Visions of Mistletoe: A Ridlington Christmas Novella Page 7

  “Aye, lad, ‘tis indeed,” replied Winnie. “A work of art, some say.”

  “I can see that,” he muttered. “It’s incredible…” He stared into it, and as he did, he found himself gripping the table lest he fall through and vanish into the mysteriously cloudy center that he could barely see forming inside it.

  “’Tis a powerful piece, lad,” said Winnie. “One yer’ll not see agin in yer lifetime.” She spoke with reverence and respect.

  “I can well believe it,” said Michael, understanding the emotion these women showed for such a unique and stunning piece.

  “Well, let’s ’ave at it, then,” said Winnie.

  She and Ariadne sat across from Michael and he willingly accepted the hands stretched toward him as they formed a circle around the crystal.

  The room fell silent, even the fire simmering quietly in the hearth.

  Michael felt something—a tingle, as if lightning was dancing gently over his skin. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and this time the ball began to glow a little, just a faint light, but enough to be noticeable.

  Winnie and Ariadne had their eyes fixed on the crystal, and for long moments all three stayed thus, held together over the light.

  He couldn’t help gazing with them, seeing movements, shapes—and then, to his shock, a massive warship flying the flag of the British Navy.

  He gasped, the women sighed as one, and the vision vanished.

  Ariadne’s chest rose as she sucked in a breath of air. “That’s it then.”

  “A ship?”

  “What?”

  “I saw a ship. A big one. At least a hundred guns by the look of her…”

  Winnie blinked at him. “Well. ‘Ow nice fer yer, then. Liked to play with boats when yer was a sprout, did yer? Or mebbe yer wanted ter join the Navy?”

  “No, I…”

  “Winnie hush.” Ariadne turned to Michael. “We must go south by southwest to find the vale.”

  He shook his head, completely lost. “I don’t understand.”

  “I saw a compass, Michael,” she answered.

  “As did I, lad,” added Winnie. “South by southwest it were pointin’.” Her lips curled into a grin. “Mebbe it was the way yer ship were sailin’?”

  Michael knew when he was beaten and threw up his hands, surrendering with a smile of his own. “South by southwest it is.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Are you absolutely sure about this?” Michael asked Ariadne once again, for what seemed like at least the fourth time.

  She continued to pack a small bag, adding some odds and ends from the parlour. A book, a pair of gloves from the sideboard…things she might need for their journey.

  Sighing, she looked up at him. “Yes, Michael, I’m sure. Yes, we will have to travel as a married couple. I have no maid, since as you pointed out, Winnie and Rodney must be here to protect this house.” She sighed. “At least Joshua won’t be home until the New Year.”

  “That should give us time to find this vale.” Michael glanced out of the window. “The horses should be here soon.”

  Ariadne nodded. Winnie had called in a favour from a neighbouring farm—the loan of two horses as payment for some honeyed mead she’d put up a few weeks before. It had helped ease the farmer’s cough and his family was most grateful. At the moment, given the weather, they had two of their horses eating their heads off in the barn, so it was an equitable arrangement all around.

  “It will be all right.” She said the words as much to reassure herself as to soothe Michael. He was worried, she knew. This journey could lead nowhere, and might end in worsening both their situations. Were she to be discovered rooming with a man not her husband…what little of her reputation she had left would vanish.

  But then again, did that really matter? A tiny piece of her mind whispered that he would not let that happen; but she’d learned long ago that those whispers most often lied.

  So she held her peace, determined to accompany him on this odd search, since she knew the area a little and could at least find the right roads that would lead them south and west.

  He’d tried to talk her out of it, but something drove her to insist. The notion of watching him ride away alone…no. Every instinct she had rose up and battered her into raising her chin and announcing there would be no discussion.

  And in truth, she felt his disinclination to leave her there alone, but for her two faithful servants. They would protect her to the limits of their abilities, but they were no match for someone as brutish as Graymore—and should he decide to return, with companions…

  “They’re here.”

