Passion's Series

by Adair, Mary

  They finally stopped in front of a cottage. Just as Grandpa had promised, it was the last one on the lane and, in Dawn's opinion, the loveliest she had seen so far. The ivy-covered home and its gardens cradled snugly in the bosom of the woods that hovered protectively about the stonewall surrounding the house. Within, shorter walls neatly divided the paddock and encircled well-tended gardens. Though it was late into the growing season the gardens were alive with autumn herbs and late blooming flowers, their scents filling the air.

  Grandpa opened the gate and let Dawn pass through as he called to his wife. "Granny, come and meet Dawn. She's from the colonies!"

  His wife peeked from around a flowering shrub. Her smile was quick to appear and her tiny face, encircled by the ruffle of her mobcap, gleamed with welcome. Granny pushed herself to her feet and carefully dusted her apron and gloved hands as she walked forward to meet her visitor. Dawn could see at once that the woman's diminutive size did not mirror the size of her heart. Her spirit shone through eyes as warm and welcoming as the first rays of sun on a winter morning.

  "How luvly to meet ye."

  "You remember Raven Cloud? I told ye all about how he won that horse race a couple of years back. Dawn here is his fiancée."

  "Yes, I remember ye goin' on 'bout that race." Granny tilted her head and grinned, as she removed a glove and offered her hand. "May I ask, why are ye dressed as a boy?"

  Returning the older woman's open and friendly smile, Dawn reached for the extended hand. "It seems that everyone I meet asks the same question."

  Granny's eyes darted as if insuring no curious townsfolk lingered nearby. "Well, I'm not surprised, my dear." She lowered her voice. "Do ye not know there are those who would take strong offence to yer choice of clothing—colonial or not?" Taking Dawn by the elbow, she ushered her down the path toward the porch and through the door.

  The aroma of drying herbs drifted about Dawn as she entered the common room. Lavender and fennel mixed with cinnamon and camphor, garlic and peppermint blended with comfrey. All manner of herbs filled the room. Some hung from the low rafters, some lay tied in bundles and others were stacked in baskets. Two large chairs with overstuffed cushions were placed at each side of a small stone fireplace. The furniture was sparse, save for one larger table and a couple of smaller ones placed within easy reach of each chair.

  On the larger table, and in baskets cluttering the floor, were items of importance to a herbalist. Trinkets that no doubt held a special place in the hearts of her host and hostess were carefully placed on tables as well as graced the walls. She found the gentle aroma of the herbs and the busy clutter of the warm room welcoming and somehow soothing to her spirit. No doubt, a woman with Granny's obvious love for herbs would have the potions she needed for Raven.

  Granny drew her attention back. "Come into the kitchen, Dawn. We'll 'ave a nice cup of tea." She poked her head out and called to Grandpa, who was already on his way out of the garden. "Will ye join us, Grandpa?"

  "No, dear," he answered her. "I want to go back to the stables and be sure Raven finds his way 'ere. I shan't be long." He closed the wooden gate and hurried down the path.

  Granny shut the door and turned to Dawn. "This way, then" She indicated a door to their right. "I am so anxious to 'ear all about the adventure you're on."

  "Adventure?" Dawn asked with surprise.

  She followed Granny into a kitchen, much larger than she had expected to see in the small cottage. Granny pulled out a chair for Dawn and then quickly set about to collect a service for her guest.

  Dawn noticed the patchwork design on the fluffy pillow placed in the chair seat. She discreetly fingered the colorful, sturdy fabric of the cushion as she lowered herself. Her mother would love such a cushion, she mused. She would make her one just as soon as all was settled.

  The clinking of pottery as Granny bustled about to fetch cups from the cupboard drew Dawn's attention back to the room. All about the tidy kitchen were open rows of shelves arranged with a large array of glass jars filled with an assortment of dried leaves.

  "My, you are well stocked," Dawn commented. She tried not to fidget, and wondered when Raven would arrive.

  Granny filled two cups with a strong aromatic brew, then seated herself and grinned proudly. "Yes, I am. I must be. I take care of as many as I can. I grow tha herbs what I can cultivate, but there are many others what one must go out into the forest and harvest if you want 'em to be at their best." She patted Dawn's hand. "Now, you were going ta tell me all 'bout yer adventure."

