Five
“Did you sleep well?” asked the duchess the next morning as she and Rose sat at the breakfast table together. The gentlemen had gone out riding early, which was becoming their habit.
Aware that she looked heavy-eyed, Rose offered a stunning understatement, “I was a little restless.” In fact, she had passed much of the night in an agitated state, in a world suddenly turned topsy-turvy. She had kissed Sir Gavin Keighley! And she had liked it very much.
Which was a vast and desperate problem.
First of all, she had kissed him. Moved by some inexplicable impulse, she’d leaned in to that impossible kiss. And then she had let herself revel in the sensations—melting, fiery, astonishing. It had been rather glorious. Until her mind caught up with her errant body, and she’d jerked back into stark reality.
She had done it. As he’d pointed out! Rose flushed with humiliation. It was like that earlier occasion when she’d thought he admired her and then discovered her mistake.
But had it been?
He’d enjoyed the kiss, an insidious inner voice suggested. His hands and lips had been eager, his response wholehearted. She could not be mistaken about that. But when the…spell had broken, they’d gaped at each other like victims of a catastrophe. He’d stammered out some nonsense she could scarcely remember, and they had fallen back into the impasse of recent years.
The many insults she and Gavin had exchanged over time had come back to Rose in the night. Would she see contempt in his eyes when he returned from his ride? Mockery at his triumph over her? And her family! If they ever found out…
“I am sorry,” said the duchess. “Do you need anything to be more comfortable?”
Comfortable! What was she talking about? Rose wondered if she would ever be comfortable again. But the duchess knew nothing of kisses. She was talking about Yerndon’s accommodations. For now. Rose had noticed that their lovely hostess was keenly observant. She was intelligent too. She worked things out. If Rose wasn’t careful, she would deduce more than she should. “No, thank you,” said Rose. “I’m sure I’ll sleep better tonight.”
“Well, you need only ask.”
“Thank you.” Rose had begun to like this woman who was supposed to be her enemy.
“I am going over the house this morning to see what needs to be done. Would you care to come along? You know the place better than I do.”
“Actually, this visit is the first time I’ve been inside.”
“What?”
“Mr. Cantrell didn’t receive our families.”
“Yours and Sir Gavin’s?”
“Yes.” The sound of his name did not send a delicious shiver through her. It was a shudder, Rose decided. That must be what it was. It was a wave of regret. That she could never kiss him again? No!
“I must say I don’t understand the basis of this feud. Can you explain it more clearly?”
This was the opportunity she had been sent here to find. Rose wrenched her thoughts away from incendiary kisses. “It began many years ago with Mr. Cantrell’s great-grandfather. Or was it great-great? One of them. He’d married a Keighley and a Denholme.”
“Both?”
“One after the other. Most of the estate’s land came in their two dowries. But their fathers regretted giving the acres up afterward, because the connection to the Cantrells…” Rose’s voice trailed off. She couldn’t tell this Cantrell that the line had been judged useless wastrels.
“They had expected the matches to benefit them more than they did,” said the duchess.
Rose nodded. “Also his mother—the most recent Mr. Cantrell’s—was related to both our families. Second and third cousins. So there were more connections. And people began to believe that the land should be returned. Particularly when Mr. Cantrell had no direct heirs.”
“So Yerndon seemed…available?”
“Yes.” And the feud had grown more heated as a result.
“I see,” said the duchess. “I wonder why he didn’t will things that way? He could have split the acres between the families. It seems reasonable.”
“There was a final break long before I was born,” said Rose. “I know the Keighleys tried to get Mr. Cantrell to marry a daughter of theirs. He refused, and there were insults. On both sides, I think. And Mr. Cantrell expressed contempt for a Denholme niece as well. He was very puffed up about his grand lineage. Thought he was above the people here in Yorkshire.” Or so Rose had been told over and over. “He went to London many times when he was younger. But he never brought back a noble bride.”
“I wonder if he met Great-Uncle Percival.”
“Who?”
“The previous duke.” The duchess shrugged. “If he had, I don’t think he would have left Yerndon to him.” When Rose looked inquiring, she added, “Percival was not a likable man.”
There seemed nothing to say about that.
