“You are a bloody fool, Hardwick!” he snarled, plucking the knight from the ground.
“Oomph!” Hardwick gasped as he was slammed against a tree. He thrashed about, trying to loosen the ogre’s grip. “I-I apologise - about the arrow. I didn’t fire it … I was just retrieving it - for the girl!” He twisted and turned but the ogre just glared at him, impervious to his puny attempts to escape.
“I care naught for that!” the ogre growled, tightening his grip on Hardwick and staying his efforts to escape.
Hardwick’s eyes widened in alarm. “So, what do you want?”
The ogre glared at the knight. He despaired that the man was as stupid as he was handsome. Then, in his mind’s eye, he saw again how Henrietta had looked as Hardwick had presented his gift. Even from his hiding place, he had seen the crushing blow she had been dealt by this - imbecile’s - indifference.
“What I want doesn’t matter,” he growled. “It’s what Henrietta wants: and, for some reason, she wants you.”
“Lady Henrietta?” Hardwick looked dumbfounded. “This has something to do with her?”
“Shut up and listen, fool!” The ogre gave Hardwick a shake. “I will use the wood which was given to you and I will make something of it. You will present it as your offering. Do you understand?”
Hardwick eyed the ogre warily. “Why?”
“That does not concern you.”
“It sort of does, you know,” Hardwick said in a placatory manner. “I mean, you might be really bad at making stuff for one and - for two - how do I know that your reasons for doing it aren’t - well - nefarious?”
“My skills are beyond question and my reasons sound,” the ogre snarled. ” What plan did you have?”
“None as fine as this,” Hardwick admitted. “So - you’ll have this done in three days?”
“Yes.”
“And I take all the credit? The Pemberlys will never know?”
“Exactly.”
Hardwick grinned. “Then - I agree!”
“No, my mind is made up. I cannot do this!”
“Do stop pacing!” Prudence said. “I think you are being a little hard on Sir Hardwick.”
Henrietta stopped and stared at her family. “You think me harsh?”
Lord Pemberly harrumphed. “Well … he did make a pig’s ear of the whole offering ceremony.” Prudence narrowed her eyes, reminding her father that not everyone cared - as he did - about the ceremonies. “And the offering itself - of course,” he added quickly. “But then, little hen, you are not the sort to hold such a silly thing against a man - not my girl.”
Henrietta didn’t mean to be unfair to Sir Hardwick; it was just that her feelings about him were so confused. It was all very well him being dashing and handsome but, for her to consider him as a prospective husband, there needed to be more. “I know so little about him, Papa,” she said, looking forlorn, ”and I’m not so sure these challenges will assist with that. Especially if this morning is anything to go by.”
“Don’t put too much store in that,” Prudence said, pouring herself some more tea. “All men are fools or clodhoppers until a woman has taught them not to be. The secret is to find one clever enough that you can tolerate him but not so clever that he’ll know you’re instructing him.”
“I’m sitting right here, wife!” Miles said, sounding not in the least bit peeved.
Prudence smiled indulgently at her husband, “Obviously, you are the exception, my darling,” she said - and then wrinkled her nose at Henrietta and shook her head.
Miles sighed and flipped the page of the book he was reading. “I can see just as well as I can hear, Prudence!”
Henrietta laughed and seated herself at the table. She adored Miles like a brother and he was the perfect match for her bossy sister. “Miles, I should be so lucky to find someone as wonderful as you!”
“Thank you, Henrietta.” he said, helping himself to a biscuit from the plate she held out. “Have I told you recently that you are my favourite sister-in-law?”
“Many times - and in front of poor Millicent and Cecilia too!” she scolded him teasingly. She passed the biscuits to Mrs Hyde-Thornton.
“What about a soirée - here at Riverly?” Caroline suggested and William Pemberly smiled at her indulgently.
“I’m afraid not, my dear .…”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Caroline!” Prudence cut in. “It will give Hetty a chance to become better acquainted with Sir Hardwick.”
