8. Jonto
Jonto
Two o’clock found Jonto riding the gray across her upper pastures, inspecting the health of the grassy fields above the forest. Considering the same shepherd that had overgrazed Isla’s fields had also allowed her herds to graze here, the damage wasn’t as bad as it could have been.
With all that had been happening the past several days, she’d only had a cursory look at the land, and this afternoon, she was determined to conduct a more thorough inspection of her estate.
She had to give the young King credit. He’d been grateful for their swift action in repelling the invaders and had chosen a majestic, verdant, and remarkable piece of land that satisfied all of her requirements.
She only hoped Jack was as pleased with her land as she was with this breathtaking slice of paradise.
Wildlife was plentiful as she’d come across deer, wild boar, and a healthy population of rabbits that would fill their stew pots nicely over the winter.
She hadn’t seen any predators yet, but that didn’t surprise her since the shepherds would have driven them away to preserve the flock.
This was rocky land, perfect for a heartier brand of sheep.
At least Isla’s sheep were of good breeding stock.
Jonto would have gladly taken the woman up on her offer if circumstances had been different.
Her thoughts turned to the prickly, irritating, vibrant, and stunningly attractive noblewoman.
No one should be that beautiful, and only the ironic vagaries of fate had landed Jonto next door to such a vexing, confusing woman.
She’d made a few discreet inquiries about the lady and hadn’t uncovered the slightest hint that she preferred women over men.
Although Jonto enjoyed the company of Lord Riordan and had even accompanied the judge to the Enigma Club, where the members had heartily welcomed her with slaps on the back and offers of brandy and cigars, she didn’t feel it appropriate to approach him with questions about Lady Brighton.
And as intelligent and quick-witted as Isla’s friend Celie was, there was no way she’d broach the subject with her.
So, she’d bide her time, and if she could survive the caustic comments and fiery temper, Jonto would make her own judgments as to the lady’s sexual preferences.
Single women, particularly single noblewomen of Isla’s age, were few and far between, and wondering about her beautiful neighbor had given Jonto several sleepless nights.
She tossed and turned, with her over-active mind vacillating between wondering whether Isla had never married because she preferred women to men or, on the contrary, because she simply didn’t want to cede her wealth and independence over to a man. There was no way of knowing, really.
She smiled as she thought of her neighbor’s sharp tongue.
Strong-minded women had never bothered Jonto, and she thoroughly enjoyed teasing them when given half the chance.
Over the years, she’d discovered she was drawn to strong, prickly women.
Not that she could do more than platonically enjoy their company, but she’d done her fair share of entertaining.
There’d been Countess Cordia Hockenberry, a fiery redhead whose sharp tongue and quick wit drew Jonto like a bee to honey.
A generous spirit nicely balanced her vitriol, but there had been no doubt whatsoever that she enjoyed her men, several simultaneously, as a matter of fact.
Jonto’s refusal to bed her had finally frustrated the lady so much that she’d declared the lord a eunuch to toss aside as damaged goods.
As Jonto made her way toward the edge of her property, she shook her head at the memory of the parting words Cordia had shouted across the front lawn as Jonto had ridden away. “You’ll die a shriveled-up virgin, Jonto. You mark my words.”
Next, she’d spent a significant amount of time with Countess Beckett, one kingdom over from Eileen’s.
Why she’d bothered, Jonto didn’t know. In hindsight, the woman had few redeeming qualities other than a beautiful face and body and more money than her King.
Prickly could have been her middle name.
She was quick to anger, quicker to cast blame, and never suffered fools in silence.
Beckett had turned that tongue on Jonto a few too many times, though, and she’d walked away and never looked back.
And then, of course, there was Jack, whom Jonto had seen cut rude, opinionated, and bombastic idiots to ribbons with a tongue she wielded with the skill of an expert swordsman.
Many times, the heat that rose between Jonto’s legs when Jack’s anger boiled over and she verbally eviscerated some foul-mouthed, egotistical ship’s captain had them retreating to one or another’s cabin to have the most unbelievably mind-numbing, energetic sex one could imagine.
