Treasure of the Celtic Triangle (6 page)

The air smelled
good
! It was the aroma of autumn, so different from that of its cousin spring. It was the smell of dirt, of peat, of wetness, of decay … of brown not green. Though it spoke of winter’s approach, it was yet sweet and pleasant.

She had no plans in mind for the afternoon. It seemed too wet for a ride. She just wanted to be outside. Perhaps she would bundle up, bring out a warm cup of chocolate, and read in the summerhouse. Then let the rain come back and do its worst!

She wandered toward the stables. It was dark inside as she entered. It took a good while for her eyes to accustom themselves to the dim light, for it was not bright enough outside to help much. She heard sounds and squinted. She had not seen Courtenay all day. Perhaps he, too, planned to take advantage of the lapse in the rain and was preparing for a ride. She soon realized, however, that the sounds were coming not from her brother but from Steven Muir at the far end of the great barn. He was occupied with one of the horses. “Steven, is that you?” she called into the semidarkness.

“Miss Florilyn—yes,” came the familiar voice in reply. “I am checking on Grey Tide.”

“How is she?” asked Florilyn, approaching slowly.

“I would guess that she is perhaps two weeks away,” replied Steven. “I am not sure she will be ready for Mr. Percy to ride if he comes for Christmas.”

“He has ridden Red Rhud many times,” said Florilyn. “I am not so worried about which horse he will ride as I am about snow and whether he and his parents will be able to get here at all.”

“He will find a way. I am sure he is anxious to see you again.” Steven turned and walked toward the back of the barn.

Florilyn followed him outside. There she saw Red Rhud saddled and apparently waiting for him. “Are you going out?” Florilyn asked.

“I am. I’ve been waiting for the rain to break.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out to the Cnychwr croft. Their rent is due, but I haven’t had the chance to get out there. I haven’t seen them since Mr. Heygate left. Would you like to join me?”

“Oh … yes—I think I would. This rain has been making me crazy. A ride would be nice, but I didn’t want to go out alone.”

“Then I will saddle Black Flame. You may take your pick of mounts. But I should warn you,” added Steven, “it is six miles at least. We will not be back until late. The rain may resume.”

“As long as you promise to take care of me, I won’t be worried.”

Steven laughed. “You have my promise! It is not cold. Even if we should get wet, I don’t think it will do us any harm.”

“I will go change into my riding clothes and get my raincoat while you saddle Black Flame.”

Twenty minutes later, Florilyn Westbrooke set out through the eastern gate beside her mother’s young factor, who was only two years older than she. Accustomed to being in command and usually leading the way even when she rode with Percy, she found herself following, even occasionally along a few routes into the mountainous east she was not familiar with. Steven led the way almost due east toward the southern flank of Rhinog Fawr then veered south around the base of the mountain.

At length they came around its far slope, where he again took a northerly bearing toward their destination, which sat nearly under the shadow of the peak to its northwest. It was a strange place for a croft. But the stone cottage had been there as long as anyone could remember. One family after another had somehow managed to scrape together an existence on the five acres that surrounded it, with cows and sheep and chickens and potatoes and what vegetables they were able to grow during the summer and autumn months.

“Do you miss your father?” asked Florilyn as they rode.

“Of course,” replied Steven. “But he was so unlike himself the last few years of his life, in another way it is a relief to have him released from all that. My mother misses him terribly. They spent their whole adult lives together. How about you?”

“I do miss my father,” replied Florilyn. “He and I never really talked much together, though he was different the last few years. I suppose I miss his presence about the manor more than anything.”

“In what way was he different?”

“He seemed to pay more attention to little things. We began to talk more often.”

“What about your mother?”

“She doesn’t talk about him. But I can tell she is sad. Did you and your father talk?” asked Florilyn.

“My papa wasn’t a talkative man,” replied Steven. “I loved him dearly, and he was a good man to one and all. But no, we didn’t talk much. Sometimes we worked together for hours without saying a word. We simply enjoyed being together. But he was a quiet man.”

“Percy says he and his father discuss whatever he is thinking about. He says he asks his father’s advice about everything. When I listen to him, I find myself wishing I had enjoyed something like that with my father, even wondering if I could have if I had been less self-absorbed.”

“I don’t know whether that is true,” said Steven. “People are different. Not all men are capable of that kind of thing. Percy is fortunate, but he might not have been able to talk in the same way to your father either. We take the fathers we are given. We have to find God in them as it expresses itself in their own individual ways. I learned to see God’s fatherhood in my father, though I do not believe he once spoke a word about God to me in my life.”

“It’s amazing to hear you say that,” rejoined Florilyn. “That’s exactly like something Percy would say.”

Steven laughed. “I take that as a great compliment. But look, there is the Cnychwr cottage ahead. We seem to have made it without rain.”

As they approached the stone house, Steven looked over the flock of sheep in the field next to it with a curious expression. They were full of wool and ragged looking. They should have been shorn long before now.

