Chapter 11 Savi
Savi
Reclining against the headboard of the bed in the gamekeeper’s cottage, Savi put the finishing touches on her latest sketch: the two barn owls squished against one another, their eyes nothing but curved lines as they slept.
The female’s wings were slightly dishevelled, as they always seemed to be when she sat on her eggs, which, so far, showed no signs of hatching.
Savi smiled at the diligent parents in their nest, littered with a combination of feathers, faeces, and twigs. They’d arrived back at Silverburn this afternoon and, after a late lunch, she came straight to the cottage, desperate to be out in nature.
The late summer’s evening was, however, drawing to a close—and she didn’t fancy being out here after dark.
Quietly, she closed her folio, wincing as she unfolded her legs.
The bedroom had been made comfortable with the addition of fresh fabrics, cushions, and duvets brought over from Silverburn, but even so, she was stiff.
She’d stayed in one position for too long, as she always did when she was drawing.
She made her way down the stairs, each step coming a little easier as her muscles awakened.
Although she didn’t really think anyone would come prying, Savi went to lock the front door behind her.
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind did her ears pick up the sound of leaves rustling behind her. An icy tremor skittered down her spine as heavy footsteps moved behind her—the sound of someone creeping through the forest.
She didn’t bother looking back, throwing open the door just enough to clamour back inside. She twisted around, expecting to have to fight to close the door against some assailant.
Only to see the briefest glimpse of a colossal deer fleeing into the forest.
No, not just a deer, she realised. Those were antlers. Her breath caught in amazement. She’d been mere feet away from the incredible creature she’d always wanted to sketch, to paint.
A stag.
Hitching up the skirts of her sari, Savi rushed back out, all fear forgotten as she locked the door. It headed away from the castle, parallel to the arrow-straight path she’d journeyed up.
Right now, though, she had no interest in going back to the castle. The stag could only go so far before it hit the loch. Would it stop when it reached the banks? Or would it change direction?
There was only one way to find out.
She fought the instinct to rush after him, knowing how skittish deer could be. Instead, she carefully picked a path through the undergrowth, slightly regretting her decision to change into a sari on the train.
Although thinking of Alex’s wink during their late lunch-come-afternoon tea, perhaps she didn’t regret it that much. Cook had even served ample servings of gola ruti, which she’d described to Alex and Lily as an Indian pancake.
Alex, she’d learnt, would try anything, almost always asking for more. Lily was slightly more hesitant, especially after Cook was a little too generous with the spices in their lentil cakes a few days ago. The gola ruti, though, went down as a treat with both of them.
Silverburn really was starting to feel like home. Before she’d left for the gamekeeper’s cottage, the mouth-watering scents of roasting potatoes and baking bread were creeping through the corridors, joined by cardamom and turmeric: a perfect mixture of Indian and British.
A mixture she could wholeheartedly identify with.
Cresting a ridge, Savi glanced around in the hope that she would find some clue as to the direction the stag had taken.
The groundcover was sparser here; the soil covered by aged pine needles and decomposing sticks.
There were a few marks on the ground that might have been hoofprints, but she could admit to herself when she was out of her depth.
She had no idea how to track an animal. She’d lived in cities her entire life.
Halfway down the slope, however, a snapped branch some seven feet off the ground raised her hopes.
Two more followed, angling her towards the right.
Thank god I was wearing sensible shoes. She winced at the thought of wearing Mary Janes down a hill like this; her ankles wouldn’t have stood a chance.
As the hill levelled out, she launched a valiant search for more signs that an animal as large as the stag had passed through here, but there was nothing. Her hopes dimmed further as twinkles of shimmering light came into view—the sun’s low reflection on the loch.
When she reached its banks, Savi accepted that her search was at an end.
She began to turn to journey back the way she’d come, but did a double-take.
She’d been wrong; there was something out there.
Circular ripples branched out around a figure swimming in the water, betraying its location from afar, even as it dipped back behind the trees as the bank curved to her right.
