That was comforting.
It was also a little confusing. Lucilla had always been able to sense the manor like a beacon, likewise the sacred grove where she and her mother prayed. But now…glancing around, she confirmed that she was also sensing a tug from a different direction. “Must be Carrick Manor,” she muttered to herself.
That realization washed through her and brought her mind alive to the possibility that they might be approaching Carrick lands. She assumed that the Carricks’ western boundary lay along the edges of the forest, but exactly where the edge lay wasn’t clear, not in the foothills they were presently traversing.
The boys ahead of her stopped abruptly. Lucilla nearly plowed into them. She grabbed hold of Nicholas’s arm—with his help, she kept her feet.
“Sssh!” Nicholas held a finger to his lips. His admonition had been barely more than a breath.
Lucilla followed his and everyone else’s gazes to the sight of a buck—or at least the beast’s antlers—slowly moving down the slope opposite the one they were presently descending.
They’d just come over a heavily wooded crest; between them and the opposite slope the land fell sharply into a narrow valley along which one of the thousands of burns in the area ran. The tinkling of the water sounded like distant bells, distracting the senses and masking other sounds.
No one moved; slowly, in response to Sebastian’s signal, all the boys sank to their haunches.
Lucilla remained standing, her eyes trained on the buck. Nicholas reached up and tugged her sleeve, but she gently, absentmindedly disengaged. They were standing deep in forest shadow. The wind was blowing off the peaks. Unless they made some abrupt movement, the chances of the buck seeing them and taking flight were negligible.
The bushes between them and the buck concealed its body completely; only the antlers showed, moving with the telltale gait as the animal paced, presumably along a path just below the opposite crest.
Lucilla stared, and something very strange started rising inside her.
Something akin to the most god-awful fear.
Silently, soundlessly, her gaze locked on the buck, she started moving forward, stepping around her younger cousins, ignoring their frowns.
Drawing closer to the group in the lead—Sebastian, Marcus, Michael, and Christopher—she heard Sebastian whisper to Marcus, “Is it a legal kill?”
Narrow-eyed, Marcus was studying the enormous antlers.
Lucilla knew her brother’s eyes were as sharp as hers. As she halted a few steps behind him, she wasn’t surprised to hear her twin answer, “He has to be ancient. It’s doe season at present, but in this area, bucks that old are always legal kills.”
“Excellent,” Sebastian breathed.
He already had his shotgun in his hands. He brought the barrel up, sighting along it—aiming, no doubt, for where the buck’s head would be; the position of the body was too hard to guess. Lucilla knew her cousin was an excellent shot, and at this distance, he could hardly miss.
The buck would be dead—his life cut off cleanly—in seconds.
She told herself it was a better end for the animal that way. Tried desperately to calm her sudden panic—this was normal. They culled bucks this old all the time.
Clenching her fists, she tried to suppress the sudden, swirling, intensely black fear that rose up—choking her.
What is wrong?
Her senses were sharp, her perception acute.
At the edge of her vision, she saw Sebastian’s shoulders fall almost imperceptibly as he exhaled to take the shot—
“No!” Lucilla dived forward, over Sebastian’s shoulder.
The shotgun thundered, but she’d pushed the muzzle down and the shot furrowed into the ground.
Sebastian had let go of the gun and shifted to catch and support her. “What the devil?” He wasn’t angry so much as shocked. Rattled.
But Lucilla had no attention to spare for him. Her gaze, her every sense, was locked on the body below the antlers…which slowly rose.
Finally fully upright, eyes narrowing to pierce the shadows, Thomas Carrick stared across the intervening ravine. The antlers were strapped to his head.
All of them stared back. Sebastian swallowed. Somewhat shakily, he said, “I repeat—what the hell?”
Lucilla finally managed to drag in a breath; the blackness that had threatened had vanished. Struggling upright—and through that attracting and fixing Thomas’s gaze—she explained, “He’s playing the part of the Horned God in the Chase—Herne, Herian, Herla, call him what you will. It’s a very old tradition in these parts. I didn’t know anyone still followed it.”
