CHAPTER TEN
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Actually that applies to any horse.”
Mrs Tadlow. Widow, mother and ten-year resident of Ingleford Lodge.
Rosalind was late, and she hated being late. It was her own fault: she’d dithered and, worse, it was merely over the colour of her riding habit.
In her slightly despondent mood, she’d stared into the wardrobe and considered the black.
The dressmaker had included it in the delivery as a last-ditch attempt at sobriety and Rosalind agreed, it did suit her colouring. It was a warm wool habit, military in style with silver frogging and exquisite lace at the cuffs and neck.
Now she was late, and despite her long stride, she was never going to make the stables for ten…sharp.
“Ridges, is the major here?” Peering around, she couldn’t see him in the yard. Maybe after yesterday, he’d rather not teach her. He did, after all, have better things to do.
Unfortunately, she was rather convinced that if anyone would be able teach her to ride, it would be Lucas. He had the right amount of patience but could also be stubborn. She was sure he wouldn’t stomp off in a huff if she said that the horses were demons in disguise.
“Dunno, Miss. I’ve been with the new foal. Alfie looked after the major. Alf?” he called out. The yell was strangely hushed.
A small dark-haired boy appeared, itching his ear. “Wot?”
“Mind your manners, our kid. Did the major have a message for Miss Trewent when he left?”
The boy wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Said he didn’t think you was coming, Miss. Waited a bit and then took off on the hunter. Said if you turned up, you could meet him at the big oak. Billy tacked the old mare for you.”
Ridges nodded at the boy who scratched his backside and disappeared back into the hay barn.
“Are you walking? Or d’you want me to ready the pony and cart, Miss? The crows are circling again.”
Ridges stared at her, his black eyes unblinking, awaiting a response. Strange fellow. He had a silent tread that always made you jump, a wiry strength that belied his slim frame, and he often came out with sentences that made no sense. That’s probably what happened when you talked to horses all day.
“No, no. It’s only a short walk across the woods. I’ll be fine.”
The groom frowned and leaned forward, his swarthy features crinkling. “You shouldn’t be walking in the woods alone, Miss. ’Tis dangerous.”
“Honestly, Ridges, you would hear me scream from there.”
“Aye, but no one heard those other two girls scream, did they?”
“Erm, no.” His intent stare seemed to bore through her. Rosalind continued, “But I do have a knife.”
He nodded, apparently satisfied. “Well, off you go for your lesson. Can’t live on a stud farm and not ride. ’Tisn’t normal.”
Rosalind glared – the cheek of him, but Benedict hired the best grooms, their manners be damned. “Well, listen out for my screams. Of course, I might be screaming anyway if Iamon a horse.”
“Major will look out for you, lass.” And he winked; the man actually winked at her.
For the past six years, Rosalind had walked daily in these beautiful woods, and yet now she felt uneasy. It could be that the warning from Ridges had affected her imagination, but she felt…watched.
A sharp squawk ripped the sky, and she saw the huge black wings of a crow flap ominously overhead. She tightened her hand on the small knife that was usually hidden in her reticule. Benedict had gifted her with the weapon. An unusual birthday present for her twenty-first year, but one she treasured whilst alone on her long walks. The mechanism was sprung, a small button releasing the sharp blade from the handle, which was carved from stag antler – discreet, small and it peeled apples in an instant.
Trees that had always felt welcoming looked dead and gaunt in the low winter sun. Despite the lack of leaf, the woods were still dark, with large branches overhanging and the autumn smell of decay lingering in the air. By a large ash, she stopped as she had done a hundred times before and listened.
Silence. She strained her ears but couldn’t hear anything. There was always sound – birds, the wind, rustling leaves or the faint sound of voices. Nothing. A sudden crack, like footfall on a twig, spurred her into action.
Imagination or not, the woods frightened her today and she ran.
Lucas stared up from beneath the tree and admired the deep blue sky glinting between the branches. It was so peaceful in the clearing, resting against the old oak.