“Perhaps Mr. Cantrell enjoyed playing people off against each other over his will,” her hostess continued. “Some older people are like that. They enjoy the power.”
Rose was doubtful. “I don’t think he saw enough of either side to do so.”
“So do you think Yerndon should belong to your family?”
The direct question startled Rose. Her parents would expect an emphatic yes and cogent arguments in favor. But the matter seemed more complicated than Rose had ever realized. “I…er…”
The duchess smiled. “You and Sir Gavin accepted our invitations in order to argue your cases, didn’t you?”
Of course she’d worked this out. Or known it from the beginning probably. It might even be the reason she’d invited them. Rose was beginning to realize that her hostess’s motto might be, “let’s see what happens.” It was a fascinating approach to life.
“What is your opinion on the matter?” she asked.
No one had ever asked for Rose’s personal view. She was young, and female, and expected to be biddable. Everyone just told her what to think and what to do. She didn’t always obey, of course. Now she took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I’m weary of the fighting,” she replied. “I wish it would just stop.”
The duchess nodded encouragingly.
“Yerndon should be cared for,” Rose continued, working out her position as she spoke. “Everyone hated to see it neglected, and it shouldn’t be. But you are here to remedy that. People needn’t be so…grasping.”
The duchess cocked her head, waited.
“If they would just let the past go, we could make amends with each other. We could have good neighbors in the house here. Exchange visits and be…a normal neighborhood.”
“A pleasant picture. We must see what we can do.”
The duchess spoke as if it was a task that could be ticked off a list. Simply and efficiently. She didn’t know about the shouting in the churchyard, the continual sniping like ancient border raids. The weight of all those clashes dragged at Rose. Things were too far gone. Amity was a pipe dream.
The duchess got somewhat laboriously to her feet. “I must get to work.” She picked up a small notebook and pencil that lay beside her plate. “Are you coming along?”
She would be happy to help this cordially reasonable woman, Rose thought. Her attitude, and her peaceful household, were a balm. She stood, and they set off on their tour of the house.
They began at the top in the attics, examining the state of the walls and floors and windows and listing needed repairs. As they moved through the rooms, Rose was more and more impressed with the duchess. She was clearly an exceedingly capable person. She was not some lazy aristocrat who left responsibilities to others. No problem seemed to daunt her. She knew just what to do to solve it. Though by the time they reached the ground floor again, she looked quite tired. She stood with a hand on the newel post at the foot of the stairs in the entry hall and breathed deeply. Standing beside her, Rose said, “You are worn out.”
“I am a bit fatigued. I will leave the basements for another day.”
“You should sit,” said Rose. “Or go and lie down? Wouldn’t that be better?”
“A comfortable chair and a cup of tea will set me right.” The duchess gave her a sidelong glance. “Ah, there’s no need to mention the full extent of our labors to the gentlemen.”
In other words, Rose was not to tell her husband she’d tired herself. “I won’t. If you rest now.” She offered an arm to support her.
The duchess gave her a sweet smile as she took it. She really was charming. There’d been no trace of the haughty noblewoman Rose had been led to expect.
They’d turned toward the parlor when there was a rap on the front door. It sounded like the blow of a riding crop, and Rose wondered why the duke would knock on returning from his ride. But he wouldn’t, of course. It must be visitors. As she was standing right there, she let go of the duchess, went over, and opened the door.
Jillian and Janet Keighley, Gavin’s identical twin sisters, stood on the threshold. They wore smart riding habits, peaked hats, and satirical expressions. In tandem, they raised dark eyebrows. “Do they have you playing footman, Miss Denholme?” asked one of them.
Rose could never tell the twins apart. It was always slightly surprising to see them, two young ladies who looked exactly alike. They had black hair and square faces like Gavin’s. Their features were far more delicate, however, and their eyes light blue rather than gray. They wore their hair alike and enjoyed confusing people over their identities.
“Are you doing the cleaning as well?” drawled Jillian, or Janet. “Is that why they invited you?”
Rose became aware of the dust on her gown, especially around the hem. She’d done some stooping and crawling during their inspection as her companion couldn’t. Her hair was probably festooned with cobwebs as well. Her hands showed dirt. She no doubt looked a fright. It was just her bad luck that the Keighley twins had caught her in this state.
