Deep in troubled conjecture, he neglected to pay enough attention to landmarks and exactly where he was going. By the middle of the afternoon, he had to admit he was hopelessly lost. Every hill looked much like every other one, and the woods seemed to grow denser and darker the farther he went. He thought he had turned back toward the manor house, an hour or more past. Looking around now, nothing seemed familiar. The rough path twisted this way and that, now diving off into a steep gully and then climbing another ridge in hairpin turns. Although the sky had already darkened with clouds, the approach of sunset made the atmosphere duskier and drearier than ever.
He realized he’d neglected to tell anyone of his impulsive plan. It was not likely he’d even be missed until perhaps dinnertime, if then. He’d planned to request a tray in his room and he doubted there’d be much cooking with the captain, the housekeeper, and the children all away. He climbed wearily up the highest hill in sight, hoping from it he might see some sign of which way to get home. As he toiled up the steep and slippery grade, he stumbled and staggered, almost falling as he rounded a rocky outcrop and attained the summit.
Once he reached the crest, he stopped, sinking to sit on a crumbling cairn of stones that graced the highest point. Even if the rough perch would not have been named the best seat in any house, it did afford an expansive view. The hilltop was barren of trees, almost cobbled with stones from pebbles to massive boulders. Off to his right, he could see a faint silvery edge to the horizon hinting the ocean lay in that direction. That should mean he faced to the south. If he had walked mainly north as he intended from Ravensrawn, its turrets should be visible in the landscape spread before him. He felt sure the manor house did not sit in such a deep hollow as to be hidden among the folded hills.
Measuring from the placement of a lighter patch in the clouds, which he took to mark the sun, Martin guessed less than an hour of daylight remained. Down amongst the trees, dusk would come quicker, though. He did not relish stumbling around in the dark and he didn’t have anything with him to use to light his way. He could tumble down into one of the deep, steep-sided gullies and not be found for weeks, unless someone used hounds to locate him. As far as he knew, there were no hunting dogs at Ravensrawn. Perhaps the unfortunate previous occupant of the manor had not hunted. And having just returned from foreign shores, Dylan had had little chance to obtain any, even if he so desired. Were there any other lords in the area who kept a pack?
He sighed. What a foolish thing he had done! He might pay for that folly with a night out in the open at the very least. Once he sat, he realized how tired he felt, as well as how hungry. Although he hated to move, he knew he must. A breeze had sprung up and quickly dried the sweat of his exertion. Within a few minutes, he began to feel a chill.
Just as he dragged himself back to his feet, his eye caught a wisp of smoke. Although he could have been wrong, the slight smudge appeared to be smoke, perhaps two ridges away and just a bit left of due south. If the trace did not come from Ravensrawn, at least it promised some shelter, perhaps food and a degree of comfort. He stepped off down the hill in that direction. He trudged with care, focused on placing each foot securely for the hill was steep and the ground rough under him, inclined to slide away or present a stone that rolled beneath his weight.
Before he reached the crest of the second hill, darkness had begun to settle. It came with such stealth he did not notice the change at first, until he realized how much harder it was to see now. Peering into the narrow valley below, he saw what appeared to be a hut of some kind. Smoke did indeed rise from a crude chimney in one corner. Not stopping to consider that the inhabitant might not be friendly, Martin made his way down to the sheltered stead with as much speed as he dared.
Chapter 3
At one point, Martin’s feet went out from beneath him when he hit a slick spot in a narrow gully. Down he went, slipping and sliding, scooting on his arse along a muddy slash in the hillside, until he fetched up against a tree that leaned out over the declivity. He grabbed the rough bark, halting his headlong fall and dragged himself up onto a rockier though less slippery spot. From there he continued down with no further mishap. His wet and muddy trousers clung to his legs, clammy and chilling. A fire would be most welcome. He hoped the hut offered at least that much. The smoke seemed to promise it would.
