The Forest Lord (24 page)

"Why are you here?" she demanded, staring at Hartley. "You are not one of the house servants. Leave at once."

Hartley tightened his grip on Donal's hand. "I will leave with the boy."

"You will do no such thing. I shall call her ladyship—"

"I am taking him to her ladyship," he said.
"If you are referring to Lady Eden."

Something in her face suggested that she was not. "Did she send for him? I am to know about everything the boy does."

"And do you?" Hartley smiled. "Do you know where he is every minute?"

Her face twisted with suspicion and affront. "Several times I have found him outside the room before dawn, his clothes smelling of dirt and leaves, as if he had been—" her eyes widened.
"You.
You
have been taking him at night."

"Kindly step out of my way."

"You have no right! What do you mean by stealing him
away,
and you only a stable servant! When her ladyship hears of this—"

"Why don't you tell her yourself?"

"I will. And when I am done, Lady Claudia will have you discharged without a character, and I shall personally see that—"

Her words cut off on a shriek as a mouse ran out of a hole in the wall and skittered between her feet. It reared up on its hind legs, whiskers twitching with savage purpose, and showed its two long front teeth.

Donal giggled.

"You—you hellion child!"
Miss Waterson cried. She pressed up against the wall and glared at Hartley. "Kill it! Kill it at once!"

"That, woman, is not in my profession." With a fond glance at Donal, Hartley stepped around Miss Waterson and swept his son from the room. The governess shrieked again behind them.

Once safely on the ground floor, he knelt and turned Donal to face him.

"Did you do that?" he asked. "Did you call the mouse?"

"Yes. He's my friend." He wrinkled his nose. "Miss Waterson is not."

No fool, his son. "Does she realize it was you?"

Donal bit his lip. "I don't know. I've called the mouse before, and a bat from outside." A secret smile crossed his face. "She screamed even louder at the bat."

"She screams rather well, doesn't she?"

"She doesn't like me," Donal confessed. He stared at the floor. "Like the people in Ballinkenny."

It was the first time he'd volunteered anything about his previous life, but Hartley didn't want to force such unpleasant memories on him now.

"It doesn't matter," he said, cupping Donal's chin in his hand. "You are better than she is.
Than any of them.
Someday you'll know why."

Donal smiled tentatively and grew serious again. "She found out that we go to the forest at night."

"She doesn't know very much. And soon that won't matter, either." He stood up. "Since you can call the mouse and the bat, next time I will teach you how to call other animals, the wild ones that live outside of men's walls."

It never ceased to amaze him how Donal's entire being could shine so brightly at the slightest kindness. Some of that glow came from his Fane heritage, but part was uniquely his own. He was like a lantern that had been wrapped in dark cloth—hidden, but only for a while.
Only until the light was truly needed.

He scooped Donal up on his shoulders and raced down the stairs. "Shall we go to the party now?" At Donal's nod, he jogged to the front door and came face-to-face with Lord Rushborough. The man had changed into a green coat and buff pantaloons more appropriate to a tonnish drawing room than a rustic outdoors party.

Rushborough lifted his quizzing glass with a bored air. "Shaw, isn't it? I had thought you worked in the stables."

Hartley let Donal slide to the floor. "Your horse is settled," he said. "He doesn't seem to enjoy the countryside any more than you do… your lordship."

"All of my cattle have excellent taste," the marquess replied. He could not possibly consider a servant any sort of rival, but he stood squarely in Hartley's path, blocking the way, and his deceptively mild eyes held a challenge of their own.

For all his city-dulled senses, the marquess had not lost his native human instincts. This was no matter of rank and privilege.

"Who is the boy?" he asked. "Does Lady Eden generally allow grooms and children to run tame in her house?"

"She does this one. I am taking him to her."

Rushborough studied Donal more carefully. "I had not thought her particularly fond of children." He let his quizzing glass fall and stepped aside. "Take him. And when you are done, see that my horse gets another measure of oats."

Donal's presence kept Hartley from replying as he wished. He ushered the boy out the door and across the lawn.

It was rapidly growing dark.
Eden stood at the head of a milling group of tenants, who were showing off their prizes and congratulating each other. As he and Donal approached,
Eden's glance fell in their direction. She stopped in midspeech. Her expression hovered uneasily between dismay and pleasure. With a final word to her guests, she left them to join Hartley and her son.

"Donal," she said warmly. She didn't bend to kiss him, but her loving attention was a caress in itself. "Did Miss Waterson let you out to play?"

"She didn't say no," Hartley answered for him. "The boy deserves to join in the fun, don't you agree? You surely didn't want him hidden away where no one could see him. He is, after all, a Fleming."

She ignored Hartley and touched Donal's cheek. "How would you like to join the other children? There's a bit of food left. I'm sure I saw a biscuit or two."

Donal looked at the troupes of children chasing each other about the lawn and then up at Hartley. "Do I have to play?"

"Only if you wish."
How could he blame his own son for failing to desire human company? "Why don't you show Lady Eden how well you can climb trees?"

Donal's unique inner light blazed to new brightness. "I will. Watch me!" He dashed away toward an oak with a low crotch perfect for climbing. Hartley and Eden were left alone in a pocket of privacy and silence.

"Your Beltane feast appears to be a success," he said softly.

She met his eyes. "Why did you bring Donal out?"

"Are you ashamed to show him to your own people?"