  Michael gathered his own small bag and slipped into his thick coat. It was worn now, she’d noticed, a few tears and holes here and there. His cloak was even worse. Between them, they certainly wouldn’t be mistaken for wealthy travellers. She chuckled to herself as she wrapped up warmly in her old muffler and mittens, pulling her bonnet snugly over her ears and tying it tight with a ribbon that had seen better days.

  “Let’s be off then.”

  They walked together to the front step where Rodney held the mounts, and Winnie stood watching, her hands twisting in her apron, betraying her concern.

  “Yer takes care of ‘er now, yer hear?” She stared at Michael.

  “I will, Winnie.” He laid his hand on hers, smiling at her. “You can rest assured of that.”

  The old woman nodded. “’Tis a good man, yer are, lad.” She turned to Ariadne. “Listen ter ‘im, now, girl. None ‘o yer whims and notions.”

  “Oh Winnie,” she answered, going to her and hugging her tightly. “It will be all right. I promise we’ll both be careful. And we’ll be back before you know it.”

  Michael fastened the bags and stood by one of the horses, waiting for Ariadne. “Ready?”

  She nodded and let Winnie step back. “Yes. As I’ll ever be.” She took a breath and let him toss her up into the saddle. It had been a while since she’d ridden, so between setting her leg over the ladies’ saddle pommel and getting comfortable, a few moments passed before she was at ease.

  Michael was already up and mounted beside her. “Which way?” he asked, his breath puffing out tiny clouds into the cold morning air.

  She pointed with her crop. “To the future. That way…” And so, with only a quick backward look and a brief wave, the couple set off down the lane, and away from everything Ariadne held dear.

  It was a wrenching moment, but then the sun slipped free of the clouds and as if to reassure her, a beam of bright light illuminated the way.

  “A good omen, I think…” Michael glanced at her.

  She smiled back. “I’d like to think so too, yes.”

  They kept a fair pace for the first couple of miles, the road before them showing signs of travel. There were plenty of hoof prints once they found themselves on larger roads; the going was faster, and it took only a few hours to find themselves quite a distance south from their original starting point.

  “Should we see if we can find out where we are?” Ariadne asked, as they briefly paused at a crossroads sign.

  “Well,” Michael looked at the sky, “we still have a few hours of daylight left, providing the weather holds.” He shrugged as he observed the signpost. “We seem to have a choice between the road to Murrayfield, Sherrifield, Fallow’s Mere or back the way we’ve just come.” He looked over at her with a smile. “Any preferences? Should we toss a coin?”

  She took a breath, looked at the signpost and then at the roads down which they could proceed. “Sherrifield.”

  Michael blinked. “Well. That was a firm statement. Any particular reason?”

  “The road. It’s clearly better travelled, which makes me think it leads somewhere people want to go.” She kept her voice level.

  “Logical. Yes, I’ll agree. Sherrifield it is.”

  They turned their horses toward their destination, and a touch of rightness drifted over her shoulders. She couldn’t tell Michael that her decis
ion hadn’t only been logical; but it had also been made with the input of senses she couldn’t describe but knew wouldn’t let her down.

  How did she describe some of the gifts her gypsy heritage had bestowed upon her? The moments of clarity when things seemed to fall into place like well-oiled gears?

  Then again, such things were balanced against the moments of passion, of madness, when her emotions rose to their full power and turned her feet onto a course guided by desires rather than logic. And they had led her into trouble quite a few times.

  But they had also given her Joshua, a prize she’d never ever regret.

  Nothing, it would seem, came without a price. It always remained to be determined what the eventual cost would be.

  Her mind turned over these thoughts as she rode quietly beside Michael. He too seemed immersed in his own cogitations, but the silence between them was one of mutual companionship.

  Neither felt the urge to chat, but she sensed that he was taking this time to evaluate, assess and perhaps sketch some plans as they rode on. It was quite intriguing, this awareness, the immediate rapport she’d discovered with this man.