As he approached the odd little structure, Martin heard muffled sounds he could not quite identify, like a heavy step and a snuffle or whuff. Deep in the valley, dusk had turned to real dark. Almost blind, he ran smack into a huge, dark bulk. When he flung his hands up to stop himself, he encountered warmth and soft fur over a solid wall of flesh—a horse, a big one and dark, a shade darker than the trees and ground. The animal snorted and sidestepped, but did not offer him any harm. To his hands, bruised, scraped, and cold, the warm hide felt wonderful. The beast shuffled, snorting in an anxious manner, seeming as startled as he by their sudden collision.
“Easy, big boy,” Martin murmured. “If you’ll allow it, I’ll just move around and past you.” The horse shifted another step or two to reveal a gentle glow that seemed to come from the far side of the hut. Either a door was open or that side was not walled. Martin stumbled toward the light. Before he was able to peer around the corner, a low voice challenged him.
“Halt. Who goes there? What is your business?”
The voice and words were not that of a humble and unschooled huntsman, shepherd, or woodcutter, which Martin had expected. It was a cultured voice, each word spoken in a clear and precise manner. The tone also held a note of warning, even perhaps of threat. Martin sensed the speaker was not a person to be trifled with or presumed upon. Despite that, his needs drove him past caution.
“It is I, just a weary and chilled hiker who’s become lost in the hills.”
As Martin rounded the hut to look into the front, which was, indeed, open, his eyes were dazzled by the dancing fire in a rustic fireplace inside. At first, all he could see was a towering black form, more shadow than shape, looming to bar his way. Then, as if the other man decided Martin posed no threat or danger, he stepped aside.
“Come then and warm yourself. I haven’t much to offer, although I was about to brew a bit of tea and I can share my pasty with you if you’re in need of nourishment. It’s quite a large one.”
Martin stumbled to the fire and held his hands out to the welcoming warmth. Within a moment, his trousers were steaming as the heat started to drive the moisture from the woolen fabric. When his front had warmed enough to warrant it, he turned to let his back dry, too.
As he looked at the other man, sudden recognition jolted through him. A black horse, a big man with a black cloak—who could it be except his mysterious benefactor from the night of his arrival, now several fortnights past?
At first, the man kept his face averted from the firelight. When he finally turned, Martin realized he wore a silken black mask concealing all save his mouth and chin. What skin he could see was darkened, as if rubbed with charcoal or boot black. Disappointment speared him. It seemed he would not get to see the face of his rescuer after all.
“I think I know you,” he said, after a moment. “Were you not the one who snatched me from the mired coach and bore me to Ravensrawn the night of the terrible storm back in February?”
The masked man laughed and answered in an oblique way. “It seems you have a proclivity for getting yourself caught up in difficulties. You’re the young tutor for the Ravensrawn children. How come you to be out in the woods alone?”
Something familiar about the man’s voice tugged at Martin’s awareness. Although he tried, he could not quite pin it down. He lacked time to ponder on it for he knew he needed to answer the man’s question and did so. “The children and the housekeeper are away for a few days and I was at loose ends. Since I hiked in my youth on my grandfather’s estate near the Scots border, I thought to explore a bit. I must’ve gone farther than I intended or else I got turned around completely. I’ve been lost since well before su
ndown.”
The other man nodded. “We’ll have some tea then and I’ll see you safely home before I go on about my business. Though it isn’t really far, I can understand how one unfamiliar with our hills and deep gullies could become lost. It looks like you took a tumble, too. Are you hurt?”
Martin shook his head. “No, the only real damage was to my attire and my dignity. In retrospect, I’d have been wiser to stay on the grounds. Hindsight is always so much clearer…”
At his host’s gesture, he sat where indicated on a rough bench to one side. The rustic seat looked to be made from a large log, split in half and cut to a length of four or five feet. At least my muddy arse won’t leave a mess on a better couch.
