The Forest Lord (8 page)

But now?

Hern pushed away from the tree and took in a deep lungful of cold winter air. It was tainted with decay, disease, sorrow.
The wreckage of two thousand years on earth.

The taint was within
himself
. He would be rid of it only in Tir-na-nog.

And there was but one way to return to the Land of the Young.

"We shall see, Tod," he said. "We shall see."

With a single thought, he clothed himself in the garb of a common man and went to find her.

Their first breakfast at Hartsmere was made up of
burned toast, tough ham, and cold tea, but
Eden hardly noticed. Even the drafts, cobwebs, and gloom of the low-beamed dining room did nothing to dispel
Eden's happiness.

Donal sat at the noticeably wobbling oak table with her and Aunt Claudia, and was given the adult privilege because he had no nurse or governess to look after him. And, most importantly, because
Eden didn't want him out of her sight.

She tried not to stare or seek signs of his father in the boy. The green eyes were unavoidable, of course. But she fancied that his chin was a little like her own. And he was a perfectly normal child.

Good God, he had come from
her
. She touched her abdomen in wonder. She was his mother. He had called her that, not once, but twice. And she swung up and down on a seesaw of joy and terror.

How could she become a good mother to this boy? How could she expect him to love her, an utter stranger?

It had taken precisely an instant for her to love him—a kind of love she had not known before, perhaps the only kind left to her. She grieved for the years they had been separated, the priceless moments that had been lost. And she agonized over what he might have suffered in
Ireland with people who had so easily sent him away.

She and Donal hadn't yet discussed his foster parents and how he had come to Hartsmere. He had hardly spoken at all, though he ate with a will. He watched her with that same guarded, thoughtful stare, so far beyond his years.
Judging.
Deciding, perhaps, if she was worthy.

She would make herself worthy. For the first time in her life, she would stand and fight for what she wanted, something she believed in: her son and his love. She'd make up for the years he lived in poverty, separated from his true family and the life he should have known. And if she must pretend that he was her cousin's child and not her own, at least
she
knew the truth.

She and two others.

She glanced at Claudia across the table. Her aunt had maintained a stony silence all morning. Certainly Claudia had not expected her to find her son so soon, if at all. And
Eden's hastily contrived explanation for his existence had not met with her approval.

But Claudia was here at the table, accepting Donal by her very presence. To do otherwise would have been unthinkable. In time, she would grow to love Donal as
Eden did.

Eden
crumbled a bit of uneaten toast, smiled at Donal, and made another perusal of her mental list. Though she wanted nothing more than to spend the entire day with her son—holding him, learning to laugh and play with him—she knew that such indulgence was not possible.

There was so much to be done at Hartsmere: speaking with each servant individually; consulting Mrs. Byrne about hiring additional servants and a new steward; taking an inventory of furnishings, linens, china, and the other household goods that remained; and determining the need for repairs in the house itself. The rent books must be examined against their solicitor's and the previous steward's accounts.
Eden would learn to economize, despite her inexperience with frugality.

What she dreaded most was touring the estate and facing her tenants. The condition of the dale indicated widespread want. She'd seen the need for renovations and improvements to cottages and farms—those still occupied—but had no idea how such necessities were to be paid for. She couldn't guess how the dalesmen and women would regard her, for Mrs. Byrne's tale had not been promising.

She was certain of only one thing: Hope remained because her son was with her.

"We must find a governess for the boy as soon as may be," Claudia said abruptly. She dabbed at lips with her napkin and signaled Armstrong to bring the platter of cold ham. She cast an enigmatic glance at Donal. Intent on cleaning his plate, he refused to look at her.

"Is that necessary, so soon?"
Eden asked. "He has just arrived. Can we not wait—
"

"A boy must be taken in hand at once, lest he become unmanageable. Any child of quality must have a governess." She cast
Eden a very pointed look and smiled. "You would not wish your
cousin's
child to have less than the best, especially after such a haphazard upbringing in
Ireland."

"A suitable governess will surely require a salary greater than we can afford."

Claudia's glance reproved
Eden for her vulgar talk of money at the dining table. "We shall discuss it later, in the sitting room."

Eden
remained silent until Armstrong left to fetch more tea. "It is clear that I cannot restore Hartsmere on my current income. I will have difficulty making it habitable."

Claudia looked askance at a cobweb hanging from the chandelier. "The bedchambers are unacceptable. The servants are undisciplined, and you have not helped matters by treating them with such familiarity."

Eden
rose, unaccountably rebellious. "I am sorry that Hartsmere is so unsuitable, Aunt. I shall understand if you… prefer to visit friends until the house is in a more civilized state."

Claudia's stare was as cool and regal as a queen's. "If you do not wish ray advice, I shall not force it upon you."

Eden
did not retreat. "Dear Aunt, I could not manage without you. Now I must rely upon you to be patient."

"But I am concerned for you, child."

"And I must be concerned for Donal. I need you to help me create a good home for him."

They both studied the boy. Donal was no longer eating but stared toward the front of the house, his head lifted.