“God!” White-faced, Marcus rose. “I had no idea.” Holding his hands out to his sides, he mouthed across the ravine, “Sorry.”
Sebastian dragged in a breath and opened his mouth to call an apology—
Lucilla elbowed him. “No. We have to be quiet—the hunt will be near.”
On the words, they heard calls and thrashing and the sound of running feet rolling up and over the opposite crest, drawing nearer. They all looked to a spot above and behind Thomas.
So did Thomas, then he turned back and looked directly at the group—at Lucilla. Everyone else was nothing to him, but as the sounds of pursuit drew nearer, Thomas slowly inclined his head—dipping that wonderful rack of antlers—to her, then he turned and ran.
In seconds, he’d disappeared into the trees and bushes; less than a minute later, they glimpsed him leaping over the crest—running as Herne through the forests.
As his pursuers—mostly excited children with a smattering of youths—boiled in a rushing, tumbling wave over the crest, the Cynsters faded soundlessly back into the trees.
Once the hunt had passed in joyous obliviousness, the Cynsters turned and, in a loose group, trudged back through the foothills toward the bridle path.
No one said anything; they were all still deeply shocked over what had so nearly occurred.
Eventually, Sebastian, the shotgun broken and resting over his arm, fell in beside Lucilla. They walked side by side for a little way, then Sebastian exhaled. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. That was so nearly…horrific.”
Lucilla met his gaze. After a moment, she nodded and looked forward. “Yes. Horrific.”
Her voice sounded hollow, even to her.
Mistakenly killing Thomas Carrick might have been horrific for Sebastian.
It would have been as good as death for her.
EPILOGUE
January 1, 1838
Her arms wrapped around her knees, Louisa sat in the window seat of Annabelle’s room and looked out over the snow-smothered gardens to the snow-draped forest beyond.
Hoar frost had claimed the land. Icicles glinted and twinkled, and smaller ice crystals formed a diamond-studded lacework over every surface, winking in the winter sunshine.
Hogmanay was past; a new year had begun.
The festivities that had filled the previous day, that had rolled on through the night and into the morning—at least those she and her three peers had participated in before they’d stumbled up the stairs and fallen into their beds—had been filled with an almost frenetic sort of joy. A farewell to the delights and sorrows of the year past, and a heightened anticipation for what the new year would bring.
And now that new year was here.
Resting her chin on her knees, Louisa stared, unseeing, at the winter landscape. She’d been the one who had worked the hardest to persuade their parents that the Vale was where this season’s celebrations had needed to be held; looking back on the happenings of the past week, she considered the implied promise to have been more than met.
The room had been quiet, the other three girls still slumbering, but Therese had woken; wrapping her robe about her, she came to join Louisa in the window seat. Therese looked out, then, with one finger, traced the pattern of ice crystals frosting a portion of one windowpane. “So this will be our last day here—I wonder if it’s snowed at home?”<
br />
Annabelle and Juliet had been sharing Annabelle’s bed while Louisa and Therese had slept on truckle beds by the fire; at the sound of Therese’s voice, Annabelle opened her eyes, saw the pair by the window, and sat up.
Juliet grumbled, but when Annabelle slipped from beneath the covers, Juliet, too—still grumbling—followed.
There was only space for two on the window seat. Annabelle pulled up a narrow-backed chair, and Juliet dragged over the dressing stool.
Plopping down upon it, dragging the shawl she’d picked up over her shoulders, Juliet looked at Therese, then Louisa. “So it’s our last day here, but if the party downstairs continued long after we left—as it most likely did—then I can’t see anyone doing anything more than recovering today.”
Annabelle nodded. “Perhaps a walk at the most, just to clear heads, and then later there’ll be the cleansing of the fireplaces—the removal of the ashes of the year past and the ashes of the Cailleach logs.”