It was after those times, when Jack’s blood was up, and Jonto’s body was singing from watching her dominate a nasty, abusive blaggard with a litany of scathing verbal assaults, that Jack introduced Jonto to things she could do to her body that beggared the imagination.
So incredibly hedonistic, in fact, that Jonto had taken to biting down on a strip of leather to keep herself from howling out the pure and utter ecstasy Jack visited upon the most secretive parts of her body.
Jonto slowed the gelding from a trot to a walk as she approached the property line separating Isla’s land from hers.
The wall bordering their upper pastures was in reasonably good shape.
Rocks were missing from a few places where an energetic ewe might jump across.
Still, it was a relief that she and Nico could concentrate on the lower pastures where Jonto suspected someone had intentionally delayed the repairs.
Speaking of that someone, Jonto’s curiosity was piqued when she noticed a saddled thoroughbred standing with its head down, contentedly grazing in the sparse patches of grass on the other side of the wall. “Hello?”
The only response was the rustling of the wind through the leaves of a small copse of rowan trees. The tall, thin trees were spaced so uniformly that Jonto guessed they’d been planted by the estate’s master or mistress fifty or sixty years earlier.
No bodies were lying on the ground, so that was a relief, but then again, the rider could have fallen somewhere other than where the horse was grazing.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” Not sure whether she’d be welcome on the other side of the wall, Jonto hesitated before dismounting and tying her gelding’s reins on a low branch, which would allow the beast to graze while she investigated further.
She walked to the wall and leaned her forearms on the top, casually interlacing her fingers as she studied the landscape.
Leaves quivered as the breeze hadn’t let up, but other than that, there was minimal movement, certainly not a rider coming back for their mount.
A squirrel hurried up the smooth gray bark of a tree, but the stillness of the surrounding area worried her.
With a quiet growl, she hopped onto the foot-wide wall and propelled herself to the other side.
The bay mare allowed her to approach, and she checked the beast to ensure it wasn’t injured.
The reins had been tied to the saddle on the side opposite her, which was a relief since that meant the rider hadn’t fallen but had instead intentionally grounded the horse so it would remain in place until they returned.
The sun was heading toward the western sky, not that it was of great concern since it was still early in the afternoon.
Jonto walked a circle around the mare, disturbed to find a second set of hoofprints leading downhill toward the manse.
Not only that, but the hooves had made indentations in the rocky soil and flung up dirt, indicating someone had left at a gallop.
Jonto hiked up into the forest, thoroughly disgusted by how badly the land had been managed.
While her own land was rocky, there was still a fair amount of grass and edible shrubs growing in the rich, dark soil.
The accumulation of decaying plant material combined with healthy soil management can produce a rich, healthy topsoil.
Not only that but taking the time to mulch and even compost fields that are alternately grazed and then left fallow will produce excellent feed for many years.
Obviously, whoever old Count Deverell had tending his land knew what he or she was doing.
Jonto had to admit, it was most probably a man, but she’d met many a hedge witch in her time who knew how to coax the best possible results from seemingly wild landscapes.
On the other hand, the person tending Isla’s acres was a stark contrast, someone who knew little to nothing about healthy land management.
Jonto hadn’t only spent the last ten years blithely sailing the seas.
She could have easily neglected her family’s estates.
But she hadn’t. She returned for several months every year, learning through trial and error how to properly be an absentee owner of vast acres of land.
Through rigorous study during many dull, monotonous hours on board her ship where wind was scarce and land out of reach, combined with many hours visiting with and asking questions of those same hedge witches, she’d learned what it took to maintain healthy fields and soil.
She knelt, picked up a handful of dirt, smelled it, and allowed it to sift through her fingers.
She detected the foul smell of mold or fungi, affirming what her eyes were telling her: the land and its plants were struggling.
Walking further into the darkened forest, instead of encountering dirt, she found deep piles of leaves, which she kicked through, releasing the foul, sour odor indicative of leaves decomposing without the churning that produced air circulation necessary to break down the organic matter properly.