by Sahara Kelly
Finally she did the only thing she could think of. She held out her hand to Michael and watched as he took it. “Thank you—husband.” Her gaze met his and she prayed he could read her heart, since she lacked the ability to describe her emotions at that moment.
He gripped her hard, tugged the horses close and dropped a quick kiss on her cool lips. “There. ’Tis done. I have kissed the bride. And our witnesses here don’t like it, apparently.” He laughed as he pulled his horse back into line, quelling the fidgets that the riders’ behaviour had caused.
“My goodness, that was easy.” Ariadne cleared her throat. “Michael, I understand the need for this, but I want you to know…”
He held up his hand. “Stop. Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. We have to find Ridlington Vale today. Let’s focus on that task before we begin discussing anything else. Intense conversations on horseback don’t really work too well.”
She sighed. He was right. One task at a time. And since snowflakes were starting to drift delicately onto her sleeves, they needed to keep up a good pace lest they get caught in the middle of a snowstorm. The clouds were grey and heavy, and she wouldn’t be surprised if it was setting up for a steady fall, which would lay inches on their path as the day wore on.
As if he read her thoughts, Michael nudged his horse to a slightly faster pace, and she followed suit. They carefully made their way for the next hour or so, managing to cover the ground without too much difficulty even though it was turning white and muffling the sound of the horses’ hooves.
The result was an odd kind of wintery silence, as if nature had snuggled into a muffler and was hiding her head under a pillow.
In the soft stillness, it wasn’t hard for them both to hear a muted cry.
“Did you…”
“Was that…”
Simultaneously, they drew to a halt, both alert and listening. The sound came again.
“This way.” Ariadne turned her horse from the lane and into the trees, finding her way through low bushes and around the white dappled trunks of beeches. It was a black and white world, so the vivid blue cloak of someone stuck in a tree was quite visible within a few moments of them entering the woods.
“Help…”
“It’s a man,” said Ariadne. “Don’t move, sir. We will help you…”
They drew to a halt at the base of the tree, a massive oak bare of leaves but displaying a very odd fruit indeed. His hair was white, his beard the same colour and he was struggling inside his cloak which had tangled itself onto some sharp broken branches.
“I’m stuck,” he whimpered. “I can’t free myself.”
“Hold there, sir. Stay calm. Let me see if I can free you…” Michael was already off his horse and staring upward at the stubby branches which must have facilitated the old man’s climb.
“My hands…they’re so cold…”
“Michael,” whispered Ariadne, worried now that they wouldn’t be in time.
“I know,” he answered grimly. “Keep the horses out of the way.”
She managed to dismount and did as he bid, making sure none of them were in danger of being underneath either Michael or the old man should the worst come to pass.
Holding her breath, she watched as Michael displayed an impressive agility and reached the man without too much difficulty.
“Now then, sir. Let’s see how best to free you,” he said calmly, his voice echoing through the snow-laden branches. “Here…I see where a piece of your cloak has caught…”
“Oh, be careful. I cannot drop it. I must not drop it…” The words were desperate, but the accent was polished and that of a gentleman. This was no peasant
Ariadne could not see what he had wrapped in his cloak, but he was certainly committed to keeping it safe.
It took a few minutes of gentle tugging, slipping and the occasional muttered oath, but finally the garment was free of its entanglement and the old gentleman whimpered with relief. “Thank you, thank you lad…” the words quavered as he tried to move.
“Hold on, now, sir. Let me get hold of you and we’ll climb down together. Put your arms around my neck and hang on and we’ll be on the ground in no time.”
“All right…”
Ariadne held her breath as the two of them, Michael holding the old man carefully with one arm and branches with the other, began their descent. It couldn’t have been more than a dozen feet or so off the ground, but a fall—even from that height—would doubtless have resulted in injuries to one or both of them.
At last they were down, and she rushed forward, a sigh of relief on her lips. “Thank heavens. You’re down, both of you. Safe and sound.”
