The Forest Lord (15 page)

"But he will." Tod scurried up into the branches of an ash and hung upside down from his knees. "When will you tell him, my lord?"

"When I am ready."
He scowled at the hob. "What news have you brought me?"

"Good news, my lord. Good for you." He sprang to the ground. "The boy has not been with the woman above two days."

"What?"

Tod puffed up with importance. "
She
came to Hartsmere after. He was sent from
Eire by the mortals who raised him. Before that, the woman lived in
London and never saw the mortal child."

Hartley leaped up from his seat. "Donal was not with her?"

"Nay, my lord.
Not since his birthing."

But that made no sense. Agitated, Hartley paced the length of the clearing. Branches rustled above him, echoing the chaos of his thoughts.

He could well believe that
Eden had some part in concealing his son's birth from him and keeping the boy away from Hartsmere. But that she would give him to strangers, claim he was another woman's child, and then behave toward him with such devotion and protectiveness…

Less than an hour ago he had found himself enjoying
Eden's company, softening toward her.
Desiring her.
His feelings twisted and turned about like a spider's web torn by the wind. It seemed inconceivable that the woman he had seen in the village would cast her son away.

"Is it not good, my lord?" Tod asked, crouching at his feet. "Can you not take him now?"

If what Tod reported were true, Hartley need have no twinges of burdensome conscience at taking the boy away when the time was right. It was to his benefit if the bond between mother and son was weak and of short duration.

And yet, despite all that had come between them, he did not want to discover that
Eden had made mockery of his amended judgment. In the past few hours, his image of her had changed completely. He could not despise the woman he'd seen in the village and with Donal. Like the sun breaking through the clouds, his heart had begun to cast off the bands of iron that had bound it.

Suddenly, he was desperate to prove that Tod was wrong.

"I have another task for you," he said to the hob. "Fly to
Eire and seek these foster parents. Learn the circumstances of his coming to them."

And find something that will redeem her.

With a joyous yelp, Tod dashed three times around Grandfather Oak. "Tod shall fly!" he cried.

"But only if you come back as soon as your task is done," Hartley warned. "Do not linger."

His tone silenced Tod's rejoicing instantly, and the hob looked up at him with wide brown eyes. "Shall Tod bring the mortals back from
Eire?"

"That will not be necessary. Now, go, and return swiftly."

Unable to maintain any kind of solemnity for long, Tod whooped and flung himself into the air. His form contracted in upon itself, growing smaller and smaller until he was the size of a bumblebee. Three times he buzzed about Hartley's head, and then he shot off through the trees to the west.

In the tranquillity of the wood, Hartley had never felt so alone. He closed his eyes and called out to the creatures that had once lived in this sacred place: the
red deer, the squirrels, the field mice; stoat, weasel and marten; badgers still asleep in their setts; foxes busy with mating; and all the birds: thrush, tit, robin, sparrow, wren, and the great owls, hawks, and falcons. One and all he summoned them to return and accept his protection.

The answer came from a hundred minds, near and distant; those that were closest cried out in welcome. The birds and beasts did not reproach him for staying so long away. They poured all that they were into every moment of life, with no thought beyond the day itself.

Once Hartley had lived so, for time was nothing to him.

But now time hung like shackles on his body and mind, as it did on every mortal ever born.

In Tir-na-nog, every day was warm and pleasant, caressed by fragrant breezes, filled with amusements and glorious music and fantastical creatures to delight its Fane masters. There was no lasting sorrow, no hunger, or disease, or fear. Reality could be changed with the wave of a hand. Loneliness was impossible.

What Fane would wish to remain in this world of Iron when such awaited him? Was Tir-na-nog not what Hartley wanted above all else, why he endured this turmoil to acquire his son?

Wasn't it?

The fluttering of wings sounded in the branches of Grandfather Oak. A lone wren, plain and brown, flew out of the tree to land on Hartley's shoulder. It whispered to him of coming spring, of the seeds waking under the earth and sun that warmed the feathers and quickened the blood.

"So it will be, little sister," Hartley said, stroking her breast with the tip of his finger. "I can hasten but not alter the march of the seasons. I have no power to do other than slow or speed what will be, or draw what is best or worst from the land. But I will do what I can. Go, and tell your brothers and sisters that I need them. We must make this land healthy again." He launched the wren skyward, and she flew off as swiftly as Tod had done.

Then he was alone again. It would have been easy to sink back into bitterness and distrust, to believe the worst of
Eden and of man's world.

But he had seen the worst in himself. Spring was coming, and with it the promise of renewal.

And hope.

"So, you are returned at last
."
Eden finished unbuttoning her pelisse and helped Donal off with his coat. Only then did she look to Aunt Claudia, who, in spite of recent disagreements, appeared well rested and fully restored to her usual equanimity.

"I am later than I expected to be,"
Eden said, pulling off her bonnet, "but I wished to see something of the village and the state of the tenants right away. Donal came with me."

"So I see." She smiled at Donal with more warmth than she had shown thus far. "I trust he behaved himself?"

"Very well indeed."

"Hartley took us," Donal offered, meeting Claudia's gaze with his distinctly unchildlike stare.

"Hartley?"

Eden
blushed. She had no reason to do so; Claudia could neither read minds nor guess at her most secret longings.