  "Ah, yes. Why am I dressed as a boy?" Dawn found Granny as likeable as Grandpa. Her instincts were seldom wrong about people, and her feelings about the elderly couple were soothing.

  Peering over the rim of her cup in anticipation, Granny sipped the honey-sweetened brew.

  "Well," Dawn began, "Raven and I are on a trip to York to purchase an herb for a dear friend of ours. Time cannot be wasted, so I'm dressed in this fashion to ride astride and cut the travel time in half. On the way we ran into a bit of trouble. Three highwaymen thought to hold us up."

  "Oh, dear." Granny lowered her cup. "Was either of you injured?"

  "Yes, actually. But not seriously," she rushed to reassure Granny. "Raven received a small bullet graze on his side. I was hoping you would have a potion for his wound and maybe even a compound for a stone bruise for one of our mounts."

  "My, my." Granny beamed with pleasure. She reached over and patted Dawn's hand. "Don't ye worry about a thing. I can fix you all right up. I'm pleased yer friend is not seriously injured. Those highwaymen can be a dangerous lot."

  She moved to her cupboard. "I 'ave a wide variety of herbs as ye can see. Don't worry 'bout the horse, I keep the smith well stocked. He'll 'ave everything he needs. As for Raven, I'm sure I'll have just what he needs and will tend that wound as soon as he gets 'ere with Grandpa. Now, tell me about your friend's ailment and I'll mix up what you need. The trip to York may not be necessary at all."

  Dawn was immediately hopeful. "My friend is about your age and has a condition of the heart. In the land of my home, we have a plant called Bearded Tongue. It is of a very pale pink with a beard of yellow hairs."

  Granny raised her hand. "I know just what you are looking for. 'Ere it's called foxglove." She turned and rummaged through her bottles. Finding what she wanted, she returned, bottle in hand. "I 'ave plenty of foxglove. Are ye well versed in its use? It can be as harmful, if not used properly, as it can be a life saver."

  Dawn pushed herself up and hurried forward. She took the bottle, uncorked it, and examined the contents. "Yes, I know all about the herb, except that it grew here. The King sent my Da to my land. He was a physician, among other things." She peeked at Granny through her lashes and grinned. "My mother is Cherokee." At Granny's look of confusion she added, "An Indian."

  Granny's hands flew to her tiny rosebud mouth. Her eyes above her fingers showed excitement. Dawn held her breath.

  "What? Ye be an Indian? " She lowered her hands to grip them together before her chest. Her face now beamed with pleasure. "I would never 'ave guessed. 'Twas told to me the Indians 'ad red skin and dark hair. I 'ave heard the Americas are rich in plants and the Indians know every use there be of every herb." Granny reached out to place her hands over Dawn’s, which gripped the jar. She patted her briskly. "You take this, I'm sure you 'ave no need for me to explain its use."

  Dawn released her breath. Granny's unexpected response brought a relieved sigh. She never knew what response to expect from these Englishmen, and would not have let it slip she was Indian if her thinking were not muddled by her concern for Raven. "Thank you, but I'm sure there is much I could learn from you."

  Granny took the jar from Dawn and placed it on the table. "Will you come with me to the garden? Maybe we can teach each other."

  "I would enjoy that. Do you think it will be much longer before Grandpa returns with Raven?"

  With a firm grip on Dawn's hand, Granny led her from the kitchen through a back
door and into the garden. "I expect them to return any moment." Stopping, she pronounced proudly, "This is my autumn garden."

  She had reason to be proud, Dawn conceded as she squatted down to examine the hardy plants.

  "Granny!"

  The front door slammed shut as Grandpa's urgent call reached them. Granny placed a hand on Dawn's arm. The world around Dawn seemed to shrink as she slowly lowered her gaze to Granny's hand and then looked up into her eyes. She heard Grandpa's hurried steps, the urgency in his voice, even the sound of birds singing, but it all seemed distant and unreal. The only reality was the look of uncertainty in Granny's eyes and the tingle of fear that raced along her skin as she remembered the vision of a raven falling from the sky.

  "Granny, Dawn!" Grandpa burst into the garden. "Raven is bein' 'eld by the Magistrate. '"E's been accused of stealing one of Lord Whitmore's prized 'orses."

