Wynne gave Luhaunt a bright smile. “And I thought the afternoon could not get any better, Rowe showing me the stables—and then to meet a friend of his.”
“I am pleased—” The mare reared, kicking away from Luhaunt.
She watched Luhaunt scramble to get in front of the horse’s nose, trying to calm the mare.
Wynne stole a glance at Rowen and he caught her eye, his amusement plain. “We were in the war together. Luhaunt has a sixth sense when it comes to finding horses of merit, so he was particularly handy for our work on the continent. He still is.”
The horse semi-calm, Rowen turned his attention to Luhaunt. “I did not expect you for a few weeks.”
Luhaunt shrugged. “I am just passing through—I thought to take this one up to Lanark. But she got spooked a half day back and has not recovered. I do not think we could make the trip without killing each other, so I veered here to switch her out.”
Rowen looked to Wynne. “Luhaunt is on his way to pick up several horses in the north. If he approves of them, of course. He has as much of a stake in this breeding farm as I do.”
“Yes, plus, Rowe needs me to find the good breeds,” Luhaunt said. “He is much too particular with how his horses measure up—this place would be near empty without me.”
Wynne nodded. “I imagine Phalos has done that to him.”
Luhaunt chuckled. “Yes, Phalos does set a high bar to match.” He looked to Rowen, his eyebrow arched. “Miss Theaton is a discerning one. I look forward to chatting with her further when I return.”
Rowen stepped forward, slapping Luhaunt on the shoulder, ushering him into the stable. “I can see you are anxious to be along—drop the mare by Phalos. I will check on her in a few minutes. Stall sixty-eight has a nice mare—fresh—for the rest of your journey. Are you sure you do not wish to stay the night?”
“No. I had hoped to be to the border by nightfall, so best to stay on the move. I will stay for a spell on my return.”
Rowen gave him a nod. “God-speed.”
Luhaunt looked to Wynne. “It has been a pleasure—short—but a pleasure.”
“The same for me,” Wynne said.
Luhaunt moved from Rowen and Wynne into the stable. Rowen watched him for just a moment before turning to Wynne, holding his hand forward for them to walk.
“He is the wind, that one. Loves the travel. Loves the people everywhere he is. Loves not having anything permanent in his life.”
“But I understand he is a good friend to you?”
“The best.”
For the next two hours, Rowen walked Wynne through the other stables, showing her some of the horses from the war, some of their descendants, some that were here for breeding, some that were currently being trained for racing, some that were here to live out their elderly years in peace.
It was when they were walking up the hill from the edge of the stone-lined pastures that Rowen stopped, turning back to survey the stables and expansive land.
Wynne turned with him, though her eyes were drawn more to his profile than the vista before them. His jawline looked settled, more peaceful than she had ever seen him.
“I did want you to see this, Wynne. To know that there is another purpose to my being here, other than to destroy the castle—other than to drive the dowager into utter madness. All of these horses now have a home where they are well cared for and can be bred appropriately.”
His hand swept around him. “Notlund has the perfect land and the location—England, Ireland, Scotland, the continent—horsemen have started to come from far and wide to buy, sell, and breed horses here. Which is why the castle is so important—I need a place to host the most discerning of those men. Decisions about what lines to breed are not taken lightly.”
Transfixed, Wynne’s eyes could not leave his face. “It is amazing. And these horses—you pamper them. It almost makes me wish I were one of your mares.”
He smiled, giving her a sideways glance. “I doubt you would let me pamper you, Wynne.”
“What? Why?”
“You are far too spirited to be owned by pampering. If you were a horse I would have to take great pains to take care of you, without you knowing I was doing so.”
She laughed, acknowledging the truth of it. “Blame my grandfather. I am sure if my father had not died, I would have reached adulthood like my mother—gentle, kind, demure—but always needing someone to take care of me. It was the way of my early years, and it was jarring at first, living with my grandfather.”
