Sequel: Firebrand ›
Hunters
Legends
They’d ridden deep into the woods, the leafy refuge expressing kaleidoscopic shadows. Vaughan had slowed down to a walk; Beli and Wick were flaring their nostrils. Relaxed in the shade, Lecia closed her eyes and let her horse follow on his own. It was already much cooler, and the scent of earth and moss were filling her lungs while the chirping of birds nearly lulled her to sleep.
“Lecia!” Vaughan called. Her eyes snapped open and she saw him beckoning her from nearly five strides away. She must have nodded off and Wick had stopped to save his rider from falling to the ground.
Composing herself, she trotted up to meet her guide. The trees had grown thicker, closer together, so she was going to have to maneuver through it. They followed a path that was invisible to her, but Vaughan knew the way easy enough, even in the darkening wilderness. Before long, the forest expanded again, more light streamed through the treetops, and the trickling of running water was louder than the birds.
Her husband dismounted when they entered a scenic clearing. Lecia followed form as she peered around. It was well lit and cool enough, though there wasn’t much else that distinguished it as a particularly special place. He caught her eye as he rummaged through a sack she hadn’t realized he was carrying. Beli stood impatiently, pawing at the ground and nodding his head, but Wick was in need of a good nap. Like Lecia, he was both relaxed by the retreat and suffering from the heat.
In the blink of an eye, Vaughan had swapped both horses’ bridles for quickly fashioned rope halters. Still stunned, she watched as he started leading them away into the trees, leaving his bag behind. Lecia trailed as passed into a second, larger glade. It was practically a meadow, tall and lush grass almost to her knees, with a distinct walking path despite it being overgrown.
When she realized what Vaughan was doing she stopped to wait for his return. He was leading their horses to a split-rail pen. There was sufficient shade, a wide creek, and ample space for running, rolling, and resting. It was curious, though, that an enclosure would have been built in the middle of a forest so far from the main park, but it all seemed familiar enough to the Duke.
“Come cariad,” he said, bidding her to follow as he headed back into the first clearing, grabbed his sack, and started into dense wood they hadn’t been through.
For the most part, Lecia kept quiet. If not for the innumerable interpersonal strains, then because she was exerting herself trying to match her husband’s pace while brushing branches out of the way and balancing over the uneven, rocky trail that didn’t exist.
It had been steadily growing darker again, her ability to track Vaughan almost entirely dependent on sound. She could see that the trees had grown green, moss creeping up over exposed roots, trunks, and anything else it might attach to. When her husband finally started taking shorter steps, she was breathing heavily. The woodland might be cooler than direct sunlight, but it was still summer.
“We must be very careful now,” Vaughan said gently, finding her hand in the obscurity. She could see his attentiveness even in the dark, and she smiled a little to herself, finding comfort in the small embrace.
He guided her forward, sharp glimmers of light revealing the narrow scowles that he, somehow, knew the way through. Lecia was glad he had a hold of her when they reached a small stone staircase and she slipped slightly on the moss; she recovered quickly, but couldn’t ignore the way his grip had intensified to keep her from falling.
When they emerged from the labyrinth, Lecia’s heart was racing. There was light again, and Vaughan released his hold on her.
“It’s just here,” he said eagerly, marching over a stone bridge that crossed a steady stream.
After climbing another stone staircase, the dusky forest broke into one final glade. The canopy was nearly entirely gone, the blue sky and puffy white clouds floating overhead. A few willow trees of varying ages offered shade, and a mesmerizingly clear pool of water presented refreshment. Despite the openness, it was a small, intimate place with a welcomed warm breeze.
Visibly relaxed, Vaughan strolled to the biggest of the trees and dropped the sack from his shoulder. He twisted around to behold Lecia’s awestruck expression. She blinked at him, and then walked toward the well of water. Kneeling down, she traced the surface of the magical pool with her fingertips and sighed. She was sure it wasn’t naturally formed, but it blended seamlessly into the landscape that perhaps it was.
The Duke’s bare feet appeared beside her and she looked up as he crouched down. He’d removed his boots and socks and left them under the tree, and his shirt was no longer tucked into his breeches. His right hand made the sign of the cross as he slid his feet into the water.
