Page 25 of An Enchanting Dare

“Oh, no. I’ll walk her back. It’s no bother,” Sylvester assured him. He would far rather return to the house, and though he didn’t much want to walk as the day was growing hotter, at least he might have time to speak to Aisling privately now. He smiled, thinking how cross she would be with him for coming home early.

“Do you remember the way?” Harleston asked, frowning.

“I’ll find it,” Sylvester assured him. He had a good sense of direction and was more than happy to wave off the rest of the party.

An hour later and Sylvester was regretting his blithe confidence. He’d taken a wrong turn somewhere and had lost his bearings. Pausing in the shade he took a moment to rest the horse and check her hoof again. All this walking about with a missing shoe would be doing the poor beast no good whatsoever. If she went lame because he couldn’t find his way back, he’d never forgive himself. Muttering oaths as it was growing hotter and there was neither a soul nor a dwelling to be seen, he decided he’d head for high ground. The damned castle must be visible for miles around if he could find a vantage point to look for it. Sadly, he could see nothing but trees as the path meandered through woodland, and he had no choice but to follow it. At least it was cool out of the sun.

After another forty minutes Sylvester was trying to smother the disquieting sensation that he was walking in circles when he came upon a small stone cottage in a clearing. It was a tidy little place, obviously well-tended, and he was more than pleased to discover some evidence of life, even in such a forgotten corner. He stopped, staring at it. There was a well close to the cottage and Sylvester regarded it with relief.

“Help yourself.”

He looked back at the cottage to see a woman standing there, watching him with interest. She was perhaps in her late sixties, her grey hair a mass of untidy curls about her face, and she had a robust figure. The woman folded her arms, watching him without apparent surprise or any unease, though few people must venture this way unless they’d become hopelessly lost.

“Thank you,” Sylvester said, leading his horse to the well. He filled the trough next to the well for his mount before raising the bucket again and using the dipper to serve himself. The water was cold and sweet, and he was tempted to upend a bucket over his head, but he could feel the woman’s gaze upon him still, considering.

“I got turned about,” he said, gesturing to the path. “Which is unlike me. I usually have a good sense of direction, but I, er… can’t see the wood for the trees.” He offered her what he hoped was a charming smile.

She did not smile, but there was amusement glinting in her eyes.

“I mean, how can you miss a castle that big?” he added with a laugh.

“Are you hungry?” the woman said, turning to go back inside.

“Oh, no. I have no wish to….”

She looked over her shoulder at him before carrying on. “Nonsense. Come in. The cottage is cool, and you look like you could do with a few moments' peace.”

Sylvester hesitated. He knew he must be close to the castle and, no matter how far he’d strayed, would certainly be on the earl’s land, in which case this was a tenant, and he did not wish to be rude. Reluctantly, he followed the woman inside. He paused as he walked into what was obviously the main room of the house. It served as kitchen, dining, and living area, with everything neat and scrubbed and in order, much as the outside of the house had been. There were herbs hanging in bundles from the ceiling, and rows and rows of shelves lining the walls. On the shelves were jars, bottles, pots, and books, and… and Sylvester had the peculiar notion that he was Hansel and the cottage was made of gingerbread. He shook off the ridiculous idea and accepted a seat at the kitchen table.

“You’re very kind, madam,” he offered, watching her as she moved about the kitchen.

“Not at all, and call me Biddy. Everybody does. You are welcome here, Mr Cootes.”

“You know me?” he said, a prickle of unease running down his spine.

The woman turned and laughed, reading his anxiety with apparent amusement. “I know everyone and everything that happens at the castle.”

Those words sank in, and Sylvester told himself he was being daft for feeling so on edge. Then a feminine voice rang out from the front door.

“Biddy, it’s me. I escaped the picnic, thank heavens. I didn’t think I could bear another moment in that wretched fellow’s—”

Aisling came through the door, tugging her bonnet from her head and smiling, looking more at ease and carefree than Sylvester had ever seen her before. That changed the moment she laid eyes on him.

“I was the children’s nursemaid, Mr Cootes,” Biddy said, a smile tugging at her mouth as she glanced between him and Aisling. “They often visit.”

“What…?” Aisling began, her voice faint as she stared at him.

All the colour had drained from her face in an instant and, if he hadn’t been so concerned she was about to swoon, Sylvester would have been deeply insulted. He leapt to his feet and reached for her, but she stepped back, swaying and sitting down heavily on the arm of the chair behind her.

“My horse threw a shoe, and I got lost,” he said, aware he sounded stiff, but need she look so damned appalled at finding him here? He wasn’t a fool. He’d known she’d been making excuses to get out of his company, but still.

“Your horse,” she muttered, sending Biddy an accusing glance. As if she could have had anything to do with it.

Biddy shook her head, looking thoroughly entertained. “No,” she said, holding up her hands.

Sylvester did not know what she meant by that, but Aisling only looked increasingly horrified. She stared back at him.

“How much farther did you ride after I left you?” she demanded.