by Sawyer North
Adam suppressed a pondering grunt. He had suspected Jane of being an enterprising woman, given how circumstances had saddled her with the family mill. However, she continued to exceed his expectations, a fact he did not wish to admit cavalierly.
“You rise too early, Jane.”
“Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.”
He cocked his head and grinned. “Still quoting Shakespeare, are we? The Merry Wives of Windsor, if I am not mistaken.”
His comment produced the surprise for which he’d hoped. She lifted one dark eyebrow. “Mr. Ashford. Did you not claim only yesterday how little you know of Shakespeare? If I recall correctly, a single line was the extent of your knowledge.”
“Perhaps I exaggerated a little.”
“Perhaps? A little? You clearly suffer from an inability to judge degree, sir.”
“I suppose you are right. Given my esteem for Marlowe, my propensity for embellishing stories only stands to reason.”
“And that is another thing,” she said with mild contempt. “Your preference for Marlowe over Shakespeare befuddles me. He clearly did not match the Bard in either quality or quantity. How could you favor him?”
Adam chuckled again. Jane seemed to possess a gift for stabbing him straight in the heart. However, unlike Marlowe, he did not mind. “You see through me. In fact, I do prefer Shakespeare’s style. However, I am drawn to Marlowe’s personal story.”
“Oh?” She cocked that eyebrow again. It threatened to unnerve him. He devoted a moment to stopping his hand from grabbing hers. She would likely strike him dead in the road if he did so. While he stumbled through the thought, she waited patiently for his explanation.
“It’s like this,” he sighed. “Christopher Marlowe was a flash of fire, blazing in brilliance for a fleeting moment, for a startled intake of breath, and then he was gone. Some days, I feel the same. As if the glory of my youth will pass abruptly when this cursed feud consumes me, just as the feud consumed my parents and their parents before them.”
He stared ahead, afraid of what she might think of his rantings. His worst suspicions seemed confirmed when she said nothing for second upon second. Tentatively, he cut his eyes toward her. She was watching him, her expression difficult to read. Worlds and wonders rolled behind those sharp blue eyes, reminiscent of a summer sky. He shattered beneath her scrutiny.
“Idiotic, I know. Say it, Jane.”
The straight line of her mouth curved upward slightly. “I most certainly will not. That may have been the most enlightened thing I have heard you say.”
“In truth?”
“In truth. I know exactly what you mean. I feel as if my best days are already behind me and I am no better for the passage of time. When I look in the mirror, I still see the friendless little girl constructed of elbows and knees.”
Adam shook his head. “No. You look nothing like that now. You have grown into a rather beautiful woman whom I could easily…”
He caught his words, aghast at his outpouring. His plan for withholding his newfound regard for her appearance seemed dashed. She confirmed it by blinking at him several times with wide eyes before glancing away furtively. An awkward and stifling silence settled between them. Had he offended her? Frightened her? He wished for neither, but her ongoing silence held hope at bay. In the absence of conversation, he was left to stew over his growing feelings for Jane and to despair over the fact that he could never risk his land and legacy to pursue those feelings. In mounting misery, he dragged the horse down the road, shuffling as a man chained.
Chapter Twenty
Jane’s head spun with such ferocity that she feared she might veer into the ditch. Adam’s expression of admiration for her appearance nearly flattened her. While pondering the reason for her dizziness, she came to a startling conclusion. She returned that admiration, ounce for ounce, pound for pound, measure for measure. When had that happened? Particularly given her concerted efforts to continue disliking him. Somehow, he had managed to burrow beneath her wall of disregard to steal her affection. She risked a brief glance at him. There remained no doubt about his fine looks, despite the current grit of his jaw and stricken demeanor. However, his unexpected easy nature drew her to him. He seemed changed these past days. The prospect of disaster appeared to have tempered his considerable pride.
“Hep, ho!”
