Good—they had work to do before they could leave and head for their beds.
Switching her attention to the table, Lucilla surveyed what was left of the provender Thomas had brought. Moving forward, she said, “I want to make what meals I can from what’s left, so that Lottie won’t have to stir on that account.”
Prudence wasn’t much help with cooking; instead, she undertook to direct those not assisting Lucilla in setting everything they possibly could in the tiny cottage to rights. Marcus, Sebastian, and Michael opted to work with Prudence, while, somewhat to Lucilla’s surprise, Thomas Carrick volunteered as kitchen boy.
Keeping her mind on her task, Lucilla sorted the foodstuffs. “Thanks to you, there’s plenty of meat.” She frowned. “I wish I had more vegetables for the pots.”
Thomas held up a finger. “One moment.” He walked to the blanket-screen, but didn’t go further. “Jeb?” he quietly called. “Where’s your root cellar?”
Not only did Jeb have a root cellar reached via a trapdoor in the stable-barn, when Lucilla followed Thomas Carrick down the ladder—with Marcus keeping watch from above—she discovered a decent variety of roots and tubers. She chose what she thought would work best to flavor and add goodness to the remnants of their Christmas Eve feast; Thomas volunteered the pockets of his coat, and when they were full, carried the extras.
As she climbed back up the ladder, Lucilla again consulted her inner consciousness over Thomas Carrick. She was both curious and uncertain about him, and compounding both, she didn’t know what to do with her unexpected and unprecedented reaction to him.
Regardless of all else, now was not their time. That she knew beyond question. They were both too young; even the reactions she found unsettling enough now were mere harbingers of what was to come. That she understood; that she knew in her bones.
So why were they there? Why had the Lady—for it was assuredly by Her edict—brought them together there and then, in such a way?
Reaching the top of the ladder, she grasped Marcus’s hand and stepped up into the stable-barn. Marcus and Michael had been delegated to feed and water Jeb’s animals; in the far corner, Lucilla glimpsed Michael—unquestionably the most socially debonair of them all—sitting on a stool milking an old cow.
Thomas emerged from the cellar and stepped clear; as he had his hands full of onions, Lucilla bent and helped Marcus close the trapdoor.
With a noncommittal grunt, Marcus went back to spreading feed for the sheep.
Gathering Thomas with a glance, Lucilla led the way toward the cottage. As she reached the door, Thomas, at her heels, spoke softly. “I’ll make sure our midwife checks on Lottie and the babe.”
As Lucilla glanced back at him, he added, “And I’ll do what I can to get Jeb to relocate to Carrick Manor, at least until the worst of the winter is past.”
She nodded. “That would be best. While the little one is so very young, both she and Lottie need better protection from the cold. You can tell Jeb I said so.”
Thomas inclined his head. “Thank you. That will help.”
Lucilla opened the door and led the way inside.
She and Thomas spent the next hour chopping and cooking. He proved to have a hunter’s expertise with a knife; she left him to carve the meats and pry the last useful pieces from the bones. The meat she used for stews; the bones she used for soup.
And all the while, with her senses prickling with awareness of him as he stood alongside her at the table, she thought about Thomas.
She’d known who he was, had recognized him instantly; they’d been introduced when they were children, and she’d noticed him any number of times over the years at local fairs and similar events. The last time she’d set eyes on him, he must have been fifteen, tall and gangly. He was taller now, but much less gangly.
Ruthlessly terminating the ensuing train of thought, she refocused on him, on the man he now was—the one who was, without complaint, chopping onions alongside her.
Locally, he was widely spoken of as “the sane Carrick”—the only adult male in his family considered so. His parents were long dead, and since his tenth birthday, he’d been raised within his uncle’s household. Manachan Carrick was widely regarded as unstable; to Lucilla, he appeared intelligent, wily, and cunning, as well as eccentric in the extreme and totally unreliable and unpredictable, which was what made all the other landowners nervous. She was of the opinion that Manachan liked everyone else to be nervous about him.
