Silver Hollow

by Jennifer Silverwood

  Amie’s voice was hoarse yet no sound escaped her throat. Only the sound of the horses’ hooves pounding into the earth beneath her boots crashed through the silence as they charged her.

  “Set it free, Jessamiene!” Slaine continued to roar.

  All sound dragged painfully around her as she breathed deeply and blinked. Amie froze in motion and listened to the sound of her heartbeat thudding in her ears. How was she supposed to set it free when she didn’t even know what it was?

  “Let it go!”

  The russet-coated horse tossed its head, the whites of its eyes showing as it halted inches from her skirts. Dirt flew in thick clods onto her face as it skirted her and plunged to the side. Fear and frustration choked her, yet she found herself shouting over the din, “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Run!” Underhill screamed, terror replacing her amusement, and time dashed to catch up. This was when she snapped, the moment she heard both laughter and fear in her maid’s voice.

  Adrenaline pumping, Amie darted to the left when the stallion rushed her again, then she ran. Her boots clung to the mud quickly taking place of grass in the corral. Amie didn’t care that she was ruining her fine clothes for the second day in a row, though Underhill was certainly cringing by now. She was more concerned with not being pummeled to death by a beast whose nose the top of her head didn’t even meet.

  Slaine’s voice somehow met her ears as she darted again in time to miss the charge. “Grasp its mane, child!” he said.

  Her blood raced almost pleasurably. Amie hadn’t run this fast in ages. She hadn’t had a reason to really and the rush of it was too satisfying at the moment. Endless thoughts and images thrust to the forefront of her mind. Until she could see if she twisted to the right at the last possible second, grasped at midair for the hair she knew would be there and flung the rest of her body into the air, she might make it out of this alive.

  Amie blinked and gasped when her chest impacted onto the hard muscle of the stallion’s broad back, then clung on for dear life. She squeezed her thighs down until her bones felt they would dig through her skin. She was trembling and beyond exhausted and the horse wasn’t showing any signs of stopping. If anything it was only more enraged she had dared to mount it. Father’s ring dug into the skin of her chest and her scar burned a cool fire beneath it. Yet a strange feeling was rising up in her with a cavalcade of thrills, something akin to joy.

  “Open your eyes, lassie!” Slaine bellowed.

  Amie shook her head but her eyes seemed to have a mind of their own. They opened and the world came to an abrupt halt when Slaine Cutterworthy stretched his hand out towards the horse’s flesh. Like flipping a switch, the shadows and beastly fury were replaced by his former joy. Light had returned and the shadow for now abated. Amie’s chest shook as she watched Slaine’s ferocity be replaced by fanciful amusement, his mouth quirking into a wide grin.

  Underhill was laughing from her perch and Eddie left her side to reclaim the calmed steeds.

  Slaine inclined his head and tipped his fingers to her out of respect. “So ye can set free the beast, Jessamiene. But can ye tame it?” After a glance over to her, he revealed pieces of fruit in either hand, of which both creatures gratefully munched on. “You can let go now, lass,” he soothed after.

  This was when she realized she had acted on the images flashing through her mind’s eye. And she had somehow thrown herself onto the back of a horse while never having had a lesson in her life.

  Chapter 13

  Poshumicked

  ’Twill never do, the poor lassie…Underhill was thinking to herself as she watched Lady Wenderdowne walk with Eddie into the stables. Slaine had disappeared with the horses, telling his nephew to turn back to his present task. And for a moment, Rachel watched her mistress shift awkwardly on her muddy boots, unsure what to say.

  It was no use talking to Eddie Cutterworthy, Rachel could have told her that. For years now the recluse had clammed up until he scarce looked like the man he had once been. Oh, certainly now he kept himself as untidy and unremarkable as possible, but Rachel remembered.

  Now he was watching the Lady with a wary eye, fingers twitching at his sides whenever she leaned in closer to catch a better look at him. Each time she turned to engage his conversation he tucked his chin to his chest and peeked at her through his messy hair. Clucking her tongue, the maid once again shook her head and sighed. It would be pleasant if Jessamiene Wenderdowne could drag the lad from his Eddie disguise.

