7. Thirteen Years Earlier
7
Thirteen Years Earlier
The air was warm and dry as the summer sun blanketed Brighthall's lush green grounds in dazzling light.
Rosalind sat in the shade, her back against the cool stone wall of the stately house she had lived in for the past two years. Beside her sat Valentina, who was scribbling furiously in her notebook. Craning her neck to see what she was drawing, Rosalind spied what looked to be someone riding a horse. On closer inspection, she realized it wasn’t a person on the horse, but a cat.
“Done!” Valentina exclaimed as she triumphantly held out her drawing. Noting Rosalind’s quizzical look, she shrugged. “I didn’t feel like sketching a person. Animals are much more fun to draw.”
“Now,” Valentina continued, setting her notebook aside and turning to the lawn ahead of them. “I could do with a stretch of my legs. What say we convince them to play a game with us?”
Rosalind looked over at the “them” in question—Jonathan and a small group of boys and girls around his age. She hesitated. “I don’t know…”
“It’ll be fun.” Valentina grinned. “Pleeease,” she said, dragging out the word.
Rosalind sighed, but before she could answer, Valentina pulled at her hand and dragged her off her feet.
“Fancy losing a game of tig?” Valentina asked as they approached the group of children. She placed a hand on her hip and raised a challenging brow at Jonathan .
Jonathan shrugged. “Haven’t lost a game today and don’t plan to now. Question is, do you fancy losing a game of tig, Val?”
Some of the children snickered behind him.
Valentina rolled her eyes. “All I’m hearing is that your friends don’t pose much of a challenge.”
Though she was three years younger than Jonathan, Valentina had never let him or any of the other children intimidate her. It was something Rosalind greatly admired about her friend.
“You’ve got to be joking,” someone called out from behind Jonathan. “You can’t expect us to play with Cursed Carver over there.”
Rosalind flinched. She didn’t have to look up to know who’d said it—Marcus Trainor, nephew of Lord DuPont.
“It isn’t fair,” he groaned. “None of us can even touch her.” He crossed his arms over his chest and sneered. “Wouldn’t want to if I could.”
Valentina scowled at him. “Scared of a little competition, Marcus? This is my house as well as Jonathan’s and I say what goes. Rosalind is playing,” she said in a determined voice.
Marcus turned to Jonathan, brows raised. “You know it’s true.”
Rosalind stared down at her shoes throughout the exchange, not wanting to catch Marcus’s eyes. She also wasn’t sure how Jonathan would react around his friends. If he joined in their mockery, she didn’t want to witness it.
“How about this,” Jonathan began. “It will count as a touch if you get within one step of her. Ros will gladly concede if it happens, won’t you?”
Rosalind lifted her head to face him and nodded. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“Fine,” Marcus grumbled.
“Excellent.” Valentina beamed. “Last one standing gets the largest slice of lemon loaf. ”
She took one step backward and then another before shouting, “Jonathan is it first!” Then she turned and darted away, Rosalind and the other children quickly following suit.
Jonathan sighed but covered his eyes and counted aloud.
Rosalind ran toward the towering hedges of the maze that enveloped the courtyard garden. She weaved along the gravel path and soon stumbled into the hidden space.
Valentina argued the courtyard was a terrible place to hide, but Rosalind disagreed. The planters abutting the hedges provided ample hiding spots to choose from and there were two ways to enter and exit, which allowed for a daring escape.
She settled behind a planter seated partway between both entrances and kept her ears peeled for frenzied footsteps atop the gravel. For minutes, only the chatter of birds echoed around her. Then suddenly, she heard someone racing along the winding path.
Rosalind peered around the planter to see Marcus bounding into the courtyard. She held her breath to keep quiet and eyed him cautiously. Had he come to look for a place to hide or was he on the chase, having been caught by Jonathan?
“I know you’re in here, Cursed Carver,” he said between huffs of breath. “You’re always in here. So predictable.”