  A total stranger—and yet there was some sort of underlying familiarity. As if they’d known each other somewhere, or perhaps some when.

  She shook her head at her fanciful thoughts, watching the sky show the first signs of the approaching sunset. She was tired, her backside was getting sore and she could use a meal, if their meagre source of funding would stretch that far.

  They’d pooled their coins, and Michael believed it would be enough for perhaps two or three nights at a small country inn if they could find one. Rubbing a hand over her tired eyes, she blinked at the sight of soft curls of smoke in the distance.

  As if her thoughts matched his, he looked at her. “I see signs of life. Perhaps it’s Sherrifield?”

  She nodded. “And most welcome.”

  “It’s been a long day. Let’s hope we can find a room, and a meal.” He urged his horse to a trot.

  She followed, and within moments they rounded a bend to find themselves on the outskirts of what must be the village. There were a few houses, a tiny shop, and—best of all—a small sign indicating “The Sherrifield Arms” hanging in front of a larger building at the end of the street.

  “I believe we have reached our destination,” said Michael, a note of thankfulness in his voice.

  She simply nodded and straightened, hoping there might be some hot water involved as well. She felt grubby, tired and very ready to call a halt to their journey.

  Allowing him to ease her from the saddle, she dared lean against him for a few moments while her legs straightened themselves out.

  “All right?” he asked, his arms tightening around her waist.

  Wearily, she fought to straighten her spine. “Tired, but all right.”

  “That’s my girl.” He hugged her and then let her go, tying their horses to the post. “Let’s see if there’s a room to be had for the night.”

  Ariadne offered a silent prayer as she followed him into the warmth of the inn. She wasn’t sure if her backside could take another hour in that damn saddle.

  *~~*~~*

  They had a room.

  Michael’s spirits lifted as he saw a genuine smile of relief cross Ariadne’s face when the landlord gave them the key. It was a small inn, and only one room was available, but they were assured it was a good size and would suit them well.

  He didn’t volunteer the information that they’d have been quite happy with some straw in the cellar, since they both maintained the appearance of a weary but decent couple halting their journey for a night. A young lad followed them with Ariadne’s bags and promised hot water as he put them down next to the bed.

  Michael found a coin in his pocket and slipped it into the grateful lad’s hand. It wasn’t much, but they wouldn’t be expected to have a lot of money on their persons, anyway. Not in a place like this.

  The furniture was sturdy, the bed firm and the linens clean. There was no sign of luxury or elegant trappings, just the basics.

  Which, to judge by Ariadne’s face, was absolutely perfect.

  “I cannot pretend to be other than tired,” she groaned, sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s been far too long since I spent that much time in the saddle.”

  “Are you all right?” Concerned, Michael crossed the room in two strides and rested a hand on her shoulder. “We should have stopped earlier,” he said, kicking himself for not realising what a strain their ride would be.

  She waved his sympathy aside. “I’m perfectly well. Just sore and stiff. Nothing that won’t pass after a night’s sleep.” She glanced up at him. “And food wouldn’t go amiss.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Michael,” she said tentatively. “This is awkward, but you well know I have some money with me.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand, stopping the words before they came. “Please. Let me finish. We are both sharing this trip and I chose to accompany you. We have pooled our resources, limited as they are, and I know we must not over-extend ourselves. But please use it?”

  He sighed, understanding the logic, knowing she was right, and hating it all the same. “I cannot argue, Ariadne, much as I would like to. We’ve been bluntly honest with each other about our circumstances, so I find myself forced to agree, although I do so with a certain level of discomfort.”

  “Duly noted,” she grinned. “I trust you can overcome that discomfort enough to obtain a tray of food for us, perhaps? Denying ourselves tonight in case we need money for the morrow…it is a noble thought, but I’m not convinced it’s a wise one.”

