Page 5 of Daisy and the Duke
Leaving the farmed land, Tris rode miles farther on, crossing through meadows and forests. He was impressed by the natural beauty of this part of the country, where’d he never been before. Then, in a thick stand of old oak trees, he stopped short, pulling Stormer up as he caught sight of an unknown house tucked in the middle of the woods.
“This wasn’t on the map,” he muttered.
The place was strange. It looked much like the old Tudor-style manors, but shrunk down to almost nothing. He’d be surprised if the cottage could accommodate more than three people. The walls had once been plastered white, but now were cracked and sagging.
But why was it here at all, so far from any other estate or village? As Tristan rode closer, he was puzzled to see that the house was also surrounded by a lush and obviously well-cared for garden that seemed at odds with the deteriorating structure. Someone had to be tending it. Gardens simply didn’t last without constant attention—weeds and wild animals soon took over. So what was this place, and who could possibly live there?
“Good day, young man,” a voice called.
Tristan startled, causing Stormer to shift a few steps, neighing in concern.
An old woman emerged from the woods, bearing a brace of rabbits. For someone who’d obviously been poaching, she looked quite calm about it. But then, the old lady probably didn’t know who Tristan was.
“Good day,” he returned. “I didn’t expect a house here.”
“Been here longer than you’ve been on this earth, my boy,” the woman replied with a chuckle. “Come down and have a drink.”
Tristan dismounted before he thought twice. Stepping though the verdant garden, he was assailed by a wave of green scent. Flowers and herbs he couldn’t name surrounded him, intoxicating in their aggressive beauty.
In the stories, witches live in the woods, Tristan thought.
“Hang those up on the branch,” the old woman instructed him, handing him the brace of rabbits. “I’ll cook them tonight. Stew for a week!” She sounded delighted.
She disappeared into the darkness of the cottage, leaving Tristan in the garden. He noticed a log placed on end, and sat on it. His right leg was tingling, so he stretched it out carefully, kneading his calf.
The woman emerged again, bearing a tin tankard. She handed it to him, saying, “Drink up, for who knows when you can drink ale again?”
It was remarkably close to what the soldiers used to say to each other, and Tristan took a long pull of the ale, which was cool and hoppy and faintly fizzy.
“Thank you,” he said, wiping his mouth. “But you must have to haul this a long way. I can’t drink all your ale.”
“Bless you, I brew it myself. No distance at all.”
“You live out here all alone?”
“Oh, I’ve plenty of company when I wish it,” she said with a wink. “Folk do happen by.”
“Do you fear that thieves or ruffians might harass you?” Tristan thought it very odd for an old woman to live in such a solitary way.
“They’d never find this place,” she said. “Only such folk I want to see me can see me.”
That answer made no sense, but Tristan didn’t argue. He took another sip of ale. It was excellent.
She gazed to the west, where the trees had been lit up like stained glass. “Ah, look at the slant of the sun. Time for you to be moving on. Don’t want to be late.”
“Late for what?”
She ignored his inquiry. “When you ride out, young man, you’ll follow the track until you encounter a stream running west. There’s a tree that divides the flow into two. You must take the left turning. Understand?”
“Certainly. But where does the right turn lead?”
She brushed his question away impatiently. “That is for another day. Go left! And don’t dawdle!”
“Yes, ma’am.” He was amused by the old woman, and didn’t want to spoil the encounter by mentioning his title, which would no doubt make her curtsey and apologize for being so familiar.
Tristan mounted Stormer once more. The horse stepped merrily, evidently rejuvenated after the meal of green grass in the clearing. Tris was feeling surprisingly refreshed himself. Maybe he could persuade the old woman to brew ale for Lyondale.
But not today! She had practically pushed him out of the yard, telling him once again to mind the sun.It’s nowhere near dark, he wanted to protest. Instead he bid her goodbye and rode on. After a while, he saw the fork she was so obsessed with.