The shout from behind yanked Jane from her musings. She spun to find a heavy wagon drawn by a pair of draft horses lumbering up the road. The driver, a plump homespun woman wearing a stovepipe hat, eyed them with curiosity. She raised a hand to Mr. Barlow and Aunt Hester, who trailed discreetly behind Jane and Adam.
“Greetings. Where ye headed, pilgrims?”
“Keswick, we believe.”
The driver frowned. “Ye believe? Know ye not where ye go?”
Barlow shook his head. “Oddly, no. We seek a particular place, but do not know its specific location. Perhaps you might help.”
The woman tipped back her hat. “Perhaps. What is it ye seek?”
Barlow shrugged. “It is a bit of a riddle. We seek a rise. A circumference. An army of stone.”
The driver frowned as her brow constricted. “Let’s see, now. We’ve no shortage of rises. An army of stone would be rather useless, don’t ya’ think? And just what is a cir…circum…”
“Circumference,” said Aunt Hester. “A circle.”
“What kind o’ circle?”
“We don’t know.”
Her frown deepened. “It seems ye know less than little. Might I offer ye transport toward Keswick while I consider yer riddle?”
Jane and Adam exchanged a glance. He spoke first. “What do you say, Miss Hancock?”
She ventured a minimal smile. “My feet would welcome the offer of transport.”
“Very well.” He waved to the driver. “We accept, ma’am, with gratitude.”
“Well chosen. I am Mrs. Morgan. Tie yer horse to the tailgate and climb aboard.”
…
The wagon trundled along the road while rising hills began to bathe it in shadows. The wagon bed proved far smaller than the one they had occupied on the ride to Carlisle. However, the distinct lack of piglets allowed Jane room to stretch without pressing too near Adam. His earlier suggestion that he found her pretty, and perhaps more, continued to circle her thoughts. He seemed to sense her turmoil, for he spent his time conversing with Barlow and Aunt Hester while she stewed. And pondered. And dozed off only to awake and stew further. Finally, she sighed. Three hours of stewing threatened to render her a puddle of mental mush. She shifted toward the driver to converse.
“Mrs. Morgan.” The woman had remained mostly silent during the journey. She glanced over her shoulder at Jane with a mild start.
“Miss?”
“Have you considered the riddle further? A rise, a circumference, an army of stone?”
Mrs. Morgan returned her attention to the road. “I have. Been woolgathering for nigh on three hours, now. And I’ve drawn a conclusion.”
Excitement mounted within Jane. “Is that so? What is your conclusion?”
“That I have no idea about a rise, a cir…circum…”
“Circumference.”
“Yes. That. Or an army of stone. I still believe an army of stone seems ineffectual. Why would one require stone soldiers? Or a circumference?”
“I wish I knew.”
Jane became abruptly aware of Adam’s presence. She peeked back to find him nearer, apparently having taken interest in her questioning of Mrs. Morgan. He leaned closer still until contact seemed inevitable, but he stopped short. His mouth spread into a mischievous grin.
“There you have it, Jane. A circumference. Perhaps this is a geometry problem after all.”
She faded away from him slightly…but only so…and frowned. “A geometry problem? Are you mathematica
lly inclined, then?”
He chuckled. “Inclined. As in, say, an inclined plane. Very amusing.”
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome. Although, your humor seems a bit obtuse.”
“You make a good point, sir, but I am acutely aware of that.”
He laughed louder. “I am not sure I like the arc of this conversation. I fear we might cross a line.”
Her frown faded as she swallowed a laugh. “Have no fear. We are safe as long as we limit our conversation to tangential matters.”
“An angle I had not considered. Very good.”
She permitted a subdued giggle for that pun. “Enough. We should stop before we exhaust our geometry terms and proceed to calculus.”
“You know calculus?”
She considered the level of his surprise but decided not to take offense. Not too much, anyway. “Some. But it was not an integral part of my education.”
He rolled his eyes. “You are correct. We should cease with the mathematical puns. Particularly as I fear my terminology will exhaust long before yours does. I doubt my pride could survive such a blow.”
