7. Isla
Isla
Three days later, Isla awoke to more than the morning sun streaming through her open window.
The gentle breeze carried the sounds of the loud and vibrant wrens that made their nests in the crooks and hollows of the wide-canopied trees growing next to her window.
The silvery tinkling of the seashell wind chimes produced a unique harmony, reminding her of gentle waves breaking along the shoreline.
But as she lay dozing, another sound came rolling through her window.
It had been there all along, but her mind had skipped right over its incongruity because, quite simply, it shouldn’t have been there.
She sat up, suddenly fully aware of the high chittering of lambs mixed with the midrange calling of ewes searching for their wayward offspring.
Add to that the low bleating of the rams needing the attention of the rest of the animals in their herd and her alarm rose tenfold. “What in the world?”
She quickly pushed off her four-poster bed, slipped her feet into her silk slippers, and hurried to the window only to be shocked by the sheer number of sheep grazing on her lawn.
Several were eating her flowers, while others lay beneath the spreading canopies of her enormous oak trees, placidly chewing their cud with their eyes half-closed and their jaws rhythmically moving from side to side.
Alarmed by the sight, Isla quickly dressed and ran down the hall toward her front door, where no less than the cook, the lady’s maid, and the housekeeper were staring at the spectacle of well over one hundred sheep milling about, with more trotting down the hill toward them.
She pushed past them and stopped when confronted by a menacing ram standing with his front hooves planted firmly on the top step, daring her to challenge his right to be there.
His yellowish-orange, oval eyes stared unblinkingly at her, and when she dared a small step forward, he lowered his back-swept horns a fraction, warning her to stay back from his herd.
With irritation mounting, Isla glanced over her shoulder at the lady’s maid and motioned with a deft flick of her wrist. “Bring me a broom, Lily. Quickly.”
The striking, middle-aged woman hurried into the house and returned with not one but two brooms, one clutched firmly in each hand.
Lily was a buxom, fifty-year-old former courtesan Isla’s mother had brought into the household when she’d aged out of her previous profession.
She held out a broom and narrowed her eyes at the ram.
“I won’t have you going out there alone, My Lady.
I’ve never worked with animals, but I know how to keep the rams away from the ewes.
” A glint of humor filled her blue eyes. “If you know what I mean.”
Rolling her eyes at the maid's wry sense of humor, Isla accepted the broom and prepared to fight.
Lily promptly lowered her weapon and used the handle’s butt end to firmly and decisively poke the ram in the snout.
Isla shouted, “Lily, no!” as the big animal lowered its head and charged.
There was barely enough time for Isla to drop her broom, grab the beast by its horns, and use its momentum to swing it around in a circle so it toppled down the steps.
When it quickly regained its feet and started back toward them, the two women swung the brush ends of their brooms in its face enough times that it finally gave up and fled.
Lily’s eyes were wide as dinner plates when Isla turned to admonish her.
The shocked expression—mouth agape, eyes round, and brows raised into her hairline—had Isla laughing so hard she had to rest her hand on Lily’s shoulder to steady herself.
Catching her breath, she wiped away some tears and patted the maid on the back.
“Lily, they’re called rams for a reason.
They ram into one another to establish dominance.
You poked him pretty hard, and he took that as a challenge. ”
Isla straightened and hefted her broom in both hands.
“I’m just glad we breed aggressiveness out of our stock because a truly aggressive ram wouldn’t have stopped simply because I bashed him around the head.
Now, come on. We need to find out why they’re coming back through our fence line.
” She turned to one of the scullery maids.
“Tansy. Go find Peter and have him keep them out of the gardens. He can put them into the stock pens for now.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Instead of walking down the front steps toward the ram, which hadn’t gone far before turning to glare at them again, Isla led Lily to the side of the porch, where a second set of steps led into the side garden.
“Thank goodness for the garden fence, or I’m not sure we’d have anything left to eat when winter arrives.
” They walked through rows of beets, whose hats of vibrant green covered the energetic, red stalks beneath.
The gardener had planted these between the round-topped broccoli and the rows and rows and rows of pole beans Cook insisted they include that year.