  Dawn shook herself. "I must go to him."

  Grandpa shook his head and looked to Granny for understanding. "You can't go," he told Dawn. "They be looking for ye as well."

  "Oh, dear. Oh, dear," Granny echoed.

  Both Granny and Grandpa sounded as if they spoke from the bottom of a deep well. Dawn pushed herself up and then helped Granny to rise. "I love Raven. I must go to him," she announced and would have walked away had not Grandpa held her firm.

  "Ye dare not, Dawn. I fear there is a great mischief 'ere. Why would anyone accuse Raven of such a thing? Why would he bring ye on a journey dressed in this way, and why would he be ill?"

  Dawn could not believe what she was hearing. "How could you know that Raven is ill?"

  "I saw it with me own eyes. Oh, 'e tries to hide it alright, but I 'ave been married to me wife too long not to recognize illness when I see it." Grandpa let his hand drop and stepped back. "I think Raven is in danger and maybe you as well. I will take ye somewhere safe."

  "Grandpa is right," Granny added the weight of her argument to her husband's. "This isn't somethin' for a woman to get in the middle of. Ye go along with Grandpa. He'll take ye someplace safe," Granny continued in short clipped sentences, and in a not to be argued with tone. "I'll go meself to offer medicinal aid to Raven. The Magistrate will not deny Raven to be cared for. Someone will leave this very night to fetch Lord Whitmore home. I know 'im very well. He'll come right away."

  Dawn fought her growing dread as she tried to explain. "You don't understand. I know Raven is in danger. It's why I'm here. He is my passion.. .my mate. I would never leave him alone."

  Grandpa, as if sensing a lost battle, turned and stepped back into the kitchen.

  Granny blinked back tears. "What if yer passion cost ye yer life?"

  Dawn felt time slipping past. Early in her training her mother taught her time was not to be rushed and not to be wasted. It was a delicate balance that she was yet to master. Raven's life, and maybe her own, depended on her sense of timing. She met Granny's gaze. "Would you offer any less?"

  Granny's eyes darted back and forth as she studied Dawn's features. Finally, she glanced toward her home and watched her husband fumble nervously with his pipe. She turned back to Dawn and smiled sadly. "I understand."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Magistrate Malcolm Whipple counted the coins for the third time and chuckled. Not a bad price to lock a man up just so he can escape. Good thing for all involved that Whitmore had left for London. He could get right particular about his thoroughbreds. So particular in fact, that Whipple would never have dared the prank if Whitmore were still sitting at home.

  For now, the thoroughbred stood safe and sound in the stables. He would take him back to Lord Whitmore's farm himself in the morning. Whitmore just might be so grateful he'd offer a hefty reward for the horse's return. Whipple picked up a coin and examined it in the fading light. How he enjoyed the rich color of gold, and its cool surface.

  A heavy hammering on his door interrupted his appreciation of his new funds. He quickly swept the coins from the table into a small pouch and tucked it safely away in his desk.

  "Sir!" he exclaimed uneasily as he opened the door.

  "Hello, Magistrate," Richard Whitmore answered. "I understand you're holding a horse thief. I would like to see him immediately."

  Whipple swung the door wide and spread his arm in welcome. "Of course, Sir Richard. I thought ye were on yer way to visit the wife's family in London. "

  "We were, but Lady Whitmore fell ill and we had to postpone the trip." Whitmore stepped forward as he removed his gloves, then slapped them against one hand. "If you would be so kind, take me to this scoundrel who dared steal one of my thoroughbreds. "

  Whipple bobbed his head as he indicated for Whitmore to follow him. "This way, sir. If I may ask, 'ow did ye learn so quickly of the theft?" he asked with concealed irritation as he shuffled down the corridor.

  Whitmore didn't spare the rotund magistrate a glance. "You should know by now, Magistrate, that very little escapes my knowledge."

  Whipple nodded, but wondered if the answer contained a hidden meaning. They continued without further conversation along the hallway to the back of his home. He paused at a door. "Ere's the room," the jailer proclaimed. "E's in 'ere. Safe and sound 'e be, He lifted a large ring of keys. "Might I suggest ye be careful with this one? E's a cagey one, 'e is."