  Smirking to herself, she recalled how pleasing to the eye he had seemed to her as a child, strutting with confidence about the castle. His kind thought they owned the world then.

  “What a pity they had to get themselves locked up!” she bemoaned, raising the back of her hand to her forehead. Squinting at the sun above, she thought of all the tasks waiting for her inside.

  Oh, ’twill never be done with only Reggie in charge! Perhaps Cook can look after Mistress for a turn!

  Clasping her hands together, pleased by the streak of brilliance, Rachel skipped from the fencepost to the open buggy. Her ears picked up Jessamiene’s words, quite by accident, naturally.

  “—if you aren’t going to say anything!” Lady Wenderdowne exclaimed.

  Eddie ducked his head even lower, if possible, determined to polish every crack and crevice, and still he said nothing.

  Rachel snatched her charge by the arm and beamed down at her and said, “’Tis high time we put some food into that little belly of yours, milady. Come, Alastair is expecting us.” Underhill cringed, knowing this wasn’t entirely true. Cook was always prepared to serve when he was needed.

  But we have little time to prepare for our guest, she thought with a grimace. What a pity they were wasting so many ticks of the clock preparing for the sly old Merlin. The very idea was insulting to her sensibilities. If anything the Merlin should be serving them, after all the trouble he had caused.

  “I guess I could eat,” Jessamiene said, turning to face the path ahead. Perceptively, Rachel sent a wink over her shoulder for the stable hand’s benefit. It was her way of calling in a debt. He had saved her life once, and she was more than happy to pester him for it for all eternity.

  As they made their way up the slight incline, she savored in the feel of the wind against her neck, beneath her fluffy white cap. Rachel adored her white cap, thought it hysterical Jessamiene found it ridiculous, because she loved such things. What was life for, if not to laugh at? might have been Rachel’s motto.

  Jessamiene wiped mud from her face with her sleeve and the maid gave her best attempt not to shudder, imagining how many nixings it was going to take to get her clothes to rights. A single smudge was left on the young lass’s brow and Rachel twiddled her thumbs to keep from laughing. Everything her Lady did was adorable to her, but only she was allowed to find her quirks amusing. The few staff members who dared comment on the oddities of their new Mistress received more than a sound reprimand from their Head of House.

  Something was on Jessamiene’s mind. Rachel could tell by the way she twisted the necklace under her shirt. It was a grave secret, her necklace, something she hadn’t dared tell the Master of yet.

  All shall come in time, Elisedd.

  “Why won’t Eddie talk? Is it because he can’t?” the lady abruptly said in an oddly forlorn tone.

  Rachel’s laughter was stolen by the wind. “Never you mind him, milady! He’s just a sour old bildgedragon not to be bothered with.” She watched as Milady’s lips quirked into the faintest of grins, convinced she had done her duty. Patting her hand in a motherly manner, she appeased her further. “Master is all the right and proper company ye need here. Now imagine all the delicious crunch-munchies Alastair has cooked up for ye!”

  Yet Rachel’s mind was far from sweets at the moment. She couldn’t help her fears, knowing the Merlin was soon to be in their roost. Glancing at the Lady from the corner of her eye, she thought, Hope ye are prepared for him, Jessamiene Wenderdowne.

&
nbsp; …

  Cook opened the square window above the door and his voice boomed over to them. “Rachel Elisedd Underhill, brambling through the grass again, is we? You brimbled brownie!”

  The maid gritted her teeth at the light jab and resisted the urge to box Alastair’s ears.

  Underhill is for certain not one of those loathsome, mindless ollyfeathers!

  As they stepped into the richly sweet-smelling kitchen, she shot him a look of promise. If she wasn’t in need of a favor she would never have come.

  Afternoon sunlight shimmered through tiny high-set windows. Flour specks danced in the air like windswept summer cotton. It coated everything, from herbs to roots hanging from above and over three separate dishes being prepared below.

  Cook’s round nose and flushed cheeks filled their view. It was quite impossible for the ogre of a male to do otherwise, and Underhill laughed as he swept her into a hug.