As he looked around, he saw the amenities were few. He could not believe anyone actually lived here. The hovel could not be anything more than a temporary shelter for hunters, shepherds or others wandering in the wilds. Once sitting, he realized in a few breaths how very weary he was, even more now than when atop the hill. He had no idea how far he’d hiked. It had to be several miles, though; most of it up and down steep slopes.
He watched as the larger man fetched two rough earthenware vessels from a single shelf above the fireplace. From a knapsack beside the hearth, he extracted a small pouch and took from it a generous pinch of tea leaves, which he sprinkled into the mugs. As the kettle hanging over the fire began to chirp, he filled the crude cups with steaming water, then handed one to Martin.
Martin’s host then dropped to the bench on the other side of the fireplace and sat quiet for a time, gazing down at the beaker in his hands. Although he could see little of the other man’s face, he sensed his host was troubled, perhaps worried or even angry. He found himself hoping he was not the cause of such distress.
Although the black-clad man spoke in a mild voice and made no sudden or violent moves, he emanated confidence, power, even danger. A slight shiver tracked down Martin’s spine. Despite hints to the contrary, he told himself he had nothing to fear, as a mixture of anxiety and inexplicable attraction heated him almost as much as did the fire.
It made no sense, yet he felt as if he could follow this man to the ends of the earth were he asked to do so. The same strength, courage, and defiance he’d sensed the first night still radiated from the tall stranger. Even if he was not exceptionally large, his posture and attitude made him seem huge.
At last the man shook his head as if recalled to the present. Then he raised the mug and took a deep drink.
Martin ceased his study long enough to do the same. The tea had an odd, though pleasant flavor and it warmed him through. He felt the heat slide down his throat and fill his stomach, where it began to radiate out through his chilled body.
“Ah,” the other man said, “I forgot the pasty.” He reached for the knapsack.
“No need,” Martin assured. “If it isn’t far to the estate, I’ll be fine until I get there, and even if it’s late, I’m sure I can get something to eat from the kitchen.”
For a heartbeat or two, he felt himself pinned by the other man’s keen gaze. He could not discern the color of those eyes, hidden as they were in the mask, but they seemed very dark. Strangely familiar, as well. He blinked in an effort to clear his vision. Such nonsensical fancies were not his normal manner. It was high time he put them aside. For all he knew, the chap was a highwayman or some kind of outlaw, even if he had shown Martin only courtesy and kindness thus far.
Soon, Martin told himself, they would be up on the waiting ebony charger and heading away to Ravensrawn. That was for the best, rather than following this stranger anywhere. His chances of encountering the other man yet again were slim. Still, he’d have to remember to ask Dylan about the mysterious rider.
He gulped down the rest of his tea, as if he might hasten their departure. The notion came that he needed to get back to the comfort and shelter of the manor house. It was, for the foreseeable future, his home since he had no other. Leave black-clad strangers and their unfathomed business at a safe distance. Still, it seemed too soon when the other man emptied his mug and set it aside.
“We’d best be going, then, if you’re to get back in time to find something to dine on this eve.”
Martin followed him out to where the horse was tethered, still saddled. The stranger tightened the girth and replaced the bridle. Then he swung up with the practiced ease of one familiar with equestrian skills. He kicked his left foot free of the stirrup once he was settled in the saddle.
“Put your toe in the stirrup and give me a hand. I’ll swing you up and you can ride behind me. No need to bundle you in my oilskin tonight since there’s no rain.”
It was a long reach. Martin stretched and then got his foot into the stirrup, though he recognized the other man’s timely lift helped him to manage it. Then he seemed to fly through the air to settle on the horse’s croup. He could feel the beast’s powerful muscles bunch and flex as the rider put spurs to it and they were off into the night.
All he could do was hold tight, grabbing a handful of the other man’s cloak in each fist as he ducked his head down behind the stranger’s wide back to avoid the slap of branches as they tore through the trees. It seemed no time at all until they clattered into the stable yard.