“Such a blow? By that, do you mean being bested by a woman?”
He shook his head. “No. You have been besting me for most of the past ten years, so I am quite accustomed to that.”
“Then what did you mean by ‘such a blow’?”
He looked away to gaze at a large, craggy hill, a hint of flush in his cheeks. He did not speak for a time. Then he faced her.
“I doubt my pride could survive your disregard.”
His reasoning briefly took her aback. She recovered just in time to raise her defensive walls. “But I have disregarded you for a decade, sir.”
“I know. However, I never much cared before.”
Heat climbed her cheeks. Caught in the intensity of his gaze, her first instinct was to laugh away the moment, or to change the subject, or to leap from the wagon and run far without stopping. However, the import of the moment settled upon her. He seemed to offer…what? Further admiration? A truce? Perhaps even an end to the war between their families? She could not be certain which. However, she knew that if the moment passed unaddressed, she would likely regret it for all time. She dipped her chin in acknowledgment of his unspoken olive branch.
“I understand. I feel the same.”
A smile slowly spread across his face. It spoke of relief, of peace, of possibility. “That pleases me.”
The low sonorous tones of Mrs. Morgan’s laugh interrupted the moment. Jane cut her eyes to the back of the woman’s head. “What do you find so amusing, Mrs. Morgan?”
“I did not realize ye were courting.”
“We are certainly not courting, ma’am. In fact, we are the firmest of enemies.”
She peeked back at Jane in surprise. “Ye don’t say? Coulda fooled me. I wish all my enemies were as friendly. I’d have few troubles then.”
Jane blushed and turned away from both Adam and Mrs. Morgan, eager to escape scrutiny. Her altered vantage point provided a new view, one that had been firmly at her back for a while. The difference in the landscape immediately captured her attention. Inside a large natural bowl of impressive highlands, she saw a gentle uplift of land laced with knee-high grass not far from the road. Protruding from it like a gap-toothed smile was an array of standing stones—an array of stones that appeared to constitute a larger circle.
“Stop!” She sprang excitedly to her feet. When the wagon halted, the resulting lurch threw her toward Mrs. Morgan. She recovered, only to fall in the opposite direction into Adam’s lap. She froze. His upside-down face loomed over hers, a wry smile painted across his lips.
“Are you injured? Or merely inappropriately forward?”
She scrambled away, driven by shame, although immediately regretting her rapid departure. His arms around her waist had felt far too wonderful. She stood again, smoothed her skirt while gathering her wits, and then gave a nonchalant nod to Adam. To avoid her wits escaping again, she turned toward the befuddled Mrs. Morgan and lifted a finger toward the stones.
“Mrs. Morgan. What, may I ask, are those?”
The woman followed her point and studied the rise of land briefly before her face lit. “The stones?”
“Yes. The stones.”
Mrs. Morgan shrugged. “Some call it Castlerigg. Others call it the Druid’s Circle. Old as time, it is.”
Mild annoyance shuddered through Jane. “But Mrs. Morgan. Did I not ask you about circles that might lie along the way?”
Her features grew defensive. “To be fair, miss, ye asked about a cir…circum…”
“Circumference.”
“Yes. That. I asked ye what kind, but ye failed to say.”
“Do you not suppose you might have suggested this particular circle, rimmed with a number of standing stones that one might metaphorically call an army?”
Mrs. Morgan’s eyebrows drew up as she seemed to consider the logic. “I suppose so, now that ye mention it. An army of stone. Hah!”
As Mrs. Morgan chuckled at her oversight, Adam stepped to the end of the wagon and leaped to the ground. He extended a hand toward Jane. “Shall we?”
She watched as Barlow jumped down as well and quickly lifted Aunt Hester by the waist to the ground. Her aunt seemed immediately flustered, quite uncharacteristically. After inhaling a deep breath, Jane stepped to the tailgate and held out her hands toward Adam’s shoulders. A tremor rippled through her when he gripped her waist and lowered her to the ground. She stood frozen, staring into his eyes, wondering why her rational thoughts had ceased.