  “Alastair, ye old sourpuss!” she giggled, in spite of herself.

  What is it about this fool that shoves my mind to the brimbles?

  The burly cook, who was anything but sour, released her after imprinting her brown skirts with a fine layer of flour. “In my defense, you are one of the most bamboozling lasses I’ve yet to meet.”

  Milady watched the exchange with a steady grin, certainly unused to Vale phrases. Then again, Rachel and Alastair had never had a normal relationship. His compelling green-blue eyes locked onto the maid’s and didn’t release them for a long pause. Thus far he was ignoring her silent pleas and gestures. After serving the household as long as they had, they had their silent communication down to alchemy.

  Rachel felt her control over him slipping away, watching a knowing, mischief look fill his dashed handsome face. Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from calling out, she knew it was too late when he rounded to Milady.

  Cook took her in with all the force he applied to making every meal. “What is this gooseberry I find sweeting my kitchen, Elisedd?” He winked.

  Jessamiene’s eyes grew wide as saucers and she echoed, “Gooseberry?”

  Rachel giggled at her mistress’s confusion and skipped over to sample some of Cook’s newest flavors. “Ooh, this one looks promising, Alastair!” In truth she was making threats. Alastair hated it when she stole his recipes.

  Cook was still laughing while eyeing her warily and, taking Amie’s arm through his, he ignored the maid. “Aye, gooseberry! By far only the sweetest of the Creator’s nectar! And it makes a smashing sparkling wine!” He dragged her royally across the kitchen while Rachel continued to stick finger and spoon into his various inventions.

  “Ah, here we are! Sample this one milady!” Cook’s blue eyes sparkled keenly over the bubbling cauldron steaming a red mist between them.

  Amie hesitated then said, “What is it?”

  “What an idea!” Rachel giggled while secretly pulling a tiny vial from her waistcoat and slipping half its contents into the mix. She kept it for emergencies, but Alastair needed to remember who the true alchemist of the house was.

  Him! With his umbridged concoctions, thinks he’s king of the world, he does!

  Cook said between guffaws, “What indeed! More like which, aye? I hardly know!”

  Rachel whispered loudly behind her hand, “Cook’s quite the inventive mind!” His gaze settled briefly on hers, a warning. She tipped the vial and flashed him a catty grin.

  “Moment of truth,” Jessamiene said with a shrug. Dipping her finger in the contrarily cool liquid Amie brought it to her lips. Her eyes shot round as tea cups and she spun on her booted heel to Cook. “Whoa! Man, that’s good!”

  “Brilliant!” Cook grinned. “There’s another remedy for your vials then, Elisedd! Draught of Joy, I’m thinking…” Pinching his square chin between two thick fingers, Cook practically danced across the floor and exclaimed, “Ach, me pie!”

  Rachel gritted her teeth as Alastair passed. He brushed her shoulder and whispered too low for Milady to catch, “Care to best me, then? Your little vial shan’t tip my work to the brimbles.”

  Checking to be certain the Lady was still sampling the gooseberry dish, Rachel turned her chin up at him and said, “Consider our battle begun, Alastair Dearborne.”

  …

  Over the next few minutes Cook taught Milady the difference between gooseberry and elderberry, then set her and the Miss Underhill to work on two of his three dishes. The two servants laughed and giggled respectively as they threw pinches of herbs and liquids together. Secretly, however, when Mistress wasn’t observant, a hard edge affected their amusement. Rachel was convinced she would win. She would remind the Mister Dearborne he couldn’t best an alchemist.

  Jessamiene stirred the fat wooden spoon in the cauldron set over the blazing hearth. Cook dumped all the contents from his bowl into the cauldron. When the stew began to bubble and hiss a thick magenta-colored steam, he turned and grinned cheekily at Underhill.

  “So what exactly are we making?” Milady asked with her face half buried in the pink cloud.

  He craned his neck back the maid’s way, certain he had her attention, and then faced Amie with a chuckle. “I’m not for certain, but she mustn’t catch wind of it or she might try to steal me recipe!”

  “And you two don’t share your secrets, I’m guessing?”