"Mr. Shaw. A servant I hired as a man of all work."

"Indeed? I had thought that you and I would discuss the needs of the estate before hiring servants."

"I did not seek him, Aunt. He saved Donal from a dangerous horse, and as he was in need of work and showed considerable skill—" She broke off, determined not to justify herself. "He has proven quite able. He drove us in the dog cart to look over the dale and village. Conditions are far worse than I thought. I plan to start improvements at once."

"Most admirable, I am sure, if you truly think—"

Mrs. Byrne appeared in the hall to take
Eden's bonnet and pelisse.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Byrne,"
Eden said. "How is Dalziel?"

"Much better, my lady. I'll tell him you asked after him."

Claudia signaled to the housekeeper. "Tell
Nancy to take Donal up to his room, Mrs. Byrne. He needs his nap before dinner."

Eden
almost protested. She resented Claudia's interference with her son; in fact, she felt less provoked when Hartley Shaw behaved like a relation rather than a servant.

But she would not quarrel again. They were both suffering the strain of so many rapid changes. "By all means," she said.

"I'm not tired," Donal said, continuing to gaze at Claudia.

"Donal, it's impolite to stare,"
Eden said. She recognized within herself a tendency to be overindulgent with Donal, just as she had always indulged herself. It was not a comforting thought. She took his arm and felt the wiry muscles tense under her fingers. "Excuse yourself to your great aunt, and go with Mrs. Byrne."

Donal pulled free with surprising strength, took Mrs. Byrne's hand, and went directly to the stairs without a word.
Eden felt the helplessness of inexperience, inadequate in the face of a child's inexplicable moods.

"I fear he dislikes me," Claudia said dryly.

"He just doesn't know you,"
Eden protested. "He barely knows me. Give him time."
And give me time to learn to be a mother.
A proper mother
.

"Of course."
Claudia took
Eden's arm and led her into the sitting room. "He is ignorant of manners and proper behavior. A good governess and tutor will correct that problem."

I shall not argue
,
Eden reminded herself. "If you wish to discuss the hiring of servants, we might do it before dinner, when Mrs. Byrne comes down."

Claudia was agreeable, and so they spent a few minutes in casual conversation until Mrs. Byrne joined them. Claudia said little, but
Eden knew that she was taking in and absorbing every comment that the housekeeper offered. The more unpleasant discussion of budget and expenditure had yet to come.

An hour before dinner, when the aromas of slightly burned cooking drifted through some ill-sealed cracks in the wall, Claudia went upstairs to dress. Mrs. Byrne lingered.

"All went well today, my lady?" she asked.

Eden
sensed that there was more behind her question than idle curiosity. "As well as can be expected, given the state of the dale." She looked at her hands. "It is every bit as bad as you indicated."

Mrs. Byrne clucked softly. "Never fear, my lady. I've a feeling that things will change for the better now that you're home."

Oddly comforted,
Eden smiled up at the housekeeper. "I hope that your faith in me is justified."

"But I do have faith." Mrs. Byrne glanced toward the window. "Do you know what eve this is, my lady?"

"It is the twentieth of January, I believe. Why?"

"Tis St. Agnes's Eve.
In the old days, young maids were said to dream of the man they would marry if they fasted the day and were sure not to kiss anyone, adult or child."

Eden
laughed. "Well, I shall not be among the dreamers this night. I did not fast, and I've kissed Donal at least once today."
And I am most certainly no maid
. Her body had reminded her of that nearly every moment she was with Hartley Shaw.

"As you say, my lady."
But Mrs. Byrne had a twist about her mouth that seemed to hide some secret knowledge.
"As you say."

That night, after a dinner somewhat improved from that of the evening before,
Eden tucked Donal into bed and retired early. She had thought herself exhausted, but her mind would not let her rest. Long into the night she tossed and turned, her thoughts locked into a whirling pattern made up of Donal, the sad state of the dale, and Hartley Shaw.

She only knew she'd slept when she jerked awake, the sheets wrapped about her and her forehead beaded with perspiration. And then she remembered the dream.

She had dreamed, in stunningly erotic detail, of Hartley Shaw.

I cannot thank you enough for your generosity, Lady
Eden," Mr. Appleyard said, bowing for the hundredth time. "The poor of the dale will be equally grateful, I make no doubt."

Eden
smiled, hoping that the nervous curate would exhaust his praises and be on his way. He was a good-hearted man; not perhaps the most competent to hold his post, but the vicar who held the living had not made a personal appearance in some time, and
Eden didn't intend to displace him.

"I wish it could be more, Mr. Appleyard," she said. "You have everything I could gather in so short a time. But I shall obtain whatever else is needed, as long as you keep me informed about the parish folk."

"Indeed. Indeed I shall. And your contribution to the repair of the church—"

Before he could begin rhapsodizing about her
many perfections
,
Eden held up a hand. "It is my pleasure. Two of my men will help you load the cart and carry the goods to the parsonage."

Mr. Appleyard performed yet another bow. "I shall make a special visit to Mrs. Singleton, as you asked."

"Thank you, Mr. Appleyard," she said, drawing him toward the door.

"I have taken up far too much of your valuable time. I shall be most honored to join you for dinner on Monday next."