Chapter Two
“Reid, I believe you have a slight bruise on your forehead,” observed his mother with a tiny frown.
“And your arse is steaming, lad.” His father added his mite. “Been doing a bit of sleddin’, have we? I recall you used to like that. Whooshing around in the snow for hours, don’t you know.”
“Really, Rodney.” Lady Jocelyn glanced up at her husband. “You’re not addressing a twelve-year-old. And there’s no need to refer to our son’s anatomy in such a blunt manner.”
“Good God, Joss. He’s heard the word before, I’ll be bound. And I’m right. Look. His arse is steaming like a pudding on Christmas Eve.”
It was a good thing he loved his parents, mused Reid.
Otherwise he’d be possessed of the strongest urge to strangle both of them right at this moment.
“I slipped and fell while I was outside, Mama. Breeches got a bit damp. That’s all.
The warmth of the fire is drying them – and me – quite nicely. So don’t worry.”
“You fell on your face, did you?” She lifted one eyebrow.
He blinked at her.
“The bruise, dear.”
“Ah, yes. I supposed I must have.”
“Pretty nimble, that, Reid.” His father took another sip of sherry. “Falling on your arse and bruising your forehead. I’d rather like to see that.”
He looked at the two faces watching him and saw the affection and amusement. He’d never been able to put one over on either of them when he was in short coats. It would seem that his current coat was shorter than he realised.
He sighed. “Very well. A branch broke, I was underneath it and the resulting collision knocked me on my – “
His mother lifted an eyebrow.
“My dignity.” He grinned. “Hence the damp breeches and the bruise.”
“Dangerous situation, son. Could have been a great deal more damaging.”
Reid nodded. “I know, sir. Believe me I’ll not stand under a snow laden branch again in a while.”
“It knocked you unconscious?” His mother eyed him closely.
“Just dizzy for a few moments. No headache or anything.”
“You were most fortunate, Reid. And what would have happened if you had completely blacked out, I shudder to imagine.” She lifted her hand to her bosom, betraying maternal concern.
It was genuine. Reid and his mother shared a close and loving bond, which was why he’d hoped to avoid relating this tale in the first place. “Not to worry, Mama. I had assistance.”
“Really?” His father looked curious. “Who on earth was out at that hour in the snow, other than you?”
“That’s a question I can’t answer.” Reid grinned. “I think I had a vision. You know, bump on the head and all that.”
“Well, well. I’m intrigued.” His mother stood as their butler arrived to announce dinner. “You shall tell me all everything you remember after we’ve dined.”
“Yes, Mama,” replied the dutiful son. Probably not everything, thought the man who remembered all too well the feel of his vision’s lips and the touch of her hand.
But any hopes he cherished that Lady Jocelyn would forget the whole matter over a lovely meal of fresh vegetable soup, warm bread right out of the ovens and other delectable country foods, well there was no chance she’d let it go.
And since neither he nor his father were inclined to linger over brandy, the conversation resumed as soon as she had her tea and the servants had departed.
After he’d told all there was to tell – excluding the rather intimate kiss and the bit of fondling – both his parents regarded him with the same quizzical look.
“What?” He returned their gaze.
“You don’t have a clue who she was?” asked his mother.
“No, I told you. I didn’t recognise her at all.”
“Odd thing, that.” His father frowned into his tea. “We know everyone hereabouts. I’m sure we would have heard if anyone new had moved into Little Chillendale.”
“Perhaps she was just travelling through, Papa. It was a bit of a mystery, but there are a lot of other things going on just now. I’m going to put that one away for a while.”
Reid sipped his tea and prayed that would be the end of it.
No such luck.
“Where would she have been staying, if she was staying around here?” Lady Jocelyn pursed her lips. “You were all the way up by the meadow, you say?”
Reid nodded. “Yes. I’d walked further than I’d intended.”
“Damned if I can think of anywhere habitable around that way. Not even a cow byre. We kept it clear so that the field could run fallow now and again without any interference from anything but nature,” Sir Rodney added.
“A wise course, sir. And I agree. I can’t think of anywhere…” Reid’s thoughts scampered around. There was one place that might provide shelter, a place he’d completely forgotten about. In fact, it was so long ago, he wondered if it was still there at all.
He did not, however, think it a good idea to mention it to his parents.
The entire project had been orchestrated by two young lads without any adult supervision.
In fact, it would have been immediately forbidden, should they have been found out.
He had the urge to grin, but held it in check, agreeing with his family that it was probably some passing visitor or else just a figment of his temporarily disordered mind.
“And you didn’t recognise her at all?” queried his mother.
“No. I would be willing to swear I’ve never seen her before.”
“Describe her.”
Reid swallowed. “Well, she had sort of reddish-brown hair.”
“Long or swept up?”
“Er…long. I think. Yes, definitely long. I remember it touched me when she leaned over me.”
“Hmm.” Lady Jocelyn looked pensive. “Eyes?”
“Yes. Two, if I recall correctly.”
“Don’t be silly. Colour?”
“Mother, it was dark. The moon was just rising. A branch had just fallen on me and knocked me flat on my back in the snow. I was not, at that moment, cataloguing the appearance of whoever it was that helped me.”
“So there’s nothing else that you recall? Nothing at all?”
He paused. “She smelled of spring flowers.”