“Like a banishing of the spirit of winter?” Therese asked.
Annabelle nodded. “Exactly.”
“I have to admit,” Therese said, “that after the last day, I’m ready for a little quiet. I had no idea Hogmanay had so many elements to it—much more than our simple New Year celebrations.”
“It’s different up here,” Louisa said, “but, after all, that’s why we came.” Tipping her head, she regarded the other three. “And you have to admit, we’ve had more to enjoy than even we could have planned, what with our very own romance and the Christmas baby, even if we weren’t directly involved in the latter. Incidentally, Grandmama told me that our mistletoe worked for Mr. Crosbie and Mrs. Meadows—that it was very definitely helpful in bringing them together.”
Juliet wriggled deeper into her shawl. “Good. And it is good because Medy so deserves a happy life and a family of her own, and Mr. Crosbie is nice, too. Mama told me that Medy will be leaving us to go to Uncle Alasdair and Aunt Phyllida—lucky Lydia and Amarantha—but that means I’ll still see her when they come to visit or we visit them, which is often enough.”
“And,” Annabelle said, “Mama spoke to me last night. Apparently, all four of us are to have finishing governesses—it was one of the things our mamas discussed and decided while they were here.”
All four girls considered that prospect, then Louisa arched her brows. “That will be interesting.”
They all laughed, the camaraderie, the closeness, the four had always shared bubbling up. All Cynsters, all born within a single year to different branches of the ducal family tree, they’d been fated from the first to share life’s experiences; for each, it was hard to imagine any other who might share more completely the gamut of decisions that living their lives would entail.
“So,” Therese said, “we are, it seems, heading into the final stretch of preparing for our come-outs. Four more years, and then we’ll be launched—on the unsuspecting ton, as old Lady Osbaldestone would say.” The other three grinned, and Therese went on, “But what are our aims—for this year, for the next? What are we aiming for? What are our goals?”
She looked at Annabelle and Juliet, then all three looked at Louisa.
Louisa noted the implied invitation; she smiled one of her more enigmatic smiles. But it had faded and her tone was serious when she said, “Our goals… To define those, we need to know what we want. What we most want to see in our lives, what elements are most important to us.” She glanced at the others, meeting their gazes. “Do we know that yet?”
A second passed, then Therese caught Louisa’s eyes. “I don’t, but I will own to surprise if you don’t.”
Louisa shook her dark head, the rippling mass of her black hair shifting over her shoulders. “I know some, but not all.” She looked out, and her gaze settled once more on the landscape, although her focus had turned inward. After a moment, knowing the others were waiting and that they always shared such things, she said, “I know I want to be in control of my life—that I will never be happy being someone else’s pawn, a husband’s ornament, my importance dependent on his. I know that I want to make my own decisions in all those issues important to me. I want…to find a place in society, within society, in which I am of society but it does not rule me. I want a family, a home, children, a love of my own—all the things we, as Cynsters, all but take for granted and assume we will somehow find.” A small smile played over her lips in acknowledgment of their familial expectations. “And while there’s nothing wrong with that—and, indeed, I see those as goals very much to be desired—while I want all those things, above and beyond everything else, I want the freedom to be me.”
She paused, and the other three were silent, all following her thoughts, drawn by the power already resonant in her words, in the ideals they described. Then Louisa continued, “I know I will need to be determined, that I will need to remain focused and vigilant to achieve the outcome I want.” She glanced at the others. “That much I do know.”
She looked back at the landscape and the others followed her gaze, yet none of the four were seeing the present, but rather were looking ahead.
After a moment, Louisa hugged her knees more tightly and softly said, “I might face a battle, but I can’t see any other way it can be.” Her quiet words fell into the crystalline silence. “In order to live fully, I have to be me.”
* * *
Later that morning, Lucilla brought Artemis down for a run in the rear yard. Rugged up in her pelisse, her hands warm inside her fur-lined gloves, a thick shawl for extra warmth wrapped about her head and shoulders, and her thick riding boots on her feet, she followed the pup outside. Ambling in the questing pup’s wake, she walked out from the house into the silence of the Vale.