Definitely not here to hide, Rosalind bemoaned. She tracked Marcus’s movements as he made his way around the courtyard, peering around each and every planter.
As he crept closer, she considered her plan of action. Marcus was much larger than her, but he was also slower. Her best bet was to make for the exit furthest away from him.
She took a deep breath and darted out from behind the planter. As she sprinted for the gap in the hedges, she heard him shout her name. Her heart leaped as she drew nearer to the opening of the maze, knowing she was closing in on her escape .
Suddenly, something hard struck her back, and Rosalind found herself tumbling forward. Her knees were the first to hit the ground, followed by her hands and then her chin. For a moment, it felt as if she had plunged headfirst into icy waters, but soon the sensation morphed into searing hot pain.
Rosalind slowly peeled herself off the ground and sat back, only to find Marcus looming over her, a smug expression on his face. Through bleary eyes, she noticed he stood there with a shoe on one foot and a torn sock on the other. Marcus leaned down to pick up his missing shoe before cupping both hands around his mouth and hollering, “I got Cursed Carver!” He laughed and ran out of the courtyard.
Stretching her legs out in front of her, Rosalind groaned at the tear in the leg of her trousers. Lady Rashford had let her wear an old pair of Jonathan’s and she had gone and ripped them.
Her fingers shook as she pulled back the torn fabric to reveal the broken skin on her knee. She let out a soft sob, unable to hold back the tears that now streamed down her cheeks in earnest. The bottom of her chin burned as she cried, reminding her she had scratches there as well.
“Ros?”
Rosalind peered up to see Jonathan rushing over to her. He knelt down beside her and took stock of her injuries. “It’s alright. It’ll be alright,” he soothed. He then patted his trouser pockets and pulled out a handkerchief, holding it out carefully in front of her. “Here. I’m going to get Grandmum or Maria to come help you. I won’t be long, I promise.”
Rosalind blew into the handkerchief and nodded. Jonathan scrambled up and made for the exit. Just before rounding the hedges, he paused and turned back to her. “Marcus told us he got you, and I came to find you to check he really had. He didn’t mention you were hurt. ”
Jonathan’s brows drew together and Rosalind thought he might say something more. Instead, he simply offered her a reassuring smile and disappeared around the corner.
Rosalind sat on a dark green tartan settee in the study as Lady Rashford tended to her injuries. She bunched and pulled at the handkerchief Jonathan had given her as the older woman piped a few drops of a blue shimmering liquid over the scrape on her knee. Tears pricked Rosalind’s eyes as she struggled to remain still.
“Shh,” Lady Rashford soothed. “I know it hurts, dear, but we need to make certain it doesn’t get infected. I’m nearly finished.” She reached for a strip of cloth and carefully wrapped it around Rosalind’s knee, tying the ends together in a snug knot.
“What a brave girl you are.” She leaned over and lifted her thumb to wipe at a tear that streaked down Rosalind’s face. Then she sat back and considered her for a moment. “Sometimes people fear what they do not understand,” she explained. “And that fear can manifest in all sorts of ways—panic, ignorance, mistrust, and on occasion, cruelty.
“Jonathan and Valentina are lucky, you see. They have had the wonderful opportunity to live with you and to grow alongside you. They have come to know of your gentle and kind nature. To them, the enchantment is but a small part of you. The Trainor boy, on the other hand, does not share in their experience. He’s only come to know of you and all that pertains to magic through the words of others.”
“Like his uncle?” Rosalind asked as she drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins.
Lady Rashford wore a sad, knowing smile as she nodded. “Like Lord DuPont, yes. ”
Rosalind could still recall the glower Lord DuPont had cast her way when she first encountered him. It was frightening, to say the least. As such, she made a habit of retreating to the courtyard with Valentina whenever he visited Brighthall.
Lady Rashford gently patted Rosalind’s hand. “Now we’ve patched you up, how about we see if there is anything left of Maria’s famous lavender lemon loaf? If that doesn’t perk you right up, I don’t know what will.”