  "No need to worry about me, Magistrate. Now hurry along and open the door."

  "I must say, your being' home is a lucky turn for me." He fumbled with the keys hoping Sir Richard wouldn't notice that the door was unlocked. "I was going to hold 'im 'ere till yer returned, knowing ye would want ta interview him yerself afore his sentencing'." The key turned with a loud clink and he swung the door open.

  Raven turned from the window as the two men entered. When he saw his old friend, relief rushed through him. He would finally have this matter settled and be on his way.

  "Raven? Raven Cloud? Good Lord man, you look awful." Whitmore extended a hand and walked toward Raven. "What nonsense is this?"

  "The Magistrate here believes I stole your horse." Raven still intended to learn why the accusation was made, but would leave it until after the needed medication was retrieved for Lady Montgomery. All he wanted now was to find Dawn and complete their mission.

  "'E did, Lord Whitmore." Whipple hurried forward in his own defense. "There was an eye witness."

  Whitmore turned to the Magistrate. "And you trust this witness of yours?"

  Whipple wrung his hands. "Aye, I do." He swung his arm in Raven's direction. "I 'ave never laid eyes on this man 'afore today. 'He ain't dressed as no Lord, 'e ain't. And me witness said he seen 'em clear as day."

  "Your witness lied. I suggest you run him down and question him again. I hope you didn't send your witness to return my mare."

  Whipple relaxed for the first time since Whitmore's arrival. "Oh, no Milord, I wouldn't trust her with nobody but the smith. She be safe and sound."

  "Good." Whitmore dismissed the Magistrate as he slapped Raven affectionately on the shoulder. "Come home with me.

  Rebecca is indisposed, but Phillip would love to see you. I wager he has grown a foot from the time you last saw him."

  Raven's knees almost buckled under the friendly blow. He retrieved his coat from the back of a straight cane chair and laid it across one arm. The two men walked past Whipple down the hall and out the front door without a backward glance. "I promise to come calling soon." He pulled a handkerchief from his cuff and dabbed at his brow. "But at the moment, I have pressing business. The good magistrate cost me valuable time." He swayed.

  "I say man, are you ill?" Whitmore put out a hand to steady him. "Into my carriage with you. I know just the woman who can help."

  Raven raised a hand in protest, but Whitmore ignored him as he pushed him into his carriage. After issuing clipped directions to the driver, he joined Raven.

  The pain in his side worsened and Raven knew the wound required attention before he and Dawn headed back to London. He shifted on the seat as he glanced out the win
dow. "Where are you taking me?"

  "There is a marvelous old lady just down the lane here. She is well versed in herbs and their uses. I highly recommend her."

  "Sounds like the very person I'm looking for."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes, Dawn, my traveling companion, left me at the stables to go in search of Granny Wallace." He shifted again and a fine sweat popped out on his brow. "We ran into Grandpa Wallace when we entered town," he finished with a groan.

  Whitmore reached a hand to support his friend. "I'm glad to be of assistance. Who is this Dawn, then, old boy?"

  Raven slumped forward as the carriage came to a halt. "Raven?" Whitmore hammered on the carriage ceiling as he struggled to support Raven's considerable weight.

  Raven heard his friend's query, but could not find the strength to answer.

  "Sir?" the driver queried as he opened the carriage door. "Help me get him inside."

  The two men lifted Raven from the carriage. Between them, they carried his limp form up the walk. Raven struggled to help, but his legs refused to function.

  "Dear me, what is amiss, Sir Richard?" Granny Wallace opened the door wide as she motioned for them to follow. "Is this Mr. Cloud? Is Dawn with you?"

  "I don't know about Dawn, she was not at the Magistrate's when I arrived."

  Granny shut the door and hurried down the hallway. "Well, bring 'im in here." She led the troop into a small bedroom to the back of the cottage. "Please, undress 'im and lay 'im there," she said and pointed at the bed. Under her watchful eye, the two men did as they were instructed.

  When the bandage on his side was revealed, she hurried forward. "Oh, dear, look at this bandage," she exclaimed as she bent to probe at it. "This is no doubt the cause of his illness. Get him settled and leave so I can care for 'im."

  Seeing the job done, the driver excused himself and left.