The rider came out of the west as shadows lengthened across the moor. Three watched as they stood outside a small stone cottage. Few travelers were ever seen in that region, and rarely a woman, but here was an exception. They heard her push the horse to go faster, her long silver hair wild in the wind.
“Ah nivva expected ta see ‘a. It’s Donald’s bairn, as sure as ah’m standin ‘eear.” The speaker was the shortest of the three, old and wizened.
“If you say so, Alayn. I’ll trust you on it, not that your eyes are seeing so well lately. Just know it’s in your best interest to be right.”
Alayn stepped in front of the woman beside him and shook a finger at her. “Ah can see an’ orl as anyone—‘n dooant doubt it!”
“What matters is that we find out why she has come here,” said the third watcher, a tall man in his forties, dark hair already graying and eyes that burned brightly in the dusk.
“Not such a mystery, now, is it? She’s after the land. She’s come to claim it. I told you it was going to happen.”
“Something is always going to happen in life. Forget your predictions, Amelie. Unless you can tell me how she expects to own land that doesn’t exist anymore, at least, not for her.”
“Theur norrz ‘eur mutheur tuk ‘eur away when shi wor bur fowa years o’ age. Neya message fra ‘a sin then. Skint Donald’s ‘eart, losin t’ both o’ ’em.”
“Aye, that it did,” the woman answered. “Though he never knew the truth of it, I don’t think.”
“What truth? And after so much time, what brings her to us now?”
“Not to us—to her heritage. I’ll wager she feels a right to it.”
“Bur ‘a uncle does not feel t’ sem way, ‘n not pleased ta see ‘er.”
The three followed the rider with their eyes until she had passed over the ridge and entered the valley. Then their eyes were drawn to the ancient castle that was set high above on its own hill. To the west they could see the peak of Pen-y-ghent, and the dales beyond. Before they turned away, they could just make out the distant figure of rider and horse moving up the steep incline to the castle gate.
***
James Crosland watched the approach of the one person he had hoped never to see again. Warned of a stranger’s impending arrival he had gone to the tower window to see for himself. Yes, it was her, it had to be, the same silver hair as her mother and he could detect the same intensity in her eyes, even through the encroaching dusk. Ydonea Gray had returned to her birth country. Was she so oblivious to the danger? It didn’t matter. He would not give up what he had taken. The castle was his now, and no one could change that, not anymore. His sister had sacrificed all claim to the property left her in their father’s will when she ran away from her husband, taking her child with her. Donald had never been the same after that, mourning them both and dying soon after, forfeiting all rights he could have held by marriage.
What was more to the point, James thought, was that his father should have given the castle and land to his son in the first place, not to his skittery daughter. What had he been thinking? An old man without the wits he once had, that was it. The injustice of it still brought a deep and piercing anger. Ydonea had reached the gate and one of the guards was opening it. He would have to see her. Turning away from the window, he felt the onset of one of the headaches that too often plagued him.
A quick knock came against his door and his valet stepped in.
“Where would you have us put the newcomer until you are ready, sir?” Thomas knew who the visitor was and what her arrival signaled. His allegiance was to Crosland, above all.
Yet, was he truly loyal? James wondered, studying the man. Before his sister abandoned everything she had ever known, Thomas had been a stable boy and they had bonded over the care and feeding of a thoroughbred foal Sarah was raising. Would he feel some connection to Ydonea, as Sarah’s child? Could he be trusted?
“The library will do. Don’t light a fire.”
“Done, sir.” Thomas withdrew without changing his expression.
It grew cold even in summer inside the castle when night came. Better his niece did not feel at home.
Halfway down the stairs James paused and looked over at the closed oak door below, its polished brass knobs made even brighter in the light from sconces on the wall. Thick, hand-woven rugs were placed symmetrically on the floor of main hall, and above the entrance was the Crosland crest in hammered gold. This was his domain. Damned if it wouldn’t stay that way.
He wasn’t prepared when he opened the door to find Ydonea standing in front of the hearth, warming her hands before a blazing fire as the logs snapped and sent up embers. She turned at his entrance.
“My dear Uncle James, I took the liberty of lighting a fire. This room holds a deep chill without it. I also ordered a cognac—I was certain you had some, now that trade laws allow us to purchase it in large quantities. You were always one who sought the best quality, as I recall.”
“You could not recall anything about me. You were a child when you left here. Why have you come back?”
“That is true. What I know of you I learned from my mother, your sister, a woman filled with kindness who you threatened with my death until she left everything behind. Her own husband did not believe her stories of what you told her in private. I like to think my father came to his senses eventually, but we’ll never know, will we, since he is quite dead. I am given to understand by his own hand, but I have my doubts.”
“Why have you come back?” James repeated.
