drove near. He bent over the fox, protecting it with his body, while the hounds circled him with deep, menacing growls.

Surely they would not hurt a child.
Surely not a boy like Donal.

But whatever Donal's natural skills with animals, they had deserted him now, or he had forgotten how to use them. He caught up the fox, made himself very small, and tried to face all the dogs at once.

Eden
tried to jump out of the carriage, but Francis seized her by the arm. "
Eden!"

"Let me go!" She turned on him savagely. "Find a gun! Get help!"

With a look of astonishment, Francis glanced from her to Donal and jumped from the carriage. He ran up the fell-side toward the descending hunters.

Eden
dropped the ribbons and let the plunging, wild-eyed horses bolt away. She darted toward the nearest of the dogs, shouting and waving her arms. Several of the hounds spun to face her, bristling.

With another silent prayer,
Eden walked directly into the seething pack. A tooth-filled maw snapped at her hand. Another dog caught the hem of her pelisse and began to tug.

Then, all at once, one of the dogs yelped and the others cowered back from her and Donal. A shadow fell over
Eden. She turned, and nearly fell in her amazement.

An enormous stag, its head crowned with a vast rack of antlers, stood over the dogs. It bellowed, shaking its head in threat.

So many dogs might have brought the beast down, if they had been so inclined. They were not; this was no helpless fox. Several broke away, tails tucked, and even the bravest fled when the stag took several bounding steps forward and nearly impaled the importunate beast on one long, daggerlike tine.

Safe.
They were safe—at least from the hounds.
Eden ran and caught Donal in her arms, fox and all, putting herself between him and the stag. Vaguely she was aware of the hunters approaching, raising guns,
taking
aim.

She stared up at the stag's bright eyes. It dropped to its knees, lowering its great head nearly to the ground.

Donal wriggled free of her hold and dashed toward the stag. He leaped onto the stag's back with the skill of an experienced rider, and the animal surged to its feet. It wheeled on its haunches and plunged into a full gallop toward the nearest trees.

New terror clawed at
Eden's chest. She ran after the
stag, knowing it to be hopeless, ignoring the shouts of the men. She ran as she had ran but once in her life.

Branches whipped across her face as she entered the glade. Donal knelt beside the beck, calm and unafraid. The fox and stag were nowhere in sight.

She fell to her knees beside him and hugged him with all her strength.

"Donal, are you all right? Were you hurt?"

He squirmed until she loosened her hold. His large green eyes widened at the look on her face, and he patted her arm.

"I'm all right, Mother. The dogs didn't hurt me." He sighed. "They wouldn't listen when I talked to them. They were too angry. But it isn't really their fault."

Eden
almost laughed in exasperation. Trust Donal to worry more about the animals than
himself
! She sobered instantly at the thought of the stag.

The beast that had not behaved like a
beast, that
had saved her son.
The very creature who had figured so powerfully in her imaginings.

"He's gone," Donal said, "but he's not far away."

Eden
snatched him up again and refused to let go. "We must leave at once."

"But he said to stay here—"

She clamped down on her panic and looked wildly about the glade. There was a sudden swell of renewed howling and barking out on the fell.
Eden didn't let Donal go long enough to learn the reason. She listened until the sounds grew faint and disappeared.

Donal smiled. "They won't come back for a long time. Tod is leading them away. The other fox is safe."

Tod? Who was Tod? Such questions must wait until Donal was safe. She grabbed his hand and started out of the glade, nearly colliding with three men: two hunters and Francis.

"Thank God you are all right," Rushborough said. He opened his arms as if to embrace them.

Donal hid behind
Eden. Doubtless he was far more shaken than his calm words revealed, and she would certainly not subject him to the company of a man who had not thought to place himself between her son and vicious dogs. But as long as the marquess remained, the creature she feared would stay away.

"Please," she said, barely maintaining her civility, "let us take a few moments to recover, Lord Rushborough." She looked beyond him to the two hunters, farmers both by their appearance. "If you will bring the phaeton—"

"But you cannot drive in this state—and what of the stag? It carried the boy away…" A peculiar look crossed Rushborough's face, as if he was recalling how Donal had vaulted onto the stag's back, riding a wild animal like a horse.

"I am fine. Donal is unhurt."

"Nevertheless, I will drive you myself." He signaled to the hunters. "Remain here with Lady Eden."

He looked at Donal as if he would like nothing better than to give the boy a good thrashing, and then strode from the glade.

Eden
released her breath. She closed her eyes and listened. All that broke the silence was the sweet burbling of the beck and the rustle of the trees.
Until a wind came up, shaking loose a shower of leaves and drawing a moan from the branches.

The hunters exchanged uneasy glances. Thunder growled. Needling drops of rain began to fall, but they did not touch
Eden or Donal. Within seconds the farmers were drenched. The downpour was followed by a searing flash of light, a loud crack, and a large tree limb plummeted to the ground at the fanners' feet.

As one, the hunters turned on their heels and fled.

"Mother?"
Donal said, tugging her torn skirts.

The rain had stopped, and so had the wind and thunder. Another man stood where the farmers had been.

"Hartley," she whispered. She wasn't shocked. She felt quite numb, as if the part of her body that produced astonishment had become weary of supplying the emotion.

"Donal is safe," he said. "I am sorry I did not realize earlier that he had run away from Hartsmere. He found this place all on his own." He looked at Donal with unmistakable pride. "You were very brave, both of you."

She finally laughed, half afraid that the laughter would become helpless sobs if she did not control it. "I have never been brave."

"Yes you were, Mother." Donal gazed up at her gravely. "I came to bring you home. And then I saw the fox."

She caught her breath and cradled Donal's head against her hip. "And the stag," she said.

And the stag.
Hartley met her eyes, unblinking. He recognized her question for what it was.