“Mam told me this was a sacred place,” he explained. “She called it Ffynnon Swyno. Enchanted Fountain.”
Envying her husband’s comfort, the Duchess retreated beneath the willow to remove her own boots. Considering the dampness from an hour of riding and hiking, Lecia also reached under her skirts and slipped off her pantalettes. Then, after a final thought, she unbuttoned the black shell of her dress and left it in a heap with the rest of her things.
Gracefully dropping next to Vaughan once more, Lecia crossed herself and put her own feet in the spring. Her skirts were pulled up and pooled behind her, the hemline crossing her thighs rather lewdly. In the presence of her husband, though, she hardly thought it inappropriate, and it was so god damned hot.
“How did you find it?” the young woman asked, swirling her legs in the water and watching the ripples on the surface.
“Tad brought me once as a boy,” he breathed. “Mam told me stories about it. It’s on English soil, but long ago there weren’t borders. The Welsh have lots of lore, lots of mythology and superstitions and the like, but even locally this place is a fairly well kept secret. Those who know about it respect that the Cantingtons have a certain ownership of it. Not just that it’s on our land, but that it’s a setting for ancient tales.”
Lecia peered up at Vaughan when he stopped talking. A nearly imperceptible effigy hidden by overgrowth entranced his grey eyes. It was weathered and ancient, but water filtered out of it into the well. Maybe it was a fountain, after all.
“We can’t be sure who it’s for, but mam always thought it might have been Britomartis. Legends say healing springs appear where a young woman’s been wrongfully beheaded. Happened to Eiliwedd, too. Mam said young Brit might have spurned the wrong man in medieval times and died, only to be reborn or linger as a ghost or perhaps blessed by Dwynwen to travel through years and be with her true love, Hugh. You’d have to read the book,” he sighed. “The myths of Brit are very complex.”
“I gathered as much,” Lecia said wistfully. It was really all quite fascinating despite everything. “What about the fence you left the horses in?” she asked, lying back in the grass with her legs still partially submerged.
“Oh,” Vaughan shrugged, examining the trees in admiration. “I built that.”
“What?” Lecia laughed incredulously. Her husband twisted around to frown at her, but his glowering stare was short lived.
“I used to come here a lot and stay for a long time. I finally gave up trying to tie my horse and brought an axe to build that. Made chopping wood in the fall seem like milking a cow instead of the task that it is,” he said.
“Why were you chopping wood in the fall?” she wondered aloud, silently admiring the way sunlight highlighted his tousled hair. He’d turned his back to her once more.
“Your hearth doesn’t stay warm on its own, does it?” he countered.
“I suppose not,” she admitted, “but I didn’t think you’d do it yourself.”
He grunted at that and shook his head.
“I ought to be offended,” he chided impishly. “I know I’m a Duke, and granted I do have a certain reputation, but you know very well that I was raised to work. How else do you expect I maintain a masculine shape as opposed to turning into a sphere of plum pudding with a regal moustache? Or, worse, wither away to a stick of a man who can scarcely lift a pen let alone—” he cleared his throat, and finished with, “run a duchy.”
“My apologies,” his wife laughed once more. She had a lovely laugh, the sound of magic if he ever heard it. Lecia sat up again and exhaled. She liked it here; it was peaceful and she felt at home. Glancing around, she let her eyes rest on the man beside her. Her throat caught momentarily when she realized that he’d been staring at her bare legs. She suddenly felt daring. “Will Britomartis or any of the saints be terribly offended if I jump in?” she asked.
Vaughan’s gaze flicked up to meet hers, and he shook his head. Smiling excitedly, Lecia erected herself and sauntered back to the tree. She didn’t need to check if he was watching, she could feel his eyes on her back as the long silk slip was pulled off over her head and discarded. In naught but a transparent knee-length chemise, Lecia meandered back to the water and took a bracing breath before lowering her body into the crisp pool.
Maybe it was the heat, perhaps it was a way to forget her sadness—or even both—but something had motivated the young Duchess to satisfy the fluttering of her heart. She’d never been particularly shy regardless.
Lecia waded in the water up to her shoulders and drifted before her husband. With a twinkle in her eye she asked, “Are you coming in?”