“Good morning,” said the Duchess of Tereford, her exalted status suddenly evident in her cut-glass accent. With just two words, she’d somehow pointed out that it was not customary to call without an introduction, or acceptable to subject a guest of hers to sarcasm.
Rose hadn’t heard her speak so imperiously before. The phrase blistering setdown drifted through her mind. One didn’t become a leading light of the haut ton without being able to administer one, she decided. She was glad not to be a potential target. “May I present Misses Jillian and Janet Keighley, Your Grace,” she said, adopting the same formal tone. “They are Sir Gavin’s sisters.” She didn’t try to differentiate between them, as she couldn’t.
“We were out riding, and we thought we would stop in and see Gavin,” said one of them in a more subdued voice.
Placing a claim of connection, Rose thought, braver than she would have dared to be at eighteen. Of course there were two of them, automatic allies to bolster each other.
The duchess let them hang for a long moment, then coolly invited them in.
Thus it was that when Gavin walked into Yerndon’s parlor a bit later, he found his sisters sitting there and the atmosphere fraught.
It was like returning to a different household from the easygoing one he’d left. And like a splash of icy water in his face. The fact that he had kissed Rose in this parlor in the dimness of evening was one thing when he considered just the two of them. Unsettling enough, but it was quite another in the harsh light of sisters. Not to mention his mother, whose outrage would be epic. A man might be called head of the family, but in Gavin’s experience this was a courtesy title. He lived with three females who liked authority as little as he did. Including his. He saw the duke and duchess exchange a look filled with some sort of information. Rose was looking at nobody.
“There you are,” said Janet as if he’d been missing for days.
“Mama wondered how you were getting on,” said Jillian.
Gavin heard his mother in the emphasis. She expected results that he’d already concluded were impossible. The duke would not be handing Yerndon over to either the Keighleys or the Denholmes. He’d made that clear as they talked on their rides. He had no intention of choosing one family over the other. He saw no reason why he should. And he thought it would only make things worse if he did.
“Gavin?” prompted Janet.
“I am well,” he said.
His identical sisters stared at him, waiting for something more satisfying.
“We had an enjoyable ride over the moor this morning,” he added. “As you did too, I suppose.”
Jillian looked irritated. He felt annoyance rising to meet it. Why had they stuck their noses in? He didn’t need their…help. If that was what they were calling it.
“Did you ride the duo?” he asked. The twins’ favorite horses were also sisters. They joked about that together.
Not today, however. Jillian gave him a disdainful glare.
“The duo?” asked the duke.
“Our horses are nearly twins,” said Janet. She was frowning at Gavin too.
The urge to tell his sisters just to go away was rising. Gavin struggled to subdue it. It wouldn’t do. He didn’t want to drag argument into the Terefords’ formerly serene parlor. Yerndon had come to feel like a refuge.
He remembered his new exercise. What could be worse than this? he asked himself. He might have missed a jump out on the moor and hurt himself or his mount. But he was too good a rider for that. He might have returned to find Rose and his sisters shouting at each other like their parents in the churchyard. But Rose was still and silent. That wasn’t actually better. “It’s a fine morning to be out,” Gavin added doggedly.
“Not at all dusty,” said Janet, flicking a scornful glance at Rose.
Rose did have quite a bit of dust on her dress, Gavin saw. Why? Had there been some sort of tussle before he arrived? He imagined his sisters and Rose grappling on the floor as he and the duke had done at their first encounter. No, of course that hadn’t happened. Was he going mad?
“It was kind of you to call,” said the duchess.
Gavin nearly jumped. He hadn’t realized their lovely hostess could speak with such steely dismissal.
“Indeed,” said the duke. “But we mustn’t keep you from your ride any longer.”
He had it too. Imperious didn’t begin to describe that tone. Gavin realized then how kind the Terefords had been to him and Rose. Because they wanted to be, not because they couldn’t be otherwise.
His sisters rose together as if drawn up by strings. Gavin wondered if the duke could teach him to enforce social obedience in a few words. He envied the skill.
“Have you heard about the Milsomes’ ball?” Jillian asked as they moved toward the door.