"Horses!" he said, and was up and out of his chair before
Eden could respond.

If Donal had heard a carriage, the sound hadn't reached
Eden's ears. She prayed that it was not the local gentry paying their respects.

For once in her life,
Eden did not wish to socialize with anyone. Well-bred visitors would surely understand if she did not choose to receive them at home so soon after her bereavement and long journey from town. With luck, they would leave their cards with Mrs. Byrne and be on their way.

She started to follow Donal, but Claudia's voice stayed her. "You do realize," she said, "that the boy can have no decent sort of life here."

"That is the only reason that I shall consider remarriage—when I cease to mourn my husband.
For Donal's sake.
But only when I am ready.
After he knows me, and when I am certain… that the man I marry will accept him, and provide him with a proper education, the best of everything."

Claudia crossed the room and drew back the heavy, moth-eaten curtains to gaze out the window. "He may find some place in Society with Rushborough's aid. But the boy must be trained to behave like a member of the
beau monde
rather than an Irish peasant."

"You may say what you will about me and my foolishness, Aunt, but never speak so of Donal."
Eden balled her fists and slowly released them. "I will teach him whatever he needs to know. You need not be bothered."

Eden
expected a sharp setdown, but instead Claudia sighed and touched her hand to her forehead. "You mistake my meaning," she said in a voice of utter weariness. "I believe I shall lie down for a while."

Struck by remorse,
Eden offered to escort her, but Claudia waved her off and went up to her room alone.

Eden
stood at the bottom of the stairs, confused by her own decidedly mixed emotions.
I thought I had learned to live day by day and drain every drop of pleasure from each moment
.

But that was before she found purpose again—not in her own social advancement and amusement but for the well-being and happiness of someone else.

Donal.
She had meant to go after him, in case the horses he had heard were attached to a carriage. Setting aside other concerns, she hurried from the dining room.

She passed Armstrong in the hall. He blinked at her, the tray of tea balanced in his hands.

"Did Master Donal come this way?" she asked.

Armstrong pointed with his chin toward the rear of the house. "To the stables, my lady," he stammered.

"Thank you. We will not
be needing
the tea." To save time, she went along the hall to the green baize door leading to the servant's wing and continued down a narrow corridor that smelled of stale cooking. Small, grimy windows let in enough light to reveal a door.

It led to a yard littered with every conceivable sort of debris, from broken crockery to ashes from the stove. In warmer months it would be overgrown with weeds. To the right lay the remains of a formal garden. A gravel path led to a cluster of outbuildings, including the stables, set some distance from the house on a level area at the foot of the fell.

The morning was eerily quiet. Not so much as a raven croaked or bare branch creaked—until the silence was rent by a harrowing yell.

It came from the stables.
Eden picked up her skirts and ran as swiftly as her impractical shoes and mourning dress would allow.

She came upon a scene that shocked her speechless. In the muddy stable yard a groom struggled with a fractious horse. The beast pawed the air and bared its teeth, leaping from side to side in an effort to escape the tether that held it captive.

Dangerously close to the battle stood Donal, looking on with fascination.
As
Eden watched, he took a step toward the horse, one hand outstretched.

No
! The scream didn't make it past
Eden's throat. She ran straight for Donal at the same moment that the groom yanked the horse out of the boy's path.

The horse gave a high-pitched cry of rage. Hooves lashed out and struck the groom in the shoulder. He fell, groaning, and the horse whirled about in search of new enemies.

It saw Donal. Ears flattened, and the neck arched like a snake about to strike. Donal didn't move, didn't try to run.

"Stop."

The command was so formidable that
Eden obeyed, though an instant later she didn't know if it had been aimed at her or the horse. Her vision cleared, and she saw a man—a stranger—standing less than two feet from the horse, as calmly as if he confronted a kitten.

His body was the only barrier between the beast and Donal, but it was enough. The horse quieted instantly at the man's whispered words. The stranger raised his hand level with the horse's muzzle, but the animal did not bite the offered flesh. Its teeth remained closed while its lips brushed lightly over the man's fingertips. Its ears came up, twitching this way and that. The rolling whites of its eyes disappeared.

Donal stared at the stranger as he had stared at the horse, fearless and fascinated. Taking care not to startle the animal,
Eden edged behind Donal and prepared to snatch him away.

"He'll be all right," the man said, without turning. "Atlas is no danger."

"No danger?"
Eden said, hearing her voice shake. She wrapped her arms around Donal, who squirmed and protested wordlessly.
"Atlas?"

" 'At's
his name." The groom, forgotten on the ground, tried to sit up and groaned in pain.
Eden recognized him: Dalziel, who had tended her father's horses. There was something distinctly wrong about the angle of his shoulder, and he had a bloody gash on his forehead.
"Damned devil.
Should have put him down long ago."

The stranger turned his gaze on the groom, and the injured man fell silent.

Until Spencer's death, the closest thing to a true crisis
Eden had dealt with was the accidental seating of two social or political rivals next to each other at a dinner party, or a tear in the flounce of a ball gown. This was quite different.