To which Vaughan gruffly replied, “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Suit yourself,” she sighed, and kicked up her feet so that she might float on her back with the silence of water in her ears and the sun warming her closed eyelids.
More in the near future.
“Lecia!” Vaughan called. Her eyes snapped open and she saw him beckoning her from nearly five strides away. She must have nodded off and Wick had stopped to save his rider from falling to the ground.
Composing herself, she trotted up to meet her guide. The trees had grown thicker, closer together, so she was going to have to maneuver through it. They followed a path that was invisible to her, but Vaughan knew the way easy enough, even in the darkening wilderness. Before long, the forest expanded again, more light streamed through the treetops, and the trickling of running water was louder than the birds.
Her husband dismounted when they entered a scenic clearing. Lecia followed form as she peered around. It was well lit and cool enough, though there wasn’t much else that distinguished it as a particularly special place. He caught her eye as he rummaged through a sack she hadn’t realized he was carrying. Beli stood impatiently, pawing at the ground and nodding his head, but Wick was in need of a good nap. Like Lecia, he was both relaxed by the retreat and suffering from the heat.
In the blink of an eye, Vaughan had swapped both horses’ bridles for quickly fashioned rope halters. Still stunned, she watched as he started leading them away into the trees, leaving his bag behind. Lecia trailed as passed into a second, larger glade. It was practically a meadow, tall and lush grass almost to her knees, with a distinct walking path despite it being overgrown.
When she realized what Vaughan was doing she stopped to wait for his return. He was leading their horses to a split-rail pen. There was sufficient shade, a wide creek, and ample space for running, rolling, and resting. It was curious, though, that an enclosure would have been built in the middle of a forest so far from the main park, but it all seemed familiar enough to the Duke.
“Come cariad,” he said, bidding her to follow as he headed back into the first clearing, grabbed his sack, and started into dense wood they hadn’t been through.
For the most part, Lecia kept quiet. If not for the innumerable interpersonal strains, then because she was exerting herself trying to match her husband’s pace while brushing branches out of the way and balancing over the uneven, rocky trail that didn’t exist.
It had been steadily growing darker again, her ability to track Vaughan almost entirely dependent on sound. She could see that the trees had grown green, moss creeping up over exposed roots, trunks, and anything else it might attach to. When her husband finally started taking shorter steps, she was breathing heavily. The woodland might be cooler than direct sunlight, but it was still summer.
“We must be very careful now,” Vaughan said gently, finding her hand in the obscurity. She could see his attentiveness even in the dark, and she smiled a little to herself, finding comfort in the small embrace.
He guided her forward, sharp glimmers of light revealing the narrow scowles that he, somehow, knew the way through. Lecia was glad he had a hold of her when they reached a small stone staircase and she slipped slightly on the moss; she recovered quickly, but couldn’t ignore the way his grip had intensified to keep her from falling.
When they emerged from the labyrinth, Lecia’s heart was racing. There was light again, and Vaughan released his hold on her.
“It’s just here,” he said eagerly, marching over a stone bridge that crossed a steady stream.
After climbing another stone staircase, the dusky forest broke into one final glade. The canopy was nearly entirely gone, the blue sky and puffy white clouds floating overhead. A few willow trees of varying ages offered shade, and a mesmerizingly clear pool of water presented refreshment. Despite the openness, it was a small, intimate place with a welcomed warm breeze.
Visibly relaxed, Vaughan strolled to the biggest of the trees and dropped the sack from his shoulder. He twisted around to behold Lecia’s awestruck expression. She blinked at him, and then walked toward the well of water. Kneeling down, she traced the surface of the magical pool with her fingertips and sighed. She was sure it wasn’t naturally formed, but it blended seamlessly into the landscape that perhaps it was.
The Duke’s bare feet appeared beside her and she looked up as he crouched down. He’d removed his boots and socks and left them under the tree, and his shirt was no longer tucked into his breeches. His right hand made the sign of the cross as he slid his feet into the water.
“Mam told me this was a sacred place,” he explained. “She called it Ffynnon Swyno. Enchanted Fountain.”
