“Rosalind.” She could feel his hands tighten on her shoulders, and he paused. “How shall I put this… There are more people who know, or at the very least suspect, your…talent than you realise. Lily, Mrs Reynolds, Cooper, Ridges, O’Carroll. Half the village knows you helped find that missing boy, and yet none have cried witch. In fact, I believe most would die protecting your secret. They all love you as much as I do.”
Her tears slowed; she was confused. They knew?
“I am sure people would love you, Rosalind, wherever you should choose to go.” Benedict moved back and held her gaze. “But you are a grown woman. You will come to your own decision and it will be the right one.” She smiled weakly. “Now, I may be at the inn tonight, as I feel the urgent need for an inordinate amount of O’Carroll’s Grim Reaper. Unless you need me? Then I will stay and we can play word games?”
She let out a wet chuckle. “No, I will be fine,” she said, wiping eyes on her sleeve. “Enjoy your evening, but remember the blacksmith debacle.”
Rosalind meandered to the desk and played with the letter opener.
Maybe she could tell Lucas something of her past. Keeping quiet would only continue to hurt him. He’d seen her in the grip of the curse now and would understand why it couldn’t be; why they could never be together. He would comprehend her rejection this morning and when he left Stonebridge, at least they might be able to part as friends.
“Ridges says I’m a natural.”
Lucas only half-listened as Billy nattered on and Goliath thundered along the bridle path, scattering the snow with disdain. He’d chosen this same horse for its power and strength but also, when needed, the animal could quietly pick its way through the woods with agile hooves and a silent step. After all, this was a reconnaissance mission.
Billy crashed around behind him on a small pony. Lucas had thought to leave him at the Hall but felt he needed the company and maybe, after this morning, to see his freckly visage if the blue devils came calling.
“Who are we spying on next?”
“God’s teeth, Billy. Keep your voice down.”
“Ridges says I’m good at keeping quiet.”
“Obviously never been spying in the woods with you,” he muttered, but the boy was eulogising loudly about the head groom’s quiet tread.
Yet again, he’d encountered Mr Risley. It seemed searching the area had become somewhat of an obsession for the man. Did it hide something more sinister? Was he looking for the handkerchief? Lucas hadn’t disturbed him: he’d just watched. Eventually, the chap had sighed and left the woods, shoulders drooping.
Now Lucas was headed to the vicar’s. He didn’t know why but the man put him on edge and Stone had mentioned that he’d looked rather dishevelled and ill when he’d called the other day.
Out in the cold air, some of this morning’s anger had drained away, but he was left feeling hurt and downright confused. The two sides of Rosalind conflicted so: the funny, kind, thoughtful woman he’d bantered with and loved versus the stubborn, cold one he’d woken up to.
“Ridges says–”
“Ridges will have to wait. We are at the vicarage. Stay here and guard the horses.”
“Can’t I–”
“Guarding the horses is incredibly important. Surely Ridges told you that.”
The boy nodded, thank God.
Creeping around the back of the house, Lucas peered into a window and then quickly ducked as the vicar came towards it. The man’s hand slammed hard against the windowpane as he muttered something about sacrifice.
The voice faded away and peeking over the ledge again, Lucas could see he’d returned to his desk. He was frantically scribbling away, papers strewn everywhere, a half-empty decanter by his right arm. At that moment, he poured himself another – a steep one at that – and glugged it down in one. His hand shook as he once again took up the quill and started to write.
Previously, the vicar had always looked rather dapper, but Stone had been right: he now looked awful. He wasn’t ill – he was stewed to the gills, hair standing on end, eyes red and watery.
He thought about barging in to ask questions but in that state, the vicar was more likely to pass out than answer. He’d just keep an eye and come back again on the morrow.
Lucas stalked back to find Goliath nosing the snow in disgust at the lack of something green to eat. As he approached, the horse nuzzled him, searching his pockets for an apple.
“Anything, guv?” The whisper was loud enough to wake spring.
“No. We’ll head to the village next. Maybe drop in on the curate and a few others.”
“Ridges says he don’t like the village.”
“Why not.”