“Now hold on there, ladies! Didn’t you hear me say at the tourney? Hardwick is supposed to stay away until Henrietta has made her decision.”
“Yes, Papa, but, as things stand, Henrietta is as likely as not to turn him down flat.” Prudence turned to Henrietta. “Is that not so, Hetty?”
“I don’t know,” Henrietta replied with a resigned sigh. “He is very handsome - and very charming.” She looked appealingly up at her father. “But maybe it would be a good idea to see him in a less formal situation, Papa?”
“I shall give it some thought,” Lord Pemberly stalled. “But it won’t do for me to be seen to be changing my mind hither and thither.”
“Oh, Papa!” Prudence said, “It needn’t look like you changing your mind. You could pretend it was part of your grand scheme all along!”
Chapter Fifteen
“A bridge?” Hardwick asked, crossing it for the fourth time. “What is she supposed to do with a bridge?”
The ogre stared him down. “Remind me again what you presented her with.”
“Fair point,” said Hardwick, holding up his hands. “But what is the reasoning behind this?”
“For Lady Henrietta to cross to the village.”
“Er … there’s already a bridge - back that way,” Hardwick told him, pointing over his shoulder. “Came that way myself as it happens.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You wouldn’t be trying to make me look like a fool with this bridge, would you?”
The ogre blew out a breath. Dealing with Hardwick was a chore: the man was a blithering idiot. ‘Choose extraordinary’ he had told Henrietta - and this was what she was settling for.
“When the weather is poor, it is too far for Henrietta to walk to that bridge,” he explained with as much patience as he could muster. “This way, she can still get to the village on foot by cutting through the forest.”
Hardwick stared at him curiously. “How do you know so much about Lady Henrietta?”
“I don’t,” the ogre growled. “I just know she has a long walk to get to the village.” He knew, too, that she enjoyed the fresh air and the solitude but that, once the roads became wet and the mud heavy, Henrietta was reliant on a ride into the village. He understood she would appreciate the freedom this short-cut would afford her.
Hardwick crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the ogre. “You’re not in love with her are you?” he asked, curling his lip in disgust, “Because that would be entirely inappropriate.”
The ogre clenched his jaw, using every ounce of self-restraint he possessed to stop himself slamming his fist straight into the knight’s face. “No, I do not love her,” he said through gritted teeth. “I am merely repaying a debt.”
Hardwick nodded. “Just as well, old chap,” he chuckled, clapping the ogre on the back, “because Lady Henrietta wouldn’t look twice at an ugly brute like you.”
As the knight swung up onto his horse and rode away, the ogre glared after him. He waited until Hardwick was out of sight then slammed his fist into a sturdy tree, felling it with a single blow.
“You built me a bridge?” Henrietta said, staring at it in wonder. The bridge was a simple wooden one that blended perfectly with its surroundings. She was truly stunned that Sir Hardwick had thought of it. After all, they had spoken so little of her day-to-day life at Riverly.
“Was that a terrible idea?” Hardwick asked in alarm.
“No!” Henrietta said, a smile evident in her voice. “I
t’s sort of wonderful, actually.”
“Am I missing something here?” Lord Pemberly wasn’t happy that their party had traipsed through the woods while he was still in his leather uppers. “Why have you built my daughter a bridge? There’s a perfectly good one down the road you know.”
“Yes, Papa, but now I can go to the village without a long walk down the muddy lanes. Instead, I can cut through the forest.”
Hardwick’s eyebrows shot up. “Exactly!” he said, pointing at her. “That’s exactly it! Well done, Lady Henrietta!”
“Thank you.” Henrietta frowned at him, trying not to laugh. “It was very thoughtful of you, Sir Hardwick.”
“Can we go back now, please?” Prudence complained, rubbing at her bare arms. Henrietta’s enthusiasm for certain things never failed to bemuse her and this bridge of hers was definitely one of them. “It’s rather colder than I thought,” she added.