The man wavered a little, grasping Michael’s shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you both.” He finally let go of his cloak to reveal a huge spray of mistletoe.
“Good lord,” said Michael, his eyes wide. “Is that why you were up there? Just for some mistletoe?”
“Not just any mistletoe,” said Ariadne gently. She looked at the old man. “It’s an oak tree, isn’t it?”
He smiled, revealing white teeth and a charming grin. “You are correct, Ma’am. Not many would understand the significance.” He swayed again and shivered.
“Michael…” she said, worried at what she saw.
“I know.” He led the man to their horses. “Can you ride pillion sir? If not, my wife can ride with me, but I’m not sure how well you’ll do alone…we are for Ridlington Vale…”
“Anywhere,” the murmur was clear, but weak.
“Take him up before you, Michael. Your horse is better able to carry the load. I’ll lead the way and take your rein if you need me to.” Ariadne returned to her own mount and used a stump to clamber into the saddle. It wasn’t elegant, but it was efficient.
Michael nodded. “Come along then, sir. Let’s get you mounted and on the way to somewhere warm.”
That task was accomplished without much difficulty since his passenger was a slight man and found the saddle after only a little struggle.
Ariadne moved close and helped arrange the cloak so that Michael could hold the man with one arm and the reins with the other. “It should work,” she nodded.
“Let’s move on then, before the snow gets any worse.”
She squared her shoulders. “Ridlington Vale, here we come.”
*~~*~~*
It wasn’t the easiest ride Michael had ever experienced, that was certain. The old man seemed frail, his hands white and veined, and probably icy cold. But he kept his grasp on his bundle of mistletoe, and being fairly slender, his balance was not as precarious as Michael had feared.
“May I know your name, sir?” he asked politely.
“What? Oh…er…I am known as Cathbad,” he answered, a little shiver making his beard tremble.
“And you live around here? Is there somewhere we should take you?”
Cathbad shook his head. “Over there, I think. Maybe.” He waved a vague hand. “I lost my way.”
“We are headed for Ridlington Vale, Sir Cathbad, as my wife mentioned.” Michael thought he might as well accord the strange man a title, since he was obviously a gentleman, if rather a befuddled one at the moment. “Will that be agreeable to you? Perhaps you know someone there?”
“Better to go to the Chase, it’s closer,” Sir Cathbad answered. Then he coughed, a rattling harsh sound that brought a frown to Michael’s face and made Ariadne turn quickly to check on them.
Michael shook his head at her. There was nothing she could do at the moment.
“Which Chase is that?”
“Ridlington Chase, lad. The lane is just down here a bit…there’s a big yew tree…”
“Ariadne…”
“I heard.” She raised a hand in acknowledgement. “There. There, Michael. Do you see it?” She pointed off to the right where there was indeed a huge evergreen, its branches dipping now as the snow built heavily on the needles. “And a lane.”
“Turn there,” said Michael. “It should take
us to Ridlington Chase. Pray they are at home and receiving…”
With his heart thumping rapidly, Michael steered the horse to follow Ariadne’s, and within a few moments they saw lights—and a large country Manor.
The lane opened onto the driveway leading to the front of the building, and the snowfall outlined the way. Bumps and lumps of shrubbery lined the paths, a few evergreens graced what would be a lovely lawn in the summer, and there were plenty of lights shining out on the snowy landscape.
With a sigh of relief Michael spurred his mount next to Ariadne’s. “I don’t know if we’ll receive a warm welcome, but ’tis glad I am to see that someone’s home…”
“He’s so pale, Michael,” Ariadne’s gaze took in Sir Cathbad’s complexion. “Sir, try to stay awake…”
He lurched a little in Michael’s grip. Suppressing an oath, Michael got them to the bottom of the front steps as fast as he could.
“See if you can summon help, Ariadne. I’m not sure our friend here is completely conscious.”
And he was right.
As soon as he slid from the horse, Sir Cathbad toppled, falling on Michael who caught him with ease. The man weighed very little, his frail body almost vanishing within the folds of his thick cloak.