She was not much daunted, Gavin noted. More annoyed. His sisters did not take reprimands well. He could see thoughts of revenge simmering in their blue eyes. Then her actual words caught up with him. “Ball?” he asked incredulously.
“Well, a dancing party.”
“The invitations have gone out,” said Janet. “I know one is coming here.” She looked at Rose. “Won’t that be lovely?”
His sisters had teeth like predators. Gavin had never noticed this before.
“Lovely,” Rose replied.
She didn’t sound cowed. Gavin couldn’t decide how she sounded, exactly.
“Will you go?” asked Jillian with artificial surprise.
“Why not?”
“Oh, well…”
“Good day,” said the duchess. The duke held the parlor door open.
Jillian and Janet departed without an escort, another sign of disapproval. The door closed behind them with a definitive click.
“Dancing party,” Gavin couldn’t help but exclaim. “What can Milsome be about? No one does such things here.”
“I expect Mr. Milsome decided that our mutual visit changed things,” said Rose.
“For the better?” asked the duchess.
Rose shrugged. She was angry, Gavin realized. Rose didn’t often get angry, and she didn’t show it in the way he was accustomed to at home. So it was hard to spot. But there it was. His sisters had managed the thing.
“Our presence here certainly roused his curiosity,” Rose said.
And he’d talked about it, Gavin thought. Made a good story of their conversation, he supposed. Now everyone wished to see them appearing together, like a carnival attraction.
“I must go and shake out my dusty gown.” Rose stood, caught up her shawl, and went out.
Oh yes, she was angry. Gavin found he was on his feet. “I must just… I have a …” He strode out without a vestige of an excuse. He had to speak to Rose, though he didn’t know what he was going to say. He’d been trained to insult Denholmes. Snide comments tripped off his tongue. Other sorts of conversation didn’t come easily. But that was ridiculous. He was a civilized man. He could converse. He spoke with friends, with near strangers such as the duke and duchess. He didn’t deride them—any longer.
But Rose had moved into a unique category—a Denholme he’d promised to treat politely. A Denholme he had passionately kissed! What were they to say? They had found plenty to talk about as children. Years ago. They couldn’t do the same now. Could they? He strode after her in determined confusion.
The Terefords remained in the parlor, side by side before the crackling fire. “It would be something to see them dance together,” said the duchess.
“But what sort of something?”
“Don’t sneer, James.”
“I wasn’t. I’ve given that up. Especially in this case.”
“This?”
“They’re so thoroughly accustomed to sneering at each other.”
She smiled. “I daresay they’d be well matched on the dance floor.”
“And elsewhere, my dear matchmaker?”
“That remains to be seen. I haven’t made up my mind.”
Her husband said nothing more. He merely looked at her until she turned to meet his eyes. Then he added, “I’ve learned my lesson, you know.”
“Lesson?”
“I don’t command or assume or…scold. But I have to say, my darling Cecelia, that you look very tired.”
“I’m all right.”
“Tired.”
The duchess sighed. “I went over the house this morning.”
He frowned. “Crawling into attic corners and shoving furniture about?”
“No, no, Miss Denholme did that.”
“Thus, the dust,” he replied.
“Yes. But even so, it was more taxing than…usual. Just standing on my feet too long seems a big task these days.” She shook her head.
“You should have let me do that. I am capable.” His smile was wry. “You have taught me all about making lists.”
Her answering smile was warmer. “I know.”
“Cecelia.”
She made an impatient gesture. “I have always been able to work as long as I wished. I am…was hardly ever fatigued.”
“You have an important new job.”
She put a hand on her rounded midsection. “Yes. Perhaps I need to learn a lesson too.”
The duke watched her with tender concern. “I think, when you are more rested, in a few days, we should start back to London. By slow stages.”
“Oh, not just yet.”
“This place isn’t in bad shape. I can find an agent to manage any repairs without difficulty.”
“I know, but I think we can make other things right.”
The duke raised dark brows. “What things would those be?”
“Those that are burdening our guests.”
“Burdening. Such as sly young sisters?”
“They did have the manners of hissing cats. But this feud, James. It’s too bad. Something should be done.”