Sir Hardwick offered his arm and Henrietta placed her hand on it and allowed him to escort her back to the house. His success with the bridge had put a spring in his step and a smile on his face.
“I hope this makes up for the thoughtlessness of my first offering, my Lady?”
“Yes, of course,” Henrietta smiled up at him. She had been ready for the worst and braced herself to conceal her true feelings today. She felt a little guilty about that now she had seen how thoughtful Sir Hardwick could be. “I do apologise for allowing my feelings to show the other day. I shouldn’t have. What made you think of the bridge, if you don’t mind me asking?”
A lengthy pause followed. “Well, my dear Lady, I reasoned that, with all the visiting you do … was sure you would do, you must have need of a short-cut.”
“How very perceptive of you, Sir!”
“Yes, I certainly can be when the need arises.”
Sir Hardwick was proving a conundrum to Henrietta. One moment she was sure of who he was and the next she wasn’t sure at all. It astounded her that he had thought of the bridge. She would not have believed him capable of understanding her wish to venture to the village on foot despite the weather. And yet he had presented her with the very thing she needed. That he had thought of it meant a good deal to her - and threw her into a turmoil of doubts once more. She had been ready to discourage her father from continuing with the challenges but she wouldn’t do that now; not while Sir Hardwick was proving himself to be more than just a handsome face and a lively companion.
Lord Pemberly and Prudence were following behind. “I think you might be right, Prue,” Lord Pemberly said, staring thoughtfully at Henrietta and Hardwick.
“What about, Papa?” Prudence asked worriedly. It was rarely beneficial when her father wore his pensive look so she was pleasantly surprised as Lord Pemberly announced: “I believe it is time that young man courted your sister.”
Chapter Sixteen
Henrietta heard the thud of the ogre before she saw him. She smiled.
“You found it?” she asked.
“You mean them. Here.” He handed her the dozen or more ribbons she had tied along her route through the forest.
She grinned up at him. “It worked though. You’re here after all!”
The ogre had insisted there was no need for her to continue traipsing all the way to the lodge now he was well - but Henrietta hadn’t wanted to stop seeing him so she had come up with a way to let him know if she was in the forest or needed him. She simply tied her ribbons to the trees and, should he wish to find her, he needed only to follow them.
He scowled at her now. “Fine. It worked. So what next?”
Unperturbed by his grouchy demeanour, Henrietta shoved her basket at him. “Now, we go foraging,” she said and set off at a brisk pace, enjoying the feel of the chill autumn air on her face.
“For what?” the ogre asked as he pretended he wasn’t doing his best to shorten his stride so that Henrietta could keep up.
“Oh, rose hips and medlars and winter apples - anything, really, that I can use in my sweet pies.” She looked up at him, pretending not to notice he was practically tripping over his own feet. “My mother used to take me foraging for fruit. In the summer, we could usually find berries and apples without going too far but, as the days shortened, like today, we would need to venture further and further into the forest to find anything worth picking. It was those days that I remember as being the best.”
“How so?”
“Because those days were like a treasure hunt.” Henrietta looked up at him. The ogre saw the tears pooling in her eyes and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. It was hard to say who was more surprised by the gesture, Henrietta or the ogre. He quickly snatched his hand away but too late: Henrietta had already welcomed the comfort his touch had offered. She smiled at him to let him know she appreciated his gesture.
“Mama used to tell me a story about the fruits of the forest. Would you like to hear it?”
“I would.”
“She told me that Riverly used to have the biggest orchard in the whole land. There was acre upon acre of trees and bushes, all bursting with apples, plums, pears, cherries … you name it and there would be an abundance.”
“Plums?”
Henrietta giggled. “Yes!”
“Gooseberries?”
She threw her arms wide. “Too many to count!”
“Blackcurrants?”
She licked her lips. “The juiciest you have ever seen!”
“Quinces?”
Henrietta screwed up her nose. “Yuk! No! Not quinces! I hate those!”