Despite the hour, few had yet stirred; most were still sunk in slumber, sleeping off the effects of the various beverages that had been in goodly supply the previous evening. Drinking was a serious part of the seeing out of the old year, an essential ritual of Hogmanay. Lips curving at the memory of some of the drink-fueled revelry she’d witnessed, Lucilla continued in Artemis’s wake.
Eventually, the staff would rise; later, a light luncheon would be served in the Great Hall. But until then, with even the younger members of the various families inclined to rest, the house would remain peaceful and quiet.
Letting the new year steal up on the occupants on silent feet.
Reaching the barred gate at the end of the yard, Artemis dove between the two lowest bars and loped on; opening the gate, leaving it wide, Lucilla followed.
There was, quite literally it seemed, no other person in the white world but her, no animal beyond the gamboling pup.
The silence was pervasive, but beneath it she could sense…something akin to a beating heart. A presence that, to her senses, was very real, tangible, although not in a way others could feel.
Closing her eyes, Lucilla opened her mind, her senses, her soul.
And communed with the world around her.
Uncounted minutes later, a sharp yip interrupted her meditation. Opening her eyes, she saw a second shaggy gray bundle tumble and stumble past, big paws slipping and sliding as Apollo rushed out in his sister’s wake.
Smiling, Lucilla glanced over her shoulder. She met her twin’s dark blue eyes as Marcus came to stand beside and a little behind her.
Marcus looked back at her, reading her eyes, then in their usual wordless accord, he and she looked out—at the pups now playing, mock-growling and leaping, then further, to the white fields that ultimately would be their domain, theirs to nurture and care for.
Then both lifted their gazes and looked further yet, to the hills beyond.
They rarely needed words, yet it wasn’t even thoughts that passed between them so much as knowing.
Lucilla couldn’t imagine not having Marcus there, knew without hearing it that he felt the same. But she didn’t know whether the link they shared was simply and solely because they were twins or whether it was more because they were both Lady-touched.
/> Regardless, he and she looked to the north, and knew. Knew that for each of them, their future was inextricably connected, not just with the manor, not just with the Vale, but also with what lay beyond.
Neither questioned that insight; neither denied it.
Even though neither fully understood exactly what was meant. What would come to be.
There was a sharing in that, too.
Lucilla found it hard to draw herself back in, to pull her wider awareness back from the distant hills; there was a part of her that was drawn to seek and find, to discover, learn, and truly know, even though their time, hers and Marcus’s, was not yet.
Eventually, Marcus stirred. Quietly, he called Apollo, and the pup came loping back, ears flapping, jaws parted, tongue madly lolling.
Marcus grinned. Raising his head, he looked out at the hills for one last, long moment…then he turned and headed back to the house.
Lucilla heard him go, yet she remained looking out, her gaze on the hills, wanting to know more, reluctant to leave without—
A whine jerked her back and had her glancing down. Artemis sat at her feet, looking up at her through strangely wise, pale amber eyes. The puppy raised a paw and lightly scratched the skirt of Lucilla’s pelisse.
She couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, you’re right. There’s no point, is there?”
Artemis cocked her head and looked earnestly back at her.
Lucilla chuckled softly. “All right. Let’s go back inside.”
She looked up at the hills—one last lingering look—then she turned and, with Artemis in the lead, followed Marcus back to the house.
* * *
High in the tower overlooking the rear yard, Helena, Dowager Duchess of St. Ives, sat in the window seat and looked down on her grandchildren—on Marcus’s black head, on Lucilla’s flame-colored mane—as they passed back into the house.
Many throughout the ton believed Helena to be uncannily perspicacious, yet her ability owed more to her habit of observing people carefully, and noting the little things others missed, than to any peculiar talent.
By Winter's Light: A Cynster Novel (Cynster Special Book 2) Page 23