They passed their youngest gardener, twelve-year-old Perrin Cardew, an orphan who’d shown up on the estate one day tired, half-starved, and more than willing to work.
His neatly trimmed brown hair had been long and scruffy then, so much so that Cook had mistaken him for a little girl.
With eyes a bit too close together and ears that stuck out from his head, he’d never be taken for a handsome lad.
But he was quick-witted. Isla had taught him the basics of chess, and before the year was out, he was winning three games out of six.
She had no doubt that, given another year, he’d even beat Uncle James, who’d been playing the game most of his life.
“Perrin, why are all the sheep around the house?”
Startled to hear his mistress’s voice, he jumped to his bare feet and dragged his cap off his head.
When he’d first arrived, there’d been no way to coax a smile from the lad, but now, his grin was so broad as to show off his mouthful of crooked teeth.
Nearly a mouthful, anyway, because there was one conspicuous gap where he said his pa had knocked a couple out with the working end of a shovel. “Th’ pirates, Milady.”
Isla sent a scathing glare at the hill beyond which Admiral Jonto’s land lay. “What about them?”
“Bringin’ beasts in from t’upper fields, ain’t they? Sendin’ ‘em through th’ hole in th’ rock wall and fixin’ th’ holes, aye?”
“They’re what?” She picked up her skirts and hurried through the garden gate.
She’d over-bought and over-bred her herd this year, fully expecting to purchase those upper pastures.
Her land couldn’t support the sheer numbers she’d amassed over the past nine months.
They topped the rise, only to be met by another group of twenty-five ewes and lambs trotting toward them on the path leading from Jonto’s land.
Wielding her broom like a master swordsman, she swept through the middle of the herd, scattering them to the side as she passed.
One lamb playfully butted the brush as it swished across his muzzle, which encouraged several others to join in the fun.
“Get away. Let me through. This is not a play toy.” She waved the broom back and forth, shouting and moving forward as best she could until she heard laughter coming from higher up the hill.
Unfortunately, they’d come further than she realized and were almost to the rock wall, where Lord Jonto and his man laughed as they watched her fighting the flock.
Jonto called out, “I’ve heard the best way to ride a broom is to sit astride as you would a horse.”
Isla’s cheeks burned, and she pulled herself to her full height. “How dare you?” Her voice had fallen into the deep registers of a snarling wolf.
The twinkle in the lord’s eyes and the way he covered his mouth with a gloved hand told her he was working hard not to laugh again at her expense.
“I simply assumed that since you arrived with brooms in hand, they were your preferred method of transportation.” He pulled off his tricorn hat and swept it before him as he bowed low. “Forgive me, My Lady.”
Isla’s mouth opened wide. “Oh!” Sputtering, she inanely repeated, “How dare you.”
“I believe that was asked and answered, Lady Brighton.”
After hearing a quiet “Breathe, My Lady” from Lily, Isla took a moment to compose herself before asking, “What are you doing with my sheep? And this is a shared wall. You need my permission to close it off.”
“Your sheep are grazing on my pastures, so my men are doing you a courtesy by rounding them up and returning them to your pastures. As for the wall, I assure you, we’ll only repair our side and leave yours to you.”
He had that damnably appealing, amused glint in his eyes, which Isla steadfastly ignored.
“My sheep have grazed that land for the last half a year, and you have no right to summarily evict them without notice.” Isla’s traitorous gaze roamed Jonto’s body, from his straight brown hair pulled back into a ponytail to his lithe, graceful build.
When she realized what she was doing, she silently berated herself.
Now was not the time to begin enjoying the male form, although those playful blue eyes could prove dangerous if she allowed for such folly.
Jonto’s brows rose. “Half a year? Hmm.” He rubbed his chin and pretended to think.
“I’ve gone over Count Deverell’s account books and saw no mention of payments made in exchange for your herd to have free run of the upper pastures.
I believe that puts you in arrears to the lord of these estates, namely me, for back grazing fees. ”
“I…I….” Realizing the man was entirely correct, Isla decided a bit of tact might be in order. “While I don’t believe you can collect on back fees, I’m happy to make arrangements to pay a…suitable fee from here on out.”
“No, thank you.”