  A knock on the door followed her statement, and Michael moved to answer it, finding a maid outside with a large jug of steaming water.

  He beckoned her inside as he glanced at Ariadne. “Very well, my dear, I shall endeavour to do just that while you refresh yourself. Will ale be acceptable?”

  “Indeed, yes,” Ariadne nodded, rising to help the maid pour the hot water into the ewer. “And I’ll leave you some water. So don’t linger or it will grow cool.”

  He left with a nod, heading back downstairs, hoping he could wrestle a tray of something from the innkeeper, since he knew neither he nor Ariane would care to come downstairs for their meal. They were just too damn tired.

  There was a pleasant bustle now, regulars greeting each other, the hearty mumble of conversations, and the scent of ale mingling with the smoke issuing from several pipes and the fireplace at the back of the room. Michael found it all very relaxing; even the distinct aroma of drying wool as several men availed themselves of the roaring fire and stood toasting their arses and drying their trousers at the same time.

  This was the heart and soul of the countryside; these men farmed, raised the food so many depended upon, and stood together in times of trouble.

  Now, as Michael realised when he saw the odd bits of greenery, they were sharing a celebration of the season. Their families would meet in church on Christmas morning, of course, but each would have their own particular way of enjoying this time of year.

  As he made his way to the tap, Michael wondered if Ariadne had any special Christmas traditions. He must remember to ask her.

  The innkeeper was glad to oblige a request for a tray of whatever was handy and simply relayed the information to a young lass behind him. “Tell yer mum, then, Susie.”

  “Aye, Da,” and she was off.

  The innkeeper turned back to Michael. “Yer’ll ‘ave yer tray in no time, sir,” he smiled, showing the large gap where several teeth used to be. Then he paused. “By St. Polycarp, yer looks familiar, sir.” He frowned as he stared at Michael. “No offence meant…”

  “None taken,” said Michael, his instincts on alert at the man’s words. “Any idea who I might resemble?” He kept his words light and a slight smile on his face. “The spirit of Christmas, perhaps?”

  The innkeeper laughed, a rich sound that drew smiles fro
m those around him. “Nay, lad. ‘E’s much too busy ter stop in ‘ere tonight, I reckon…”

  Michael laughed with them, enjoying the simple humour and evident camaraderie.

  “Check on your horses.”

  “What?” Michael turned at the words—only to find nobody behind him

  He frowned a little, but the thought took hold in his mind that he should indeed make sure the horses were well set for the night. In the thrill of actually getting a room for the night, he’d forgotten about them. After all, without them it would be a damned hard walk, especially when they weren’t even sure of their destination.

  So he told the innkeeper he’d be at the stables for a moment or two and then back to collect his tray.

  The man nodded as Michael walked out into the cold air, still a little unsettled at the command from nowhere. Had he overheard someone saying it to someone else? That must be it. It wasn’t unusual for a single phrase to be heard over the noise of general conversations.

  Satisfied that the stables were snug enough against the bitter winds and that fresh hay was plentiful, he turned to leave, noticing another groom leading a horse out. He didn’t envy anyone riding this night, but perhaps it was only a short journey.

  He nodded to the groom.

  Who nodded back, and then froze, his mouth agape, his eyes wide. “My Lord, forgive me. I’d no idea you were here…”

  “Uhh…” Michael blinked. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else, lad.”

  The groom peered at him as he walked a little closer. “By God, yes. I beg your pardon, sir. You got the wrong eyes.”

  “Well, far be it from me to disagree, but the ones I have work quite well.”

  “No, I meant the colour, sir. Yours are green. His are brown.”

  “His? His who?”

  “Why the man you’re the spitting image of. Two peas in a pod couldn’t be more like if they tried.”

  “What man?” Michael managed not to yell.

  “Baron Ridlington, sir. Him as what lives in Ridlington Vale.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Ridlington? Baron Ridlington?” Ariadne’s eyes widened in shock at Michael’s announcement.