It wasn’t the prey she’d intended to hunt down, but oh, how he captured her attention.
Savi switched targets, following the bank as the water lapped at the stony earth. A vast white behemoth of a house gradually hovered into view, and she smiled at the memory of her and Alex’s first meeting. What had he called it? A dowry house?
She couldn’t remember. She’d been too focused on those shoulders, even on the most nerve-wracking morning of her life. But who could blame her, really? Her lips curved as she watched Alex move through the water, his arms arcing over his head before plunging beneath the surface.
They were spectacular.
She shadowed his movements as best she could, dodging stones, swerving felled trees, and following the inward dip of the banks; whereas, Alex headed straight for the house. The distance grew between them.
Finally, Savi’s route intersected with the luxuriously straight, obstacle-free pathway she’d come to know and love—the one between Silverburn and the dowry house. Alex was another hundred feet or so away, climbing out of the loch. Water dripped down his arms as he ran his hands through his hair.
She pouted slightly when she saw a pair of black shorts hanging off his hips, but it was no matter.
They were removable. A present was no fun if one didn’t get to unwrap it.
Savi parted her lips to call out to him—but her stomach lurched as a woman opened the back door of the house, stepping out to throw a large white towel at him.
A young woman dressed in undoubtedly fine fabrics.
Their mouths moved in conversation, hovering just beyond her hearing as the two of them disappeared into the house.
Dimly, she realised that at some point she’d come to a halt. Everything she’d ever learnt from Katherine about the upper class was thundering in her ears. Affairs amongst the nobility were commonplace. It was almost a given that, at one point or another, a man would have a mistress.
Was that who the woman had been? Alex’s mistress?
In the silence that followed, unease clawed at her insides. Should she storm in there and confront them? Prior to getting to know him, Savi thought she wouldn’t care one way or another if he had mistresses.
That hypothetical, as it turned out, didn’t quite translate to reality.
The truth was that she did care. She cared a great deal.
He was hers, wasn’t he? Just as she was his. She thought their night in London had revealed that.
Instead of hammering on the door, she turned and made her way back towards Silverburn. Restless thoughts clouded her mind like the morning mist she’d once encountered on this path. Her base emotions wanted her to rage like Kali Maa.
If he wanted to have a mistress, at least tell her at the outset. Not lure her in with gentlemanly behaviours before pulling out the rug from under her.
So lost in thought was she that it was a surprise to find herself at the entrance to Silverburn’s South Wing. Blinking out of her vengeful fog, she trod the now-familiar path up to the bedroom corridor, walking past her bedroom door to enter through her dressing room.
Or, as she had taken to calling it, her art room.
She didn’t have nearly enough clothes to justify handing over an entire room to them—but what she did have in ample amounts was art supplies.
Gone were the wardrobes, replaced with more suitable furniture she’d either found in other parts of the castle or purchased from a furniture maker in Stirling.
The enormous square workbench had, apparently, seen use in the kitchens a decade or more ago.
Scratches and gouges tarnished its surface, but it was perfect for her use.
Not that they could be seen, at present. Currently, the table was hidden beneath an unsorted jumble of paint tubes, brushes both large and small, rolled canvases, clean rags, tins of unused pencils, varnishes, turpentine, and an endless list of other things she’d picked up over the years.
Unused frames sat in the corner, eagerly awaiting their time to shine. She’d stolen a chaise longue from one of the libraries. A brand-new easel was positioned next to the window, although as of yet she hadn’t had a chance to try it out.
She sketched often, reserving painting for the sketches she liked best. She flicked through her sketchpad, shutting it when her covert sketches of Alex passed by.
Sighing, Savi sized up the artistic chaos covering the workbench. It would take her an age to sort it all—but what better task to take her mind off the unknown woman in the dowry house?
As the day turned to evening, the sun sank into the welcoming embrace of the treeline. The displeased rumblings in her belly suggested that dinner must be soon, but Savi continued sorting, far too deep into her organisation to stop now.