He frowned. “I want to take care of you. If you need to be elsewhere, Yerndon and its neighbors can go hang.”
“I will change my ways,” the duchess promised. “I’ll put all the work off on you. Just as you once thought to do with me.”
They exchanged a reminiscent smile. “I’ll hold you to that,” said the duke. “I want to see you lolling on sofas and nibbling delicacies. You can wave a languid white hand, give orders, and send me to fetch and carry.”
“Or the slightly bewildered young footman,” she replied.
“Or him,” the duke agreed with another fond smile.
She wrinkled her nose at this picture. “It sounds very dull.”
“I will do my best to amuse you. Along with our oddly assorted guests.” The duke glanced out the window. “Do you think they’re coming back anytime soon?”
“I think they’ve stomped off to their separate corners to revive their spirits.”
“Boxing language, Cecelia?”
“I picked it up somewhere. From some sporting fellow. Do you want luncheon? I’m a bit hungry.”
The duke rose. “I will hunt down sustenance and bring it to you.”
“Pickles,” she answered. “Can you be sure there are pickles?”
“If I have to ride to Leeds to procure them,” he said with an elegant bow. “I am at your command, as I am at your feet.”
“You might rub them while I eat,” teased the duchess.
“Yes, my lady,” he said with a matching twinkle in his dark-blue eyes.
Outside, in a corner of the garden, Rose brushed the last of the dust from her skirt. There was not really so much. She was not a disgraceful, disheveled hoyden as her mother would no doubt have declared. The Keighley twins had just wanted an excuse to twit her. Drat them and the people who taught them to behave so.
Rose stretched out her arms and breathed deeply. She was so glad to be outdoors, in the fresh wind blowing across the moor, alone. She’d been glad to pitch in this morning. She thought she had been helpful. But this was really her element.
When Gavin appeared, she nearly stamped her foot. “You were out on the moor all morning,” she said. “It’s my turn now.” But the wind was in her face. It blew the words away, and he came nearer.
“I hope Jillian and Janet didn’t…”
“It was just the usual chaffing,” Rose interrupted. Had she actually kissed him last night? That seemed an impossibility in the clear light of day, after another tussle with Keighleys.
“You might have…”
“Had a shouting match with your sisters? As is our families’ habit? Right in front of you? What would you expect to do then?”
He gazed at her, with nothing to say apparently. That ought to be satisfying, but Rose didn’t find it so.
“We could have berated each other as our parents did,” she went on. “That would have made an edifying spectacle for the Terefords.”
“That isn’t what I was going to say.”
“No? What were you proposing that I might have done?”
He looked pained. “I don’t know. But after last night…”
“We wake in the morning and find that nothing has changed,” said Rose. The twins had made her feel that even more strongly.
“Something has changed,” he said. He stepped closer.
He drew her. She remembered the touch of his hands, the taste of his lips so vividly. And the scorn in his sisters’ eyes. And her parents’ stern judgment. “I need to get away.” Rose turned and moved toward a path.
“Where are you going?”
“For a walk!” The moor always comforted her.
She had no wrap or bonnet, still less gloves. She would be chilled after a while, but she didn’t care. She knew the landscape. The sun was bright. It would warm her in some sheltered nook, which she could certainly find. This was where she belonged, Rose thought as she strode along. This was her true home, not some stuffy parlor where silly girls sniped at her for the stupidest reasons. Or no real reason at all, for pity’s sake.
She topped a small rise and saw Gavin tramping off in the opposite direction. Good! He had acknowledged her wish for solitude. Rose did not feel the least regret. She did not wish to go after him. It was futile to talk about that kiss. To bring it all back. Yearning threatened to rise in Rose’s chest. She walked faster, taking long steps, swinging her arms, breathing deeply and slowly. She would not think about last night. She would look for plant specimens, though she did not have her collecting case with her. Her side felt bare without it. She missed her routine of collection and preservation most sorely. That delicate, intricate work soothed her soul. She was walking too fast to spot hidden treasures. She needed to move though, which was not the same as fleeing.