“Well, now.” His father regarded him with a quizzical look. “Spring flowers. That is nice, isn’t it.”
“Hush, Rodney. You’re not helping.”
“Sorry, dear.”
Reid rolled his eyes. “All this isn’t accomplishing anything, and I’m still plagued with a bit of a headache. So if you both will excuse me, I’m for bed. Busy day tomorrow.”
His mother nodded. “Yes indeed. Do go and rest, Reid. Remember Emmeline and her mother are coming for tea and we shall expect you to be present.”
“And there’s new ale to be tested,” added his father hopefully.
“That’s at the top of my list,” grinned Reid. “And I’ve had an idea I’d like to talk to you about, as well. But it can wait until morning.”
“Don’t forget.” His mother called after him as he headed toward the door. “Tomorrow at four, Reid. You must be here.”
“I will, Mama. I will.”
As he walked to his room, Reid realised that attending tea with his soon-to-be-betrothed engendered not the least bit of excitement at all, whereas tasting the latest ale? That sent his spirits soaring.
There was something wrong with his life at the moment, without a doubt.
The next morning, under cold grey skies, Reid took himself off to the brewery, eager to enter the warm yeasty buildings and immerse himself in the magic that was ale.
His father was already there, wandering down between casks, checking now and then with his favourite toy – his saccharometer.
Reid didn’t fully understand the functioning of the thing, but his father seemed to derive great satisfaction from sampling, measuring, noting and repeating the process for many happy hours.
That, Reid could understand. When one was an ale-brewer, it was in the blood.
“Hallooo…” He shouted down to the other end of the barn. “Are you still working there, Father?”
He received a waved hand in response. Which could have meant yes, I’m still busy and can’t come to your end right now – or just as easily – no, I’m finished and on my way to you.
Reid waited, and sure enough after a few minutes his father appeared, beaming from ear to ear and waving a small tankard. “Taste this, lad. Just taste it. Best ever, I’m thinking.”
Reid smiled back. “I’m sure it is, but let me verify that.”
Thus a pleasant morning was passed by the Chillendale men, as they measured, evaluated and tasted their ale, judging its strength, colour and flavour, and making copious notes on the variations within the particular stages of conditioning.
Reid had a thermometer and a hydrometer to go along with his father’s instruments, and each had a passion for the process.
It was a harmonious blending of tradition, family and brewing techniques, and for Reid it was the source of all happiness. In that he took after his father.
“I hate to say this, but Mama will be expecting you for lunch, father.” Reid nodded at the large clock at the end of the building.
“Damnation.” Sir Rodney frowned. “I’d hoped to get to the oldest casks this morning.”
“Well, there’s always this afternoon.” Reid clapped the older man on the shoulder. “Those casks aren’t going anywhere.”
“True.” Sir Rodney walked to a table, wiped his tools and carefully replaced them in the appropriate boxes. “Are you coming in then?”
Reid shook his head. “No. I have to do the proper this afternoon at tea. Emmeline and Lady Southwick are visiting, and I have to be there, I’m told.”
“Oh, dear. Sorry, lad.” His father sighed. “Once your mother’s got the bit between her teeth, there’s no stopping her.”
“It’s that damned mistletoe business.” Reid gritted his teeth.
“Still it’s all part of our tradition. I have to honour it, I suppose.
” He shrugged. “But I thought I’d take a stroll and clear my head before I go back inside.
Looks like we might see a bit more snow tonight, so I want to take advantage of the day. ”
Sir Rodney reached for his coat. “Good idea. Why don’t you take Whiskey out? She needs a bit of exercise.” He opened the large wooden door. “I’ll see you later.”
It occurred to him that his father had been quite right. The horse wasn’t the only thing that needed a bit of exercise. A brisk half hour ride would do him the world of good and shake him out of the malaise that seemed to dull his thought processes.
He knew who had caused it, of course. Her.
But with four legs beneath him, he could take a quick canter over the meadow and see if that old cottage still stood. The one half buried in a cave. The one he and Brent Rowdean had spent months turning into their own private club.
For an eleven-year-old, it was a fancy hideaway. For anyone else it would have been a partially broken-down hole in a rock, but to the two boys? A special place.
Grabbing his coat, Reid took off for the stables and was mounted on Whiskey in next to no time. The air was brisk but not brutally cold, and there had been enough melt during the morning to make the way slushy rather than snow-covered.
Slush was better, he decided, since he could at least see hazards, and guide the mare around them.
Instinct set him on the path to the meadow and his heartbeat picked up speed with the delight of being atop a fine horse, and the prospect of solving the puzzle of his mystery woman.
Perhaps she’d been a figment of his imagination after all. Or perhaps she’d been a woodland fairy; the sort his governess used to read about when he was young.
He smiled at his whimsical notion. She was no fairy.
Unless there was a certain sort that had more sexual appeal than usually mentioned in fairy tales.
He arrived at the broad expanse of meadow, shedding his odd mood as he stared over the whiteness. For a few moments, the sun made an attempt at shining, and he was blinded briefly – closing his eyes against the glare.
When he opened them again, shading them by pulling the brim of his hat down over his forehead, he frowned and blinked again.
There was a figure standing on the far side of the meadow, watching him.
He couldn’t make out too many details, but one thing caught his attention. The scant rays of sun danced off a head of deep chestnut hair.
It was her.