But Thomas was a very different sort of man. For a start, he was Lady-touched, which she found curious. Neither Manachan nor any of his numerous sons were; she was sure of that. While for women—such as herself, her mother, and Algaria—being Lady-touched meant nurturing, caring, and guiding, for men being Lady-touched equated with guardianship, with a selfless protectiveness that went to the bone.
Why Thomas should be Lady-touched she didn’t know; there really weren’t that many of Her chosen about at any given time. Yet he was, and he was there, and so was she, and she knew beyond question that there was meaning and purpose—the Lady’s purpose—in that.
Sebastian and Prudence had been working around them, checking their repairs to the walls and shutters and generally neatening the cottage. Straightening from shifting a heavy trunk so Prudence could sweep behind it, Sebastian paused, then walked to the front door and opened it. He looked out, then grunted. “The wind must have scoured the area in front of the cottage—the cover isn’t that deep. At least we won’t need to dig ourselves out.”
He went outside, leaving the door partly open, but returned seconds later and latched the door again. “It’s clearing, but it’s not yet clear enough—light enough—to ride.” He met Lucilla’s gaze. “We should leave as soon as we can.”
She nodded. Everyone at the manor would be waiting to see them ride in, and she and the others couldn’t rest—not really—until they reached the manor again.
As she worked the dough for dumplings—Thomas had even brought flour as part of his supplies—she thought through her mental list of what the new baby and Lottie most needed.
Her gaze on her hands as she kneaded and rolled, she eventually asked, “Will you be staying here?”
Thomas grimaced, but he, too, kept his eyes on his work. “I’ll have to, at least for a few days. The best way out of here and onto Carrick lands is via the valley, and as it faces north, the snow will be piled deep along the upper reaches. I’ll go and investigate first. Once I’m sure I can get through, I’ll go down, then bring back a few men to help move the family as well as their animals down to the manor.”
Lucilla nodded. “That’s a sensible plan.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Thomas’s lips quirk, but “Indeed,” was all he said.
It was an hour later when, after setting aside two pots of stew and a big cauldron of soup to cool, Lucilla looked in on Lottie, Jeb, and their tiny daughter. The babe was sound asleep, but despite their weariness, both Lottie and Jeb were as yet too full of euphoria to rest.
Lucilla smiled. “We’ll be leaving shortly.” Sebastian and Marcus had agreed that there was light enough to venture forth.
Lottie looked up. “If you please, Lady-miss, we—Jeb and me—was wondering if you and”—Lottie nodded at Thomas, who had come up behind Lucilla—“Master Carrick would agree to stand godparents to our little one.”
Lucilla smiled. “I would be delighted.” She glanced back at Thomas.
He, too, inclined his head. “It would be an honor, Lottie. Jeb.”
Lucilla looked back at the new family and felt something inside swell and burgeon with more than simple satisfaction. “Send word to the manor once you know when you’ll be doing the naming, and I’ll come.” Within six weeks of birth was the usual time, and she would still be at the manor through that period.
“Thank you.” Jeb rose. “And thanks be to the Lady and all of you that you were here to help us in our need.” He looked both humble and proud as he bowed to them both.
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br /> Lucilla smiled, then she walked forward, bent, and placed a kiss on the baby’s pink forehead. “Welcome to the world, little one. May your life be long and fruitful, your days filled with laughter and joy, with nary a care to disturb you hereafter.” It was an old benediction reserved for the very young.
Still smiling softly, Lucilla met Lottie’s eyes, pressed one of her hands, then with a nod to Jeb, she turned and walked toward the end of the blanket-screen.
Thomas Carrick watched her as she approached him; head rising, although she didn’t meet his gaze, she was conscious of his regard every step of the way.
But he said nothing, simply inclined his head to her as she passed.
Stepping beyond the screen, she heard him tell Jeb and Lottie that he would remain with them for the present, and heard Jeb’s heartfelt thanks on that account, too.