“So, it was an orchard that had everything you could name … as long as Henrietta liked it?”
“Of course!” she laughed. “After all, I am the one telling the story.”
The ogre inclined his head. “I bow to your superior knowledge of the fruits that grew in this imaginary orchard.”
“It wasn’t imaginary, Ogre!” she said fiercely. “This is history. Now hush and let me tell my story.”
“My Lady,” he said with a mocking flourish.
“So, in this - very real - orchard, the trees grew fat with fruit and the whole of the Riverly estate ate heartily from their bounty all year round. Then, one unseasonably warm autumn day, a band of gypsies called upon the first Lord Pemberly and beseeched him, ‘Grant us leave, my Lord, to camp upon thy land’.
“They told his Lordship that the weather would turn within days and begged to be allowed to help with the harvest in exchange for the shelter of the Riverly land. The Lord laughed at the gypsies, telling them to look up at the sky and observe for themselves that not a cloud could be seen. He told them to feel how warm the air was still, even though summer had long since passed. He turned them away and instructed his manager to keep those ‘wretched gypsies’ off his land. But, just in case their predictions came to pass, he ordered the trees be stripped of their fruits and tied down against any sudden storm.
“Less than a sennight passed before the weather turned foul overnight, just as the gypsies had predicted. Storms raged day and night for day upon day and then week upon week. Wind and hail tore at everything in sight; trees were uprooted; the river burst its banks and the roads became impassable. Had it not been for Riverly’s well stocked larders, the family might have starved but - thanks to the gypsies’ warning - the Lord of Riverly had made sure his household was well provisioned.
“When, at last, the storms passed and the river retreated back within its banks, the gypsy Queen paid his Lordship another visit.
“’You, who have so much, could not bear to grant even the least boon to those of us who sought only the smallest of crumbs. You turned us away and, in so doing, left us to the mercy of the storms. Because of your cruel heart, two of our children are dead. For that, I curse you. From this day forth, your precious orchard shall be no more. A great forest shall grow in its place which shall devour the light. Your trees shall wither. They shall never again bear fruit.’
“And that was exactly
what happened. The wild trees grew and grew until a forest stood in place of the once great Riverly orchard. Five years later, another great storm tore through the county and the roads were once again impassable, except - this time - Riverly did not have its well-stocked larders and the youngest son of the Lord perished. Since then, the gypsies have always been granted leave to winter on Riverly land.”
The ogre was silent for a moment. “The gypsies are allowed to stay here?” he asked, a frown furrowing his brow.
“Yes. They are camped in the far meadow even now.”
“Stay away from them, Henrietta,” he growled. “The gypsies are dangerous.”
Henrietta chuckled. “It’s just a story, Ogre. I’m sure the gypsies have never caused any trouble really. In fact, one of them gave me a token at the tournament.”
“A token?”
“Yes. A trinket. Just a little charm in the shape of an arrow, that’s all.”
“What did this gypsy look like?”
“She was a rather beautiful woman of middle years; long, dark hair with a single grey streak running through it.” At the ogre’s look of alarm, she asked, “Do you know her?”
He wiped the look from his face. “No.”
Henrietta placed her hand on the ogre’s arm. “What troubles you so about the gypsies?”
“You cannot trust them!” he snapped and lengthened his stride. Henrietta ran to catch up.
“Why are you hurrying, Ogre?”
“A medlar tree,” he said and pointed. “Look! Up ahead.”
Henrietta followed at a pace more suited to her stride. Why, she wondered, had the ogre reacted so strongly to talk of the gypsies? She could have sworn he was afraid.
He waited until nightfall before seeking out the gypsy camp.
He could see their silhouettes around the bright orange blaze of the fire. A young woman was singing, her voice contrasting sweetly with the guttural language of her song. A gaggle of men sat around the fire. Half listening to the girl sing, they were talking around their pipes and passing a flagon of scrumpy between them.
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