She would think about something pleasant and soothing. This “ball” the Milsomes planned popped up instead, the opposite of those things. It was a dreadful idea. Rose imagined Lady Keighley, sitting on the sidelines, scowling at any passing Denholme. Her parents glaring back. Janet and Jillian on a dance floor, sneering and tripping her if she dared to…dance with Gavin? Rose stopped short. What would it be like to dance with Gavin? Rather…invigorating? She never had, of course. That would be a spectacle for the neighborhood to marvel over.
Why must people create complications? It seemed to be all they were good for. Or bad for. More often the latter, Rose thought.
A breeze ruffled her skirts. A skylark flew up and hovered. Sweet and pungent scents wafted by. As it always did, the moor soothed her. Settled her feathers, she thought, smoothed out her fur. It was strange that a wild place could do that, but it had all her life. She walked on, more peacefully.
She paid no attention to direction, knowing she could find her way back whenever she liked. She watched a hawk float on the wind. The way its wings tilted to catch the air seemed the very emblem of freedom. She bent over a cluster of blooming violets in their nest of moss. She paused for a while in a stony nook where sunlight poured down and warmed her. And then, her mood much better, she walked on. There was no one waiting at home to scold her about solitary rambles. Unless the duchess disapproved? Let her try! But from what she’d observed so far, Rose didn’t think she would.
When Rose found that her feet had led her to the hill where her childhood gang had built the “castle,” she was not really surprised. They’d been talking about it. When she had no other destination in mind, memory had drawn her there.
Rose looked up the tumbled slope. She hadn’t climbed it in years.
She hesitated, smiled to herself, and tied a knot in her skirt and petticoat to hold them out of the way. Using her hands to steady her steps, she ascended the hill, went over the low wall, and surveyed their old construction.
Stone didn’t change. Their ringwall was intact, as was the uneven platform in the middle of that circle. Sprigs of green poked through the joints. She could remember their excitement as they gathered rocks and piled them. The memory made her sad, a little, but she was also happy to see the place. They’d had such fun here.
“Is it still the same?” called a deep voice.
Rose turned, and there was Gavin, clambering up the other side of the hill. Their reminiscences had led him here as well. Inclinations drew you along on the moors. She knew that. And the fort was as much his as hers. She could hardly order him off. She didn’t really want to. She untied her skirt and let it fall. He stepped over a last rock and joined her.
“It is,” he said. “Look, there’s Alan’s cannon ‘emplacement.’”
He stood tall beside her, his black hair tossed by the wind. He looked like he belonged to the moor. Rose’s anger had blown away with the wind. Yet her pulse sped up.
“Do you suppose the spears we threw are lying out there on the ground?” Gavin gestured at the surrounding heath.
“The wood would have decayed by this time.”
“Yes. How can it have been ten years?”
“Day by day,” Rose replied.
He turned to her, his gray eyes penetrating. “You say that as if they dragged. How can you think so in a place like this?” He gestured at the landscape again.
“Any day on the moor is wonderful, but I have too few of those. Young ladies are not to wander alone. Or older ladies. No ladies at all.” That had sounded daft. Rose pressed her lips together.
“But you know the land so well. You are quite safe.”
Rose appreciated the sentiment, even though it was not the point. He had no idea what it was like to be hampered by the conventions put on females.
“Surely no one would accost you.”
She could evade anyone who dared try, Rose knew. She was aware of every movement on the moor, and she could fade onto next-to-invisible sheep paths and be gone in a moment. But her parents cared more about appearances than actual dangers. Or, that wasn’t fair. They wanted her safe, as well as respectable. But most especially the latter.
“You always could slip away, like magic.” Gavin bent closer as if he was afraid she would vanish right now.
She was in danger, Rose realized. She had somehow ventured into uncharted waters, and now she was right on the edge of kissing Gavin Keighley. Again. She mustn’t want to do that. She mustn’t recall the delicious shock that had coursed through her when they touched. But she was, so clearly that she was trembling. It would be some sort of poetic completion to step into his arms right here, where they’d been comrades long ago.
“What are you doing up there?” called a childish voice.
Rose jumped and turned to find the Bront? children gathered at the bottom of the hill. Aware of every movement on the moor indeed, she thought. Gavin had seized every bit of her attention. A wolf might have leaped on her. If there were wolves left in this country, her mind automatically corrected. There were not.