Ydonea’s silver hair glinted in the firelight. She wore a dark velvet cape and a green silk dress beneath it that rustled when she moved, as she did then, not toward him but toward the landscape painting that filled half a wall.
“You know, it is so interesting to me. I remember only a few things from my time here. But I do remember this painting. Or is it my mother’s description of it that has stayed so vividly in my mind? Sometimes it is hard to know what is story and what is real. What I am sure of is that this painting shows the extent and boundaries of land owned by my mother, given to her by her father, my grandfather. In her will, her last testament, she gave it to me. This was her greatest desire, she said, that I should know the moors near Malham once again, and live on that selfsame land. Curiously, she did not recommend I live in the castle, but build a new property. She gave me clear instructions. The castle is to be torn down, a sad memory of what should have been.”
James laughed “Your mother’s foolish dream, and you have no power or means to bring any of that into being. It is all mine, and has been so for a very long time.”
“So you believe. The land is adjacent to Horton in Ribblesdale, well-situated for my purpose.”
“I want you out of here. Go!”
Ydonea looked at him in silence a moment. “Yes, I will,” she said. “Gladly. Just as my mother told me, this place, these walls, bring no comfort. But you will leave here as well, uncle, in a short time. I promise you this.”
He heard his valet ushering her out of the castle and moments later the sound of her horse’s hooves on the slate path to the gate. Where was she going now that it was full dark? He didn’t care, so long as she was away. Her warning was ridiculous. With a sigh of impatience James checked the time and rang the bell pull. Dinner was overdue.
***
Light flickered in the small windows of the stone cottage. The door opened before Ydonea could knock. The woman standing there reached out and enveloped her in her arms and then pulled her inside, talking all the while.
“I knew you’d seek us out, girl! We saw you riding to the castle. I have your mother’s letter still, from the day she left. She taught me to read when no one else would. I never understood why, but there you have it. I kept the damp away from it.”
“Amelie, let Ydonea sit and have a tea with us before we deluge her with the past.”
“Ah, William, isn’t it? The past is all I have. It’s the future I want to begin making. It is the only way I can honor my mother.”
“Here it is!” Amelie took a cream envelope from a tin box on the table and held it up. “But I have to say, I cannot see you succeeding in your desire to drive James Crosland out of what he deems his rightful place. He has never been a kind man, and more especially, never brooked opposition. We here have farmed his land and well know it.”
“Aye, ‘e’s not goan let theur tek owt away fra ‘im.” The old man tapped his hand hard on the table.
Ydonea’s face lighted up. “You speak just as my mother did whenever she told me stories of her home. She said the ancient words brought her happiness. To my grief, she was gone by my eighteenth birthday. I’ve not heard such grand sounds in five years.”
“Alayn has no patience with the speech of the rest of us.”
“The owd ‘un serves uz well enuff!”
“It’s beautiful to me,” Ydonea said, and gave him a quick smile. “I am so glad to find you all still here. I felt I knew you from what my mother said, only she spoke of you all as if you were still my age and not hers.”
“Twenty years agoa ah wor eur fine figure o’ eur man.”
“Twenty years ago you looked the same as you do now,” Amelie said. “Just as short and gray-headed and bad-tempered.”
Alayn drew himself up to his full five feet and fixed her with a glare.
“Ydonea, it is not that we doubt your resolve, but you don’t understand how it is,” William said as he leaned against the wall. His head nearly touched one of the wooden beams that crossed the low ceiling. “There is no way to change things. We are willing to help you but not if it means we might forfeit the small holding we have, or our way of life. At least now we have some freedom to live as we want, a life that is simple but safe.”
“Aye, not something your mother would know about. She was a friend to us and sure, never thinking of us as less, but she was lady of the manor, after all. She could not know what our way of life required from us, or how careful we have to be,” Amelie agreed. “But it does not mean there’s no hope. William and I both have been resigned to things as they are, but that doesn’t take away from our wish for better.”
“I don’t want you to be harmed in any way. My mother did understand what it takes to live peacefully here. She knew you all and revered you, each one, and never would want anything to happen to you that you did not want for yourselves. It is me she wanted to see vindicated, restored to my rightful heritage.”
“She left to save you from your uncle, I know. You are grown now, but that will not stop him from trying to end your life.” Amelie poured out tea for them all from a hand-painted teapot. She pointed to it. “It was your mother’s, what she gave to me some days before she left. You should have it.”
“And so I will, every time I visit with you.” Ydonea smiled at them all with affection.
“What are you going to do? We’ll help however we can,” William said. “Even as we must protect what we have, still, we are not slaves to anyone. More than that, we will not let James Crosland harm you—that much I can promise. There are many in this region who will be glad and willing to protect you, people who have fared badly under his rulings.”
“Aye, ‘e is trouble for uz, allus ‘as bin.”