Wynne turned, her gaze on a far-off hill with one lone horse atop. “He expected so much more of me—demanded so much more. How to survive off the land with only a knife. How to take care of myself and my mother. And I loved that life.” A smirk lined her lips as her gaze went back to Rowen. “But that does not mean I have not, on occasion, looked longingly at the pampered life.”
“I will remember that.”
She turned fully to him just as a waft of smoke drifted by. It stopped her movement and her nose turned up.
“What?” Rowen asked.
Wynne tilted her head, unsure as she took a deep inhale. “That smell. It was in that shack by the bog, as well.”
Rowen lifted his nose to the air, sniffing. He looked at her. “Peat?”
“Peat? What is peat?”
“It is cut out of the bog—the moors. Many people burn it instead of wood. It makes for a good fire, but there is an odor to it.” He pointed to the smoke coming from the chimney of the two-story building by the woods. “The workers are burning it in their quarters.”
“Tanloon…” The word came out of Wynne’s mouth as a whisper and her eyebrows arched.
Rowen shook his head, forehead collapsed in confusion. “Tanloon? What?”
Wynne took another sniff of the air. “I do not know. That smell. That word came to my mind last night when the smell from the fire you lit drifted to me, but I lost it before I could say it out loud. Tanloon. What is that?”
Rowen’s eyes went to the sky, pondering. “There is a town, Tanloon, up in northern Yorkshire.”
Her eyes widened. “It is a town? Where? How far away?”
“A half day by fast horse, maybe more. Why? Did the dowager say something about it?”
“No. I know that name. That place.”
“What?” Rowen grabbed her shoulders. “Wynne, are you remembering something?”
“I…” She rubbed her forehead. “It is just the name. The smell and then that name. It is all I can pull out. Nothing else—nothing…”
“Try, Wynne. Tanloon. Try to dig it out. Tanloon. Did you live there?”
“I do not know. I—there is nothing. Just that name. I am trying. Tanloon. Tanloon.” She hit her forehead with her palm repeatedly, a low, frustrated scream tearing from her lungs.
Rowen grabbed her wrist, stilling it before she could continue the onslaught. “We will go there, Wynne. If it will help you remember. We will go there and search. Your mother could be there.”
Her face whipped up to his, her eyes huge. “My mother…”
Nodding, he lowered her wrist to her side and released it.
She seized his forearm, fingernails digging into his bare skin. “Rowe, I have to go. I have to go now. She could be there. She could be there and waiting for me. She would be frantic.”
“It is too late in the day, Wynne. We will go first thing in the morning.”
“No, Rowe, I have to go now.”
“Wynne, you do not know what is there. Much less where the town is. I will bring you there as quickly as possible and we will find answers. But we have to leave tomorrow—before dawn breaks, we will go. I promise.”
She searched his dark eyes, desperate against his logic, but she knew he was right. Her fingers still digging into his arm, she had to force herself to nod agreement.
Her mother. She truly could find her mother again.
And with that, her memories.
{ Chapter 9 }
The moment they saw
the edge of the small village from a far-off hill, Wynne dug her heel into her horse, pushing it as hard as she could toward the town. They had left before dawn and had made it to the area by late morning—much faster than Rowen had expected.
Rowen hustled Phalos after Wynne, but gave her healthy space. He didn’t want to be between her and her memories if she recognized anything.
The town was snugged into a narrow valley, mostly made up of tiny houses and buildings, some two or three rows deep into the surrounding hills. The whole of it—small.
Rowen had only been through this town once, late at night and years ago. He had stopped at a tavern for a quick meal, but then had been on his way, not noting anything of importance about the village.
In front of him, Wynne slowed, her head swinging back and forth with frantic eyes on every building. Rowen kept Phalos back a few horse’s lengths, vigilantly watching her study the houses. He could tell she had yet to recognize anything.