Envying her husband’s comfort, the Duchess retreated beneath the willow to remove her own boots. Considering the dampness from an hour of riding and hiking, Lecia also reached under her skirts and slipped off her pantalettes. Then, after a final thought, she unbuttoned the black shell of her dress and left it in a heap with the rest of her things.
Gracefully dropping next to Vaughan once more, Lecia crossed herself and put her own feet in the spring. Her skirts were pulled up and pooled behind her, the hemline crossing her thighs rather lewdly. In the presence of her husband, though, she hardly thought it inappropriate, and it was so god damned hot.
“How did you find it?” the young woman asked, swirling her legs in the water and watching the ripples on the surface.
“Tad brought me once as a boy,” he breathed. “Mam told me stories about it. It’s on English soil, but long ago there weren’t borders. The Welsh have lots of lore, lots of mythology and superstitions and the like, but even locally this place is a fairly well kept secret. Those who know about it respect that the Cantingtons have a certain ownership of it. Not just that it’s on our land, but that it’s a setting for ancient tales.”
Lecia peered up at Vaughan when he stopped talking. A nearly imperceptible effigy hidden by overgrowth entranced his grey eyes. It was weathered and ancient, but water filtered out of it into the well. Maybe it was a fountain, after all.
“We can’t be sure who it’s for, but mam always thought it might have been Britomartis. Legends say healing springs appear where a young woman’s been wrongfully beheaded. Happened to Eiliwedd, too. Mam said young Brit might have spurned the wrong man in medieval times and died, only to be reborn or linger as a ghost or perhaps blessed by Dwynwen to travel through years and be with her true love, Hugh. You’d have to read the book,” he sighed. “The myths of Brit are very complex.”
“I gathered as much,” Lecia said wistfully. It was really all quite fascinating despite everything. “What about the fence you left the horses in?” she asked, lying back in the grass with her legs still partially submerged.
“Oh,” Vaughan shrugged, examining the trees in admiration. “I built that.”
“What?” Lecia laughed incredulously. Her husband twisted around to frown at her, but his glowering stare was short lived.
“I used to come here a lot and stay for a long time. I finally gave up trying to tie my horse and brought an axe to build that. Made chopping wood in the fall seem like milking a cow instead of the task that it is,” he said.
“Why were you chopping wood in the fall?” she wondered aloud, silently admiring the way sunlight highlighted his tousled hair. He’d turned his back to her once more.
“Your hearth doesn’t stay warm on its own, does it?” he countered.
“I suppose not,” she admitted, “but I didn’t think you’d do it yourself.”
He grunted at that and shook his head.
“I ought to be offended,” he chided impishly. “I know I’m a Duke, and granted I do have a certain reputation, but you know very well that I was raised to work. How else do you expect I maintain a masculine shape as opposed to turning into a sphere of plum pudding with a regal moustache? Or, worse, wither away to a stick of a man who can scarcely lift a pen let alone—” he cleared his throat, and finished with, “run a duchy.”
“My apologies,” his wife laughed once more. She had a lovely laugh, the sound of magic if he ever heard it. Lecia sat up again and exhaled. She liked it here; it was peaceful and she felt at home. Glancing around, she let her eyes rest on the man beside her. Her throat caught momentarily when she realized that he’d been staring at her bare legs. She suddenly felt daring. “Will Britomartis or any of the saints be terribly offended if I jump in?” she asked.
Vaughan’s gaze flicked up to meet hers, and he shook his head. Smiling excitedly, Lecia erected herself and sauntered back to the tree. She didn’t need to check if he was watching, she could feel his eyes on her back as the long silk slip was pulled off over her head and discarded. In naught but a transparent knee-length chemise, Lecia meandered back to the water and took a bracing breath before lowering her body into the crisp pool.
Maybe it was the heat, perhaps it was a way to forget her sadness—or even both—but something had motivated the young Duchess to satisfy the fluttering of her heart. She’d never been particularly shy regardless.
Lecia waded in the water up to her shoulders and drifted before her husband. With a twinkle in her eye she asked, “Are you coming in?”
To which Vaughan gruffly replied, “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Suit yourself,” she sighed, and kicked up her feet so that she might float on her back with the silence of water in her ears and the sun warming her closed eyelids.
More in the near future.