Five pairs of childish eyes gazed up at them. Once again the children rode two shaggy moorland ponies equipped with thick sheepskin pads. Maria held Branwell and Emily before her. Elizabeth and Charlotte sat together on the other mount. They were warmly dressed, as Rose was not. That was the reason for the goose bumps on her arms, she told herself, not wild arousal. Not the fact that she had been about to thrust herself on Gavin Keighley again. She should be thankful for the interruption. Rose tried, and failed.
Gavin growled.
The sound reached down into Rose and…summoned. She felt like a plucked harp string.
“Why are people always where you don’t want them to be?” he muttered.
“Because that is the nature of people,” Rose replied without thinking.
Their eyes met. Rose felt she was gazing at a kindred spirit down to their very depths.
“Is it an ancient tomb?” called Charlotte Bront?.
Kindred, Rose thought. All of their kindred stood between them in oppositional lines. She looked away.
Gavin moved over to the edge of the slope. “Come and see,” he said in a resigned tone. The children hopped off the ponies and swarmed up the low hill. “Be careful climbing,” Gavin added. “Some of the rocks will tilt under you.” He wondered if he should go down to help. But the two oldest were boosting the smaller ones over the obstacles and holding them steady.
A moment later, they poured over the edge like a troop of invaders. But they had to be welcomed rather than repelled. And he had to stop thinking of Rose in his arms, arched up against him in eager demand. As if that was possible when she stood right there, windblown and delectable.
“What is this place?” asked Elizabeth Bront?. “Is it a relic of former dwellers in this land?”
Small children did not speak this way, Gavin thought. Only these did—apparently.
“No,” replied Rose. “We built it, with our friends. When we were a bit older than you.”
“Built it!” Branwell looked around in delight. “Like a fort.” He picked up a stick and began to brandish it like a sword. Charlotte found another and fenced with him on the rocky platform. Emily danced around them, shrieking with joy.
“Stop acting like barbarians,” said their eldest sister, Maria.
The girl had heard that scold somewhere, Gavin thought, as the two lowered their improvised weapons. From some humorless git.
“We used to play at being barbarians,” said Rose. “That was just the word the Romans used for the people who lived here first, you know.”
Good for her, Gavin thought. Trust Rose to offer kindness. It was her natural element, he remembered. She’d always been the one who settled their youthful spats. He felt a pang of admiration, and longing.
“The Romans spoke Latin,” said Branwell, as if this was not a point in their favor.
“Yes. They marched through here many centuries ago,” Gavin said. “You can see the ruins of their camps, and the wall they put right across England up north a ways. We pretended to fight them off.” And then sometimes they had played at being a legion besieged by the blue-painted Picts.
“Ha!” Branwell waved his stick at the ringwall. “Take that, Romans.”
“We threw—” began Rose, then broke off, pressing her lips together. Gavin met her rueful gaze. With a nod he agreed that introducing the idea of spears was not advisable, particularly with these children. They’d fill the air with missiles. Rose smiled, and Gavin was literally warmed by it. She set his blood alight. “Sometimes we battled Danes,” she said. “Or Saxons.”
“They came through here too,” Gavin added.
“With the Romans?” asked Charlotte.
“After them. This land has had many invaders.”
“A place of warring kingdoms,” replied the little girl dreamily.
“It was.” As if in answer to this statement, the wind came up, sweeping over miles of heather in a great whispering rush. “Do you hear that?” Gavin asked the children.
“What?”
“The sound of the wind. Listen.”
They all stood still. It was almost as if the children cocked their ears.
“They call that sound ‘wuthering’ here in Yorkshire.”
“Wuthering,” repeated Emily. “Wuthering, wuthering.” She licked her lips as if she liked the taste of the word.
“It’s bringing clouds,” said Rose. She pointed at the horizon. “We should go.”
There was no other choice, Gavin thought. They couldn’t live here in their old stronghold, pleasing as that fantasy might be. The past was gone. The present was tangled. The future was…a mystery.
He stepped forward to help the little ones down the hill.
The Bront? children rode alongside them back toward Yerndon, and so Gavin found no new opportunities to bewilder himself talking with Rose.