Though small, the town still supported at least the three taverns that they had already passed, a church, a bakery, a blacksmith, one boarding house, and a butcher, and Rowen could see a tall water wheel spinning at a mill on the far edge of the town.
Wynne curbed her honey-colored mare to an almost crawl. A moment later, she yanked on the reins, flying off the horse.
“There.” She was pointing, on the run before Rowen caught up to her. He dismounted, grabbing the reins of both horses before following Wynne up a path between two houses. There were two small, square shacks stacked up the hill behind the bigger house on the main street.
“This.” Wynne looked back over her shoulder at him. “This. I know this house, Rowe. I know it.” The sheer excitement on her face made her cheeks glow. Rowen just hoped it was warranted.
“Eh. Ye. Where ye be goin’, sir?”
A gruff voice from behind made Rowen turn around, looking around Phalos’s head to see a girthy woman wiping her hands on a stained apron. She stood in the doorway of the bigger house they had just passed.
“Hello. I apologize for the intrusion. Do you know who lives here?” Rowen half-turned, pointing at the two houses. Wynne was already jiggling the door latch on the far house.
He moved to block Wynne from the woman’s view.
“Boon send ye from the tavern? Ye be needin’ a room ta rent?”
“Is that what these are? Both of them?”
“Just the back one, sir. Front one be rented. Back one be open now.”
“Who rents the front one?”
The woman’s hands went on her wide hips, thrusting her left hip higher as her eyes narrowed at him. “Why ye be needin’ to know that?”
“I am just curious if it is a loud neighbor,” Rowen said.
“It be ole Jack that lives there. He ain’t too loud.” She leaned further out from her doorway, stretching to see past Rowen. “What yer lady be doin’?”
Rowen re-angled himself in front of the woman. “She is tired. We have been traveling a distance, and she is anxious to rest.”
“Oh. Well, ye cin take a look inside and see if it be to yer likin’. Ye be stayin’ a stretch? There be a post out back for the horses.”
“Thank you. We will take a look around.”
She gave him a nod, spinning back in through her doorway.
By the time Rowen walked up the short hill, Wynne had already disappeared into the confines of the small shack.
She left the door open, and Rowen looked in to see Wynne in the middle of the main living space, her back to him. She looked rooted to the spot, not moving.
He gave her a moment, going around to the back of the shack to tie the horses to the post. Foot creaking the wooden floorboards, he stepped into the house tentatively, not wanting to disturb her, but intensely curious as to what was going through her mind.
The place was dark, only one small window in the back where he could see Phalos’s tail swishing. It was sparse—a fireplace, a wooden table with two chairs, a black iron pot on the floor by the hearth, a fire poker, and beyond that, a doorway into another room with a grey curtain hanging for privacy. Dusty wood shavings littered the floor. Not large, but comfortable enough for two people to live there.
Wynne had yet to move.
Rowen stayed by the doorway, wanting to block the landlady if she came up to check on them. “Have you remembered anything?”
Wynne nodded, without a word, and then her head dropped forward. Rowen closed the door behind him and went over to her.
Tears streaming down her face, dropping, she didn’t look up as he rounded her.
“You were here?”
Wet droplets splattered onto the floor, darkening the dusty boards. “We lived here. I remember living here…Painting over in that corner.” She inclined her head to the spot between the table and the fireplace. “My paintings…” Her arm swung around her. “They lined the walls—filled them.”
“Why were you here?”
Wynne shook her head, her fingers going to her temples, rubbing as she closed her eyes. “She wanted to…mother…after grandfather died…she thought she could find my father’s family. His cousins. She did not think we could survive on the mountain without grandfather. I tried to convince her to stay. I knew we could. I tried. She would not listen—would not see. And this…this is where she thought they lived.”
“The cousins? In Tanloon?”
“Yes…but my mother—she is not here. I do not remember…”
Her head dropped again.