Ariadne had dismounted and was already up the steps and wielding the knocker with urgency.
He followed her, carefully carrying his burden so as to cause the old man the least discomfort.
“Good God…” The door opened, revealing a perfectly garbed butler who had, it would seem, momentarily lost his poise. “What the devil…”
“I do beg your pardon, sir, but we are looking for Ridlington Chase? Baron Ridlington?”
The butler’s mouth flapped as he cleared his throat and then dropped once more as he saw Michael carrying the old man up the steps.
Ariadne blinked. “The Baron? Is he at home?”
“You…he…I don’t…” He pointed at Michael. “He’s…no…but he…” The butler turned away from the door. “My Lord…” He roared out the summons and Michael heard doors open and feet pounding.
In seconds there seemed to be a flood of people rushing toward them, stopping and gaping much as the butler was still doing.
Until one man pushed his way through and stood before them.
Michael heard Ariadne’s gasp.
He understood why.
Looking at Baron Ridlington was like looking in a mirror.
The man could be his identical twin. Except for his eyes. They were brown.
Chapter Eleven
To say that chaos erupted at Ridlington Chase was an understatement.
Finding herself in the middle of it was both comforting, amusing and terrifying, thought Ariadne as she and Michael were swept into a stately hall by what felt like a small mob.
They couldn’t all be residents, and she realised that several must be servants since they scurried around taking their cloaks and gloves as Michael and the Baron stared at each other. A tall, elegant woman came to the Baron’s side.
“This gentleman needs help,” said Ariadne gently, and with that everyone sprang into action.
“’Tis Sir Arthur Mucklebury, my Lady,” said the butler. “And this is not the first time he’s wandered away.”
“Dammit, Chidwell…” She went to the old man in Michael’s arms and touched his face. “He’s too cold…he must have been out all day to come so far.”
“He may have a touch of exposure, Ma’am,” Ariadne added quietly. “We found him stuck up a tree and my-my husband was able to get him down.”
“Up a tree?” Her Ladyship’s expression was one of utter astonishment.
“Indeed, yes.” She gently took the mistletoe from the wrapped cloak. “He was harvesting this, we believe.” She glanced at the Baron. “He told us his name was Cathbad.”
The Baron was still staring at Michael.
“I’m sure there are several stories here. And best told over tea. Come in, both of you. You must be frozen. I’m Rosaline, and this is my husband Edmund.” She waved her hand at the Baron. Then she smiled at Michael. “I’ve often wished he could be in two places at once, but I never imagined it might actually happen.” She looked at them both then, turning her head from one to the other. “Well, I’m seeing it, so I suppose I have to believe it. So if you two could stop staring at each other, which is rather unnerving now I come to think of it, let’s unravel some of these questions…come along…”
The Baron, recalled to himself, nodded. “Chidwell, take care of Sir Arthur?”
“Immediately, my Lord.” Chidwell summoned servants and Michael was relieved of his burden. “And I shall arrange for tea.”
Which freed Michael and Ariadne to follow the Baron and Lady Rosaline into a snug parlour where a fire warmed the air and each gravitated toward it, warming their hands and sighing with relief.
Michael broke the momentary silence. “I’m sure this must come as a shock, my Lord. I must come as a shock, I mean. Not Sir Cathbad, or whatever his name is.” He blinked. “Does he climb trees a lot?”
“Only at this time of year,” replied Rosaline, seating herself and gesturing at chairs.
“Of course,” smiled Ariadne. “The solstice. Yule. Cathbad is a Druid name, is it not? Hence the mistletoe. And it was an oak tree, too. That made the difference.”
Silence fell as the occupants of the room struggled to find a suitable response.
“Mistletoe that thrives on the limbs of an oak is rare and reputedly more powerful than its more common cousins.” Ariadne squared her shoulders. “Anyway.” She waved the matter aside. “We have been travelling for two days, my Lord, my Lady. So your warm welcome is most appreciated.”