Still smiling—she hadn’t really stopped, although now her smile had a different genesis—Lucilla walked across the cottage. Although Hesta lay sprawled before the hearth, Lucilla’s relatives were nowhere to be seen. Opening the front door, she found them. All four were standing in the snow a few yards before the cottage, and all were looking about with wonder in their faces.
Within two paces of walking out to join them, she, too, fell victim to the entrancement.
The sky had finally cleared completely. Stars winked and twinkled, and high above, the moon sailed free, its silvery radiance bathing a truly magical scene. She halted and, with the others, simply stared.
Drank in nature’s beauty.
Cloaked in iridescent white, the wild peaks rose in splendor, line after line successively higher and, for once, readily discernible against the night sky. They were facing west; the sky was blue-black velvet sprinkled with the diamonds of a million stars.
But nearer at hand, all about them lay a winter wonderland. Snow covered everything—every fir, every rock. It coated the upper surfaces of every branch, while icicles depended below, gleaming in the moon’s light.
If there hadn’t been snow, the moon’s glow would not have been strong, but the snow reflected and multiplied the soft radiance, transforming it into a stark and dazzling illumination that gilded every line, edged every shadow.
The final touch was the silence—the overwhelming lack of sound in the wake of the storm’s cacophony.
That silence was profound. It was as if they stood in a world made new, one formed purely of elemental power…and they could feel the land, feel Nature herself, see her in all her majesty.
Lucilla felt her throat close. Her senses felt both overwhelmed and expanded.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Hesta sit down a few paces away; her shaggy gray head lifted, ears erect, as if she, too, was aware of the moment.
A presence loomed close; Lucilla looked to her right as Thomas halted beside her. One glance at his face confirmed that he was as riveted, as much in awe and wonder, as immersed in the moment and as alive to it as she.
And Marcus. Her gaze sought her twin, and despite the yards between them, she knew what he was feeling—that he was trapped, rapt, by that same awesome majesty.
She looked at the peaks again, and the moment shivered with poignancy.
This—this was theirs. Hers, Marcus’s, Thomas’s.
Theirs to know, to protect, to hold.
This land was both their past and their destiny; in that moment, she saw that clearly.
This land was their place. It was where they belonged. Where they would always be anchored and at home.
For a long minute, time stood still, and the power of the moment held them all.
Then Sebastian, furthest from the cottage, turned. He looked at Michael and Prudence, then commenced trudging back through the calf-high snow. “We should start back.” He glanced at Marcus, met his eyes. “The cover will be lighter in the trees and on the southern slopes, but it’ll still take time to pick our way through.”
Marcus nodded and turned. “Let’s saddle up our mounts.”
The moment was past; Lucilla turned, too, and Thomas fell in beside her.
“I’ll saddle your horse,” Thomas murmured. “You can fetch the saddlebags.”
Lucilla nodded. To the others, she said, “I’ll bring the saddlebags through.”
Back in the cottage, she quietly latched the front door, then tiptoed to the screen; they’d left it up to protect the baby from the worst of the drafts. Peeking around it, she saw, finally, all three of her patients sound asleep. Smiling—again—she retreated, picked up the saddlebags from the corner, cast a last glance around the cottage, then went through the door into the stable-barn.
Sebastian, Michael, Marcus, and Prudence were all cinching their girths. Prudence never allowed anyone else to saddle her mounts, not since she’d grown tall enough to do it herself. Thomas had Lucilla’s black mare ready and waiting by a large log.
She handed around the saddlebags, then quickly crossed to where Thomas stood. “Thank you.”
He took her saddlebag from her and settled it in place. She checked the girth strap; finding it perfectly set, she turned—and he offered his hand to help her onto the makeshift mounting block.
For the barest instant, she hesitated, then she drew in a quick breath and set her gloved hand in his.
Despite the leather between their skins, the contact told her everything she’d wanted to know—confirmed all she’d started to suspect.
Stepping onto the log, she slid her fingers from his clasp and scrambled into her sidesaddle. She settled her feet in the stirrups, settled her skirts, gathered her reins, and finally met his gaze.