“Do not give up, Wynne.” Rowen’s hand went to her upper arm, rubbing against the dark wool cloak draped over her. “Look around. You have only been in here for a few minutes. If you have started to remember, the rest will come.”
It took a few seconds, but she nodded numbly at his words, her movements wooden as she walked around the small room, her hand trailing across the table, stopping to look out the window, bending over at the hearth to look into the fireplace.
“Where did it all go?” Her head wobbling, she stood straight. “I remember it all, Rowe. I remember all of this. But I do not remember why we left. Our possessions are not here. My paints. My easel. My portraits. It was a home. We had a home. But all of it is gone.”
Rowen was at a loss. He didn’t want to give Wynne hope against what her mind was determined to keep secret. But he held back his pessimism. “Keep walking. Keep remembering.”
She took a deep breath and moved past him, her eyes on the floor. Stopping at the entrance to the back room, she drew aside the curtain.
The instant she looked up, she gasped, her body doubling over. But instead of stepping backward, where her body leaned to escape, her feet took her forward into the room.
Rowen was at her heels in an instant, ready to catch her, and looking over her head into the room.
Empty.
A worn bed. A dresser. That was all.
But Wynne’s body had begun to shake. Shake violently.
Her hand was solid over her mouth, and it looked like she was holding back a heave.
She spun, frantic, and Rowen caught sight of her eyes. Terrified. Terrified and horrified.
“No, Rowe. No.” The words barely formed.
“What is it?”
“He beat her here. I was in the forest and I came in…” She spun slowly in a circle, her eyes glazed. “The blood…I tried to stop him—I went between them and bent to cover her—but he picked me off and threw me into the wall and it all went black… And when I woke, that—”
She pushed Rowen aside, running past him into the main room. He quickly followed.
Her steps halted in the middle of the floor, sending her slipping toward the fireplace. She fell onto her butt. “The poker…”
Scrambling backward on her feet and hands, terrorized, she only stopped when she hit the wall opposite the fireplace. But her feet still moved, pushing her into the wall, toes fighting against the floor—against the horror.
“Tell me, Wynne. Tell me.”
She shoo
k her head violently, the back of her head banging on the wall. But she opened her mouth. “He beat her—with that.” She pointed across the room. “The poker. The poker. And the blood flew. The blood…I went weak. And then he saw me awake.”
Her hand flew across her mouth, her eyes shut hard against the scene in her mind.
“I tried to get my knife out, but I lost it in my bag. And he swung. I rolled. And he swung again. I got past him. And I ran. I ran.”
Her breath heaving, her words stopped.
Rowen looked around the room. Everything seemed somewhat clean and orderly. Whatever had happened here had long since been removed. He took a step backward to look into the bedroom again. Neat and unused.
Just as he leaned forward, his eyes caught sight of a large dark spot on the planks of the wood floor. It wasn’t much, the wood was dark to begin with, but it was noticeable, even under the wood shavings and dust covering the floor.
He moved into the small bedroom, dragging the toe of his boot across the floor to scrape it down to the plank. Noticeably dark. Blood? Long dried, but cleaned up blood?
Stepping back into the main room, Rowen’s gaze fell down to Wynne. Sitting, her back propped against the wall with her arms wrapping herself, her breathing had slowed.
Her eyes opened to him.
Torture, down to the depths of her soul, shook in her eyes. He recognized it instantly, and it twisted his chest. Stole his breath.
“I left her, Rowe.” She whispered the words. “I ran and I left her.”
Rowen took a small step toward her. “Was she alive, Wynne?”
Her eyes closed again, her head hitting the wood behind her, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. “It does not matter whether she was alive, Rowe. I left. I god-damned left her. I never…I never should have left her.”
Rowen took another step, bending to one knee next to her.
“You had to stay alive, Wynne. It would have been death if you stayed.”
“No, I had to take care of her. That was the one thing I was supposed to do—take care of her. I had the knife, but I ran…I ran.”
Worth of a Duke Page 10