“We can’t turn away travellers bringing us a wounded neighbour.” Rosaline smiled. “But, if I may ask…who are you and why are you here? Other than this whole…um...thing…” She waved a hand between Michael and the Baron.
“Good grief. Forgive me…” Ariadne blushed. “This is Michael FitzDoone and I am…Ariadne FitzDoone.”
“You’re married?” Rosaline glanced at them both.
“Yes,” replied Michael firmly.
“Sort of,” said Ariadne, not quite so firmly.
Rosaline rolled her eyes. “I suggest the best thing is for you to start at the beginning, because I have a feeling this could get complicated.” She glanced at her husband. “If there are Ridlingtons involved, which obviously there are, then it’s no surprise whatsoever.” She looked back at Ariadne. “If ever there was a family for making life complicated, it’s the Ridlingtons.”
The door opened and a vicar strolled in, looked at Michael and Edmund, and tripped over the carpet. “Jesus,” he said.
“Simon,” remonstrated the woman behind him. “For heaven’s sake…” Then she saw what he was looking at and walked right into his back.
“I don’t believe it,” said the vicar, turning to the Baron. “Edmund?”
“The eyes,” said his wife, peering around Simon. “This one’s got green eyes. That one’s are brown.”
The Baron found his voice. “All right. Everyone sit. Obviously we are welcoming another Ridlington into our midst, so we might as well all settle in while the story is told.”
Michael remained standing and faced the Baron with his chin high. “You should know, sir, that I am a bastard.”
The Baron shrugged. “I hate to tell you this, sir, but so was your father. The difference being yours was clearly by birth. His was by his own choice. Sit down and let’s straighten all this out.”
“You are welcome here as family, Mr FitzDoone. We do not judge anyone by their birth. Only their character.” Rosaline’s tone brooked no arguments.
The Vicar nodded. “And since I’m Edmund’s brother Simon Ridlington, I feel it incumbent upon me to agree on behalf of the rest of the family. And my wife Tabitha, of course.”
“A bit pompous there, Simon,” Rosaline quirked an eyebrow at him.
“He’s just fini
shed the Christmas Eve children’s service,” sighed Tabitha. “He had to be quite dignified for that, you understand. It’ll wear off.”
Simon rolled his eyes. “There’s not an ounce of respect in this woman for her husband.”
“Since when did women have to measure respect for their husbands?”
Another voice sounded and a lovely woman flounced in to the parlour. “I need tea. There must be tea.” She looked around and then froze, mouth agape, staring at the two men. “Dear God above.”
Rosaline sighed and shot a quick look at Ariadne. “This is Letitia Ridlington, Lady FitzArden. Yes, another Ridlington. Where’s James?” The latter question was addressed to Letitia who continued to goggle at the two men.
“Who?”
“Your husband, dearest.”
“Rosaline. Do you see…this? Is it real?” Letitia FitzArden had turned quite pale.
“Do sit down, Letitia. We’re just about to hear all about it and how it came about.”
Letitia sat and recovered herself, still glancing between Edmund and Michael. “Well, I should think it’s pretty obvious how it came about. Dear Papa, I suppose.”
“There might be another reason,” said Simon amiably. “Let’s not jump the gun here.”
“Oh really, brother mine. Use your eyes. I’ve not only jumped the gun, I’ve shot it, dropped it, retrieved the quail and I’m reloading already,” replied Letitia, somewhat caustically.
“Stop wrangling, children. I want to hear the story.” Rosaline turned to Ariadne and Michael. “Please tell it? Before I absolutely die of curiosity?”
Michael sighed and looked at Ariadne. “The whole thing?”
She glanced around, seeing Michael’s double, the Baron, looking at her with a blend of kindness and curiosity. Everyone was eager to listen, their faces mirroring interest. There was no sign of distaste, of arrogance…nothing to indicate they were anything other than what they seemed.
It’s family.
She nodded in agreement with the words she heard so clearly. “Yes, Michael. I think it’s time to tell it all.”