And saw in the deep golden amber of his eyes the same knowledge she’d just obtained.
She held his gaze for a moment more, then inclined her head. And said the words that leapt to her tongue. “Until we meet again.”
He didn’t answer, just slowly dipped his head.
The mounting block was close to the stable door. Now mounted, the others walked their horses to join her.
Thomas stepped back. He looked up at them all. “On behalf of the Carricks, thank you for your help.” He met Sebastian’s gaze. “You were looking for the deer herds. I saw one of the bigger herds over by the crags directly to the west the day before yesterday. They might still be there.”
Sebastian, Marcus, and Michael grinned. Sebastian inclined his head. “Thank you.” He looked forward. “And now, we’ll bid you farewell.”
With a brisk salute to Thomas, Sebastian led the way out.
The others followed. Lucilla brought up the rear.
They reached the tree line and slowed as, with Marcus in the lead, they started onto the bridle path, now largely concealed by snow.
Lucilla had told herself she wasn’t going to, yet just before she set her mare to follow Prudence’s mount, she glanced back at the cottage.
Thomas stood exactly where she’d known he would be, watching her.
As he would until she’d passed out of his sight.
Lucilla looked back at him, looked her fill, branding him and all he was into her memory, then she turned and urged her mare into the trees.
CHAPTER 8
The sun had only just risen when Devil Cynster pulled open the kitchen door of the manor and stepped out into the morning. Iced snow crunched under his boots as, his hands sunk in his greatcoat pockets, he slowly made his way past the forge and the blacksmith’s house to the northwestern corner of the rear yard.
About him, the land lay blanketed in white, pristine and untouched, with the sky above a cerulean blue so intense it hurt the eyes.
The wind had gone, vanished with the storm. The cold was sharp enough to cut; the air, as clear and pure as crystal.
To the east, the sun rose, painting streamers of gold and the palest blush-pink across the silent land.
Upon reaching the corner where the northern and western fences met, Devil halted. His pale green eyes narrowing, he scanned the darker snow-dappled line of the forests.
An ins
tant later, he heard the crunch of someone else’s boot.
Long lips quirking, he waited and wasn’t surprised to be joined by his cousin, Demon. He met Demon’s blue eyes. “Honoria was worried—I thought I’d come and take a look.”
Demon nodded. “Felicity, too. Hardly surprising.” Prudence, their elder daughter, was still somewhere out there on this bright and sunny Christmas morn. Demon, too, stood and stared out.
Gradually, one after another, the others joined them. Gabriel, Vane, and Lucifer all had similar tales of worried wives who had sent them out to check…on quite what, none of them mentioned.
Finally, Richard strolled out and joined the gathering at the corner of his yard. After several moments of studying the forests, he said, “Ten minutes ago, I was reminded that our children—the five who, on Christmas Eve, stopped to help a crofter family because they were asked—are more than capable of taking care of themselves.”
Vane glanced at Richard. “Did she say they would reach home safely?”
All there knew that “she” meant Catriona, and that the Lady of the Vale was not one to hand out assurances unless she knew. And when it came to this land, if she said she knew, she did.
Richard nodded. “She said they would be back today. I was instructed to tell you that, and to point out that us keeping a vigil out here would achieve precisely nothing. It was suggested that we should all go back inside and let their adventure run its course.”
The others shifted.
“And,” Richard continued, “before I came out here I went up to the highest tower and checked with a spyglass. There’s nothing at all moving out there.”
With various snorts and grunts by way of acknowledgment or reaction, the others scanned the landscape again, but of course, as Richard had just confirmed, there was nothing whatsoever to see.
Richard turned away first; one by one, the others followed suit, and they all trudged back to the house.
Devil was the last in the line. At the kitchen door, he paused to look back over the white paddocks to the dark skirts of the forests surmounted by the white bulk of the higher peaks. And still not a soul stirred in the crisply cold landscape.
By Winter's Light: A Cynster Novel (Cynster Special Book 2) Page 15