CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO #3
You beast, Sage thought murderously at Rafe, but she gave Ajax a nudge in the ribs and a slap on the shoulder with her whip. ‘Forgive me, boy – but better safe than sorry,’ she muttered, with a wince.
Ajax, putting on his extra turbo boosters in surprise, lurched forward and then launched into the air, giving the wall plenty of space, and Sage shoved her feet forward and her head back in preparation for a steep landing.
Ajax pecked slightly on reaching the ground and if her weight had been over his shoulders she would have toppled out of the saddle.
Wanting to scream at Rafe, who was checking over his shoulder to ensure they had made it over safely, she had just opened her mouth to hurl abuse at him when he turned back to face forward and galloped away out of earshot.
Laughing despite herself, adrenaline surging through her veins, Sage urged Ajax on, reluctant to be left behind.
Sparkling dew glistened where the light frost had melted away and left the air hanging heavily in white clouds above the grass.
Pockets of mist swayed across the valley like smoke, and golden light from the hidden sun glowed softly through the trees, illuminating their newly budding leaves.
They heard the sound of a startled cock pheasant squawking in a thicket where hounds had run through, and a woodpecker somewhere to the east of them tapped out a feverish staccato in a bid to claim his territory, the rap-rap-rap of beak on bark echoing around the dense woods.
Sage ducked her head to avoid a low branch that hung in the path as they galloped along into silver spiders’ silk that had been spun from the branch all the way across to the opposite hedgerow, and Sage shook her head to be free from the web that clung to her cheek.
Rafe’s black coat was just visible twenty yards ahead as he slowed up and turned a corner.
Pulling Ajax softly back to a walk, taking in the sounds around her, Sage could feel the earth waking from her dormant winter slumber; rustling and chirruping burst from the teeming blackthorn bushes beside her and daffodils and snowdrops lined the sides of the track.
She rounded the corner and the path opened up into a wide, round glade.
The huntsman, Tommy, was sitting still, smoking, almost down to the end of his cigarette, watching his hounds who were panting and no longer casting themselves about, crestfallen at having lost the scent of their quarry.
Rafe was standing under a large oak tree, giving a breather to Warhorse who was blowing slightly.
Tommy went over to him and was asking his advice when Sage and Ajax pulled up beside them.
Sage sat quietly and heard the rest of the field approaching.
Walter pulled up some distance away from hounds, protecting them from the cavalcade of horses’ hooves.
The horde of riders’ breathless shouting and braying floated up in an endless barrage of noise behind him.
Rooks wheeled about in the air, rising from the bare branches of the oak in surprise and being flung backwards in the swelling breeze.
The huntsman touched his cap respectfully at Rafe.
‘I’ll try lower down in the valley like you suggested.
’ He whistled to his hounds, who eagerly surged around him, watching him intently for instruction, heads lifted and sterns waving hopefully.
They headed down towards the dark waters of the River Evenlode, which serpentined its way through the vivid green meadows; a bank of cloud wound its way sinuously along the water, the vapour steaming gently, hovering still and stagnant where the wind could not reach it within the protection from the sloping, wild-flowered hills on either side.
Hounds flowed along beside Tommy’s orange horse, and Rafe beckoned for Sage to follow him.
Sage raised an eyebrow.
‘Are you going to aim us at something dreadful, if I come?’
‘With a bit of luck, yes. Why – did I scare you?’ Rafe looked amused. ‘Do you need to go back and ride with my mother and Hal?’
‘How are you such a gentleman on the ground and such a brute on a horse?’ said Sage, biting back a smile.
‘The horse gives me more confidence, clearly,’ Rafe said with a laugh, giving Warhorse a pat. ‘So – are you coming with me, or are you going back to be put on the lead rein?’
Sage lifted her nose in the air and, pointedly ignoring him, rode past. She stood up in her stirrups to look over the hedge to where hounds were casting again, softly encouraged by Tommy who spoke to them in his own language full of uplifting chirrups and rallying whoops.
After a few minutes of frantic searching, hounds began to cry, yelping and howling a melody that made Sage tremble, her spine tingling with some deep, primal reaction.
She reflected, in wonder, at how miraculous it was that she should feel such joy despite the messy, uncertain chaos of her life at that moment.
It might have been the worst moment to have fallen in love but Rafe had transformed her life into a place where she could feel raw, unfiltered happiness. Even had she wanted to, she could not turn away from him now.