Two dogs came bounding and barking out to greet them. Steven jumped down and let them get used to him before allowing Florilyn to dismount. “Wait for me just a minute,” said Steven. “I’ll go tell them we’re here. Then I’ll hold the dogs away for you.”

He ran toward the cottage as a girl of eleven or twelve came outside to see what the barking was about. Steven spoke with her a minute then returned to Florilyn. “The girl says both her parents are sick in bed. I’m going in to talk to them. Do you want to wait here?”

“No, I’ll go with you,” said Florilyn. She dismounted, and the two walked to the cottage and inside.

They made their way through a large open kitchen into a dim sitting room. From there the girl led into the single small bedroom off the sitting room, which they all shared. There a man and woman lay in a large bed.

“Stevie Muir, so it’s you, is it?” said a voice weakly from the darkness. “Arial said it was you.”

“It’s me, Kynwal,” answered Steven. “She says you’ve been sick.”

“It’s laid us both on our backs,” added a woman’s voice in barely more than a whisper.

“Hello, Lilybet,” said Steven. “I’m sorry to see you after so long under these circumstances.”

“We heard you and your mum’s gone to the manor now,” said Mr. Cnychwr. “We hear that you’ve been made factor. I always said you was meant for bigger things. So it’s Lady Snowdon’s rent you’ll be wanting, I’m thinking.”

“That is why I came,” said Steven. “And to tell you of the change. I wasn’t sure you’d heard.”

“We knew all about it, Stevie. But I’m afraid I’ve nothing to give you. I’ve been down near a month. Then Lilybet come down with the evil thing after me.”

“He’s just got weaker and weaker,” said the woman. “I took care of him as best I could. But then came a day when I couldn’t stand up myself. My legs just wouldn’t hold me. We’d have surely died if Arial hadn’t been here.”

“I didn’t have the strength to shear the sheep,” said Kynwal. “Even if I had, I couldn’t have got the fleece in to market.”

“Don’t you worry about it, Kynwal,” said Steven. “Lady Snowdon will be more concerned for yourselves than your rent. We will see what we can do. What about food—do you have what you need?”

“Isn’t much either of us can eat. No appetite, you see. No strength even to eat. But Arial’s keeping the two cows milked, and there’s always plenty of eggs. This time of year we’ve got apples and a few vegetables.”

“Good. Well then, we will be on our way. We have a long ride back ahead of us. But I will send Dr. Rotherham out to see you as soon as possible.”

“Don’t bother the doctor, Stevie. We’ve got no money to—”

“We need to get you two back on your feet. Don’t you worry about the doctor.”

Seemingly for the first time, Mrs. Cnychwr noticed the figure standing behind Steven in the shadows. She was hardly able to lift her head off the pillow for a better look. “Who’s that you brought with you, Steven?” she asked.

“It’s Lady Florilyn from the manor, Lilybet—Lord and Lady Snowdon’s daughter.”

A gasp of astonishment left the woman’s lips. “The saints preserve us!” she exclaimed. “My Lady Florilyn … I’m sorry for you to see us like this—but welcome to you. If only I could offer you something. You honor our poor cottage.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cnychwr,” said Florilyn, stepping forward to the bedside. She reached out and laid a hand gently on the woman’s arm. “I am sorry you are ill. But Steven is right. We will send the doctor out immediately.”

“You are very kind, my lady.”

“My mother will see to it, and anything else you need.”

Ten minutes later, Florilyn and Steven began the ride back around the mountain and down to the coast.

“What would my father and Mr. Heygate do when someone could not pay the rent?” Florilyn asked.

“I don’t know,” replied Steven. “I’m sure under the circumstances they would have been lenient, as they were with us when my father was ill.”

“Did my father ever evict people for not paying?”

“He did, yes—I knew of a few cases. But your father was an understanding man. In most cases, the people deserved to be evicted, and the town is better off without them.”

“But you knew my mother would not be concerned that the Cnychwrs were unable to pay?”

“Oh, yes … of course. I know your mother’s heart. Besides, there is money and to spare for their rent walking around on the backs of his flock of sheep.”

“But if he cannot shear them …”

Steven chuckled as if her worry was absurd. “His sheep will all be shorn within the week,” he said, “though not quite to the skin as winter is approaching.”

“Who will shear them?”

“Me, of course!” laughed Steven.

They reached the manor, wet but laughing, for one brief dousing from above had nearly drenched them. They separated and went to their respective quarters for dry clothes. Then Steven sought Katherine to apprise her of the situation at the Cnychwr croft.

T
EN

A Tempting Offer

T
he letter that arrived at Westbrooke Manor for Courtenay bore no return address or indication who the sender might be. It therefore aroused no curiosity in Lady Katherine’s mind as her eyes fell upon it along with the rest of the morning’s mail.

Courtenay, however, immediately noticed the London postmark and slit open the envelope with a certain mild interest. Intrigued he withdrew the single sheet.