Oddly, no one appeared as Martin swung his right leg over the horse’s massive hindquarters to slide down. “I am again in your debt,” he said, once his feet found the ground. “I do wish you’d share your name or at least give me some means to repay your kindness, a double helping of it now.”
The man’s chuckle, now from well above him, sounded almost rueful. “Nay, that is not to be. We may meet again. One never knows how these things will play out. I understand you’re kindly and the youngsters are already becoming fond of you. I would not infringe upon their much-needed friend and mentor now. They’ve suffered far too much for their tender years.”
Questions jammed Martin’s throat. How did this stranger know so much about the Ravensrawn family and their tragedy? Of course, there would have been gossip and perhaps still was. His benefactor didn’t seem the kind to indulge in idle talk with the folk of Woodsmere, the nearby village, or the Ravensrawn staff, though. He spoke almost as if he were a friend or relative, not a solitary traveler as he appeared. There was some mystery here. For now, Martin could not resolve it, yet he intended to try as he could.
“I bid you farewell, then, sir. Should you ever need a favor I can fulfill, I would not hesitate.”
“I’m sure you would not and I appreciate that,” the man said, as he wheeled the dark horse. It leaped off and swiftly vanished into the night.
* * * *
Martin had expected the children to be excitable and flighty when they returned from their visit. Much to his surprise, they were quiet, almost subdued, and returned to the schoolroom their first day home without the slightest loss of attention and deportment. He complimented them, although their somber mood worried him. What could have happened to cause them to seem almost depressed, even bouncy little Charlotte?
During one of their recess times, he asked Emmaline about the trip and what had happened. She shrugged, avoiding eye contact with him. “N-n-nothing, really.”
“You’re all so quiet, not at all as if you had a good time. I know you were looking forward to it. What went wrong?”
She shifted, sighed, and finally answered. “W-w-we’d not seen the cousins in some time. I think they had almost forgotten us. Th-th-they made fun of my stutter and kept poking Donovan, trying to force him to talk. Even after Aunt Millicent made them stop, it wasn’t a lot of fun.”
“I’m sorry. Relatives should be more sympathetic and kind, but they aren’t always, as we both know. Still, I am sorry.”
She finally met his gaze. “You’re a kind man, Mr. FitzHugh. I’m very glad Uncle Dylan selected you to be our tutor.” She gave him a shy smile. “Lessons are more fun than I expected because you come up with so many new activities for us. We all like that. Now, if we could just convince Uncle Dy
lan we need some ponies to ride, things would be almost perfect.”
“I’ll do my best to persuade him,” Martin assured her. “I would enjoy riding myself. We might visit the stable later and see if anything suitable is already there.”
Her eyes went wide. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. No one told us we could not go there, though Donovan is a bit fearful. I don’t think Charlotte has been around horses at all, except for our rides in the carriage, until we saw the cousins’ ponies at Aunt Millicent’s. I used to ride often with Mama before…” Her voice trailed off and the smile faded as she blinked back tears.
Seeking any means to brighten the youngsters’ days, Martin vowed to raise the subject the next time he spoke with the captain. The opportunity came sooner than he had expected. Ned called him to attend Davis right after the midday meal.
This time, they met in the gardens. It was a lovely spring day, a rare sunny and mild one. Martin followed Ned to a sort of outdoor room edged by tall hedges. It sported a pair of stone benches and a fountain, currently not working. Sitting on the left bench, the captain looked up when they approached.
“Thank you, Ned. You may go. I’m sure Martin can find his way back. We may even go in together.”
The little man scuttled off as Dylan waved Martin toward the second bench. “I’ve been away too much of late, which I deplore. How are the children doing?”
Martin drew in a slow breath. Now was his chance to raise a couple of issues, although he was still not sure how to proceed.
“They’re doing well in most regards,” he said. “They returned from their small holiday much more subdued than I expected. Lady Emmaline confided that the cousins teased them a bit—her for her stutter and Master Donovan for his muteness. Children can be so cruel.” He sighed, taken back for a moment to some of his less happy times as a child.
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