“Jane?”
“Yes, Adam?”
“Shall we investigate the stones?”
“Of course.”
“Then first you must release my shoulders.”
She yanked her hands away as if encountering a hot stove. He appeared amused by the reaction. She spun quickly and began marching toward the gentle knoll to prevent further humiliation. She did not stop until reaching the center of the stone circle. Adam, Barlow, and Aunt Hester joined her. Even Mrs. Morgan tagged along, clutching her skirt and huffing, clearly curious about Jane’s interest in the artifact. Jane spun slowly to survey the circle. The forty or so stones, each roughly the height of a person, formed a circle some one hundred feet in diameter. Perhaps more impressively, the circle lay nestled on the small hillock at the epicenter of a dramatic landscape. Massive fells, mountains even, ringed the spot as if sheltering the ancient treasure. In all her life, Jane had never viewed such heights, such dramatic uplifts of landscape. She expelled a long sigh.
“The beauty of this place steals my breath.” She glanced at Adam, only to find him watching her with a smile.
“I quite agree.”
She blinked with discomfort and resumed her survey. Meanwhile, Mrs. Morgan caught up with them.
“Is this what ye were searching fer?”
Adam cocked his head. “Perhaps. This is a rise, the stones create a circumference, and they resemble an army. The place seems to fit the riddle nicely. Who constructed it?”
“Don’ know, sir. The ancient ones, I suppose. Druids, maybe, or faerie creatures.”
Aunt Hester laughed. “Faerie creatures seem the likely candidates. This place is nothing short of magical.”
“Indeed,” said Barlow. “A lovelier place I’ve not seen in all of England, though I have visited much of it.”
Jane agreed, but even her wonder could not keep at bay the lure of the puzzle. If this was the prescribed place, then what of the next destination? She retrieved her letter and fixed her gaze upon Adam. “Shall we?”
His hand disappeared into his great coat and reappeared with his letter. “We shall.”
She held her letter open. “On from the midst of the sentinels sally.”
“Forth and fort
hwith along five o’clock valley,” he added.
She peered up from the paper to again scan the surrounding fells. “It seems clear that the sentinels refer to the army of stone, as both are military terms. However, what is the meaning of five o’clock valley?”
Adam spun in a slow circle with a hand outstretched, chopping it up and down three times as he did so. She smiled.
“Are you casting a spell?”
He glanced sidelong at her. “No. Remember, the casting of spells is your purview. Mine is pulling manure carts.”
“Right. My mistake. Then what, may I ask, were you doing?”
“Counting valleys. And I count three. To which valley does it refer?” He paused. “Mrs. Morgan. Is one of these called Five O’clock Valley?”
Mrs. Morgan pondered a moment. “Can’t say I know the name of any of these, or if they have names at all.”
“Bother. Perhaps one that falls into shadow at five o’clock?”
Aunt Hester shook her head. “Cannot be. The time of sunset changes throughout the year.”
Barlow’s eyes went wide and he punched the air with a finger twice before spinning around with hand outstretched. “A clock! What if the writer perceived the circle as a clock?”
His notion immediately captured Jane. “Of course! If so, then one of these valleys should lie in the direction of five o’clock.”
Barlow peered at the sun and then pointed to the valleys one by one. “If that is west, then one valley lies at nine o’clock…and that one at three o’clock…and that one at more or less…”
“Five o’clock!” Hester cried with a gleeful clap. “Well done, Simon. Well done.”
Barlow stood tall with pride before bowing. “Thank you, Hester. Your approval pleases me more than having solved the riddle.”
She dipped her chin and blushed when he took her hand. The simple gesture overwhelmed Jane with envy. She wanted the same, and she knew from whom. The object of her abrupt and errant thought cleared his throat.
“Mrs. Morgan. What lies down that valley?”