She paced away, clasping her hands. "Lady Claudia suggested that he remain inside today, because he is not yet ready to face so many strangers—"

"Lady Claudia."

She looked at him sharply. "My aunt is just as concerned with Donal's well-being as I am."

"She was the one who hired the governess. Have you made any attempt to learn if Waterson is helping Donal, not harming him?"

"Harm him? I would know. Donal would tell me."

"Didn't he tell you already?"

"Tell you what, my dear Lady Eden?" Lord Rushborough interposed himself smoothly between them and tucked
Eden's arm in the crook of his elbow. He turned a lazy glance on Hartley.

"I believe I asked you to give my horse a second measure of oats. Lady Eden, I fear that your servants take advantage of you."

Eden
slipped her arm from Rushborough's. "I always left such matters to Winstowe," she said with a distant smile.

Rushborough accepted the mild rebuke. "Are you training a new footboy? Hartsmere certainly requires more servants, and of better quality. Perhaps I may assist you in that regard." He touched her hand. "I wish to help, Lady Eden… in every way."

Eden
looked toward the tree where Donal had gone. "Donal is not a servant. He is the son of my late cousin—my Uncle Fleming's grandson. I am caring for him while my uncle is indisposed."

Hartley observed her narrowly. She did not enjoy
lying
to an old friend, a man who had come to court her. Deceiving servants and country folk was one thing; deluding a peer was quite another.

Hartley stared at
Eden until she was compelled to meet his gaze. Shame and defiance turned her eyes the color of tarnished silver.

Rushborough was not oblivious to what passed between them. "You are tired, Lady Eden," he said. "Allow me to take you inside. Surely the farmers can spare you."

"Perhaps you are right." She cast another glance at the oak. "Hartley, please fetch Donal. It is too dark for him to be climbing trees."

"He is well enough," Hartley said.

"Lady Eden," Rushborough said, "
with
your permission, I shall escort this insolent knave off the premises."

"An excellent notion, my lord."
Lady Claudia approached from the house, the governess at her heels like an angry terrier. Armstrong trailed after them.

The two women curtsied to Rushborough. "I beg your pardon, my lord," Claudia said, "but I have an urgent matter to discuss with Lady Eden. Will you forgive us
… ?"

"Naturally."
He stared at Hartley. "I shall see that you are not disturbed."

Hartley stood his ground. The pain surged in his head, and the breath grew hot in his chest. It was not yet
time
to end his masquerade, but he knew that if Rushborough provoked him further, he must respond. And the marquess was no match for a lord of the Fane.

"You have greatly offended Lady Eden and me," Rushborough said. "Go the stables, gather your belongings, and be off this estate by morning."

Hartley smiled. "I did not hear my lady give the order."

Rushborough returned his smile, all white teeth and no humor. "Then I shall have to speak for her." His hand shot out with surprising speed and grabbed the shoulder of Hartley's coat.

There
were any number
of ways that Hartley could have used his powers to send Rushborough reeling, but none was as satisfying as the human method. He raised his bunched fist and drew it back to strike.

"
No,"
Eden whispered
. Hartley heard her. He looked from her to the other women's expressions of horror, and lowered his hand. The marquess pushed him away.

"This ruffian has insulted our guests," Lady Claudia said. "He must leave immediately." She signaled to Armstrong. "There is no need to soil your hands, Lord Rushborough. If he is not gone by morning, we shall send for the constable."

A swarm of midges suddenly gathered about the group and lighted in hungry clusters on Lord Rushborough's face. He made a heroic effort not to hop and slap. Miss Waterson gave a cry of disgust.

"Will you not go inside, my lord?" Lady Claudia said, eyeing the midges. "We will join you presently."

The marquess was torn between his own comfort and the demands of chivalry. The former won out. He bowed to the ladies again, threw a biting stare at Hartley, and strode for the house. The insects followed him in a cloud.

Miss Waterson waited until he was out of earshot and then spoke in a rush. "Lady Eden, I affirm what Lady Claudia says of this man Shaw. He is a danger to Master Donal. I learned today that he steals Master Donal from the nursery every night and takes him—I cannot say where—but the boy returns filthy. These clandestine outings are a gross breach of discipline and propriety. Shaw is insolent beyond words and encourages the boy to even greater rebellion—"

"Rebellion?"
Eden repeated. She remembered Hartley's question: "
Have you made any attempt to learn if Miss Waterson is helping Donal, not harming him
?" She looked at Miss Waterson with new attention. "What do you mean?"

"Why, he—he does not obey. He refuses to sit quietly at his lessons. He will not eat and defies me at every turn, with those strange ungodly eyes of his—" She broke off.

"I see,"
Eden said in an ominously still voice. "You think Donal ungodly, Miss Waterson?"

"No… no, of course I do not, my lady. But punishment does not deter him, and it is no wonder when—-"

Eden
was uncannily calm, the eye of the storm. "You punish him often, Miss Waterson?"

"It is the only way to invoke discipline, of which he is sorely in need. I was given a charge to perform." She jerked up her chin. "I take great pride in my profession, and if you do not wish my services—"

"Miss Waterson—" Claudia began.

Eden
felt very close to the end of her tether. Could this be the same respectful, decorously retiring governess
Eden had met in the drawing room? Was this the unembellished character of the woman she had allowed to take charge of her son?

"I confess that I have never heard a governess speak quite as you do, Miss Waterson,"
Eden said. "I would think that you set a very poor example for Donal."