  Cook’s eyes narrowed and he said, “The result of such a blunder would be catastrophic, gosling.” With all the grace a man of his size shouldn’t possess he ambled back to Underhill to check on her progress.

  For her ears alone he leaned over her shoulder and said, “Didn’t you see? You’ve already lost my brownie and I fear ye shall never best me.”

  “I would nay count on that, Alastair Dearborne,” Rachel grumbled, releasing another three drops from a green-tinged vial. Her eyes gleamed as the colors began to blend and swirl into patterns, glinted when she caught Cook’s open-mouthed stare.

  Shaking his head he remarked, “Ye are truly a wunderkind, my love.”

  Oh gill-plucked Loreleis, he did nay dare call me love!

  He laughed when she suddenly grabbed her bowl and attempted to move round him. When he stuck out an arm to grasp the counter and keep her close, she nearly spilled the mess on both of them.

  “Where are your senses?” she hissed, then caught her breath at their close proximity.

  Ye will nay have such treacherous thoughts, Rachel Elisedd, she commanded her mind.

  “Hey!” Milady called to them, and the intensity in Alastair’s eyes faded. “Are you two going to make eyes at each other or help me finish this stew? My arms are about to fall off.”

  Taking the opportunity to duck beneath his arm, Rachel rushed to the cauldron. After dumping her finely tampered liquid into the magenta stew, she darted quickly back. Only after she found safe refuge did she realize she had left their Lady behind.

  “Oh that’s just perfect, Elisedd!” she said to herself.

  From the cauldron arose something in the shape of a mini-mushroom cloud. Cook threw his arms on either side of Rachel, taking the hint. And she tried for the life of her to forget the one foolish afternoon they had spent together four years before.

  They had been arguing as usual, over some new invention of his and a medicinal brew of hers, when it happened. His lips were suddenly on hers and that was the end of all sense. She lost herself to him for a very languid, luxurious day. Yet when they met for their duties the next day, a new awkwardness rested betwixt them. Rachel had vowed never to let it happen again, so she did not appreciate his hands on her waist now.

  “What did ye slip in me brew, love?” Alastair asked with a hint of well-deserving fear in his voice.

  Spoon in hand, Jessamiene dove after them with a shout as the mini-mushroom cloud turned ivory white. Immediately after, the giant cauldron shook and the tremor echoed in pots and pans shuddering overhead. They all jumped when a sharp tiny whistle popped the cloud like a bubble instead.

  Frowning, Milady slowly stood and crept towards
the exploding stew and saw what appeared to be a perfectly brown brew within. “Huh…” She started to turn back to them, then added, “Guess that wasn’t so bad.”

  Boom!

  Brown smoke puffed from the cauldron and thoroughly engulfed Lady Wenderdowne’s unsuspecting form.

  Rachel threw her face into her hands and said, “I am thoroughly and rightly poshumicked!”

  Chapter 14

  Awakened Dreamer

  Amie’s dreams might not have been a problem if they didn’t leave her feeling disjointed the next day. More than once she had awakened screaming, confused by her surroundings and not even recognizing her own mother. It was terrifying, this in-between world of dreaming and waking, so much so she refused to sleep during the first spell. She didn’t like being so confused. Telling the difference between reality and sleep was almost impossible.

  For years the pills had kept her nightmares under control, and once they were kept at bay she learned not to fear darkness. Now she was older, the dreams had changed. Still they played out as tangible and harsh as reality, but they no longer frightened her.

  Amie was too weary to dream the night she learned of beasts and the gentry that required such able men in their service. Yet after a warm bath and quick supper by tray she felt her conscience slipping past the veil sometimes clouding her thoughts and the story began to unfold.

  In her dreams she had always felt happy, but now her happiness was of a different color. Instead of seeing the world in bright gold and silver hues, everything was coming up rose. Could it be because she was allowed to stay up way past her bedtime and allowed to sit with him tonight?

  She studied the face of the person she had known all her life. His visits had been her favorites because he always took the time to play with her, and she was saddest when he left. Tonight Mummy had taken Grandfather to bed after a nasty spell. Brushing away her worry away, she looked up into his eyes, the man she had learned today was her father.