“Many of those in the region still remember your mother. She brought good will with her wherever she went and never stood on ceremony or expected it. You take after her,” Amelie said.
“So tell us—what have you in mind to do?” William ran his hand through his thick, graying hair.
Ydonea sighed. “It’s late. I have some things to take care of now. I’ll be back in the morning, and tell you what I know, and I’ll welcome the help of any offer of it.”
“But surely you’re staying here with us tonight?” Amelie said. “The moors are not friendly to us, much less someone who’s a stranger to them.”
“I may be a stranger, but my horse is not. She was foaled over in Horton in Ribblesdale, at the manor of my mother’s lady-in-waiting, who married a nobleman.”
“Aye—Elena, Lady Mortimer. We know of her. A fortunate one, she is.”
“I went to her on my arrival and she gave me Farwith, sired by Stockwell, she said. The mare is fast, and knows the moors in the dark as well as her own breath.”
“Stockwell, the stallion from Kirkby Range, over Tadcaster way? A gift indeed!” William said, startled.
“Sired by ‘un o’ t’ finest racers theear ivva wor!” Alayn started for the door. “Ah mun see ‘a.”
A thin, cold rain spattered in when he opened the door. Ydonea looked up in surprise. “I forgot how the weather changes so quickly here. I have to leave now but I promise I’ll come tomorrow and explain more.”
With that she gave a quick smile and left them, pushing out into the wind. They could just see her horse some feet away, its pale coat and long mane. She swung up into the saddle and was gone.
“More tea, Alayn?” Amelie said, holding the pot high as he shut the door.
“Neya. Summa’ stronga. Ah need ta think.”
William chuckled and brought over a jug of ale from the shelf above the sink.
“Just a little, or you’ll forget how to get home.”
“I’ll take some as well, husband. I won’t sleep with ease till I know what she has in mind and gets it done. No matter what she says or we want to believe, I see only trouble ahead.”
“You always see trouble, but is there nothing more, something of hope for her?”
Amelie stared out the window into the dark.
“Aye, but it is unclear, a mist covering it. Something is taking shape but I cannot tell what it is yet. Nor can I understand where has she gone for tonight, in this weather and on the moors she’s not seen for most of her life.”
***
The wind drove the rain in bursts and her cloak was little protection, but Ydonea kept up the pace, riding as if she were pursued by demons. There was so little time. Elena had told the truth, for the horse did not falter even though the landscape was hidden in the darkness.
“Her name is Rowen,” Elena had said, stroking the head of the horse with affection, “and she is the best of all I have.” When Ydonea protested at receiving it as a gift, Elena hadn’t hesitated. “This lets me honor Sarah, whose friendship I valued more than any. You would not stop me in doing this, would you?”
Now, would the next one she visited feel the same way?
After some miles she saw the light in the distance, like a beacon in the night. Late as the hour was, could it mean he knew she would find the way in time, and waited? Minutes later she drew up and gazed on the stone church before her. The rain had lightened and she could hear its patter against the rocky ground. A small shed lay to the right and she led Rowan toward it. Inside there were tools and an old travel carriage, along with a bale of hay and blankets that could only be meant for her horse. She patted Rowan’s flank after settling her in. “I’ll be back soon, precious one,” she whispered, and left, closing the shed door behind her.
The light was still there, above the entryway, blazing through an arched window, illuminating part of the chapel within. She could see the ceiling covered with paintings and at the back the high golden edge of organ pipes. Suddenly there was music, the powerful bellow of the pipes sounding out onto the darkened moor. The hymn being played had been her mother’s favorite, “Winchester Old.” Of course, he would know that. Ydonea walked up to the high oak door and pushed it open.
At first she saw nothing but the interior light and the gleam of polished brass on the altar. A wire screen separated the organ from the preacher’s pulpit and pews for the congregation.
As suddenly as it had begun the music stopped and the organist stood up and walked into view in front of the screen. He paused a moment. When he spoke, his voice deep and resonant, like the music he had just played.
“You’ve been to see them all?”
“Yes. Amelie and William and Alayn.”
“And him?
“Ah, yes. I went to the manor first of all. It had to be done.”
“I can imagine your reception.”
“And what is my reception here?”
In answer the man stepped down from the dais, his silver hair gilded by the light. He walked toward her with a slight limp.
“It never healed well,” he said, anticipating what she would ask next. “I live with my crippled leg as a reminder to let go of vanity. I was once a fine figure of a man and knew it too well.”
Ydonea smiled. “Alayn told me the same thing about himself—though not the part about letting go of vanity. And you are not truly crippled. ”
“So your mother said, a long time ago. You look very like her.”
“I found your letters to her after she died. I had no idea you existed. My mother told me everything, but not about you.”
“So you wrote in your message. And now?”
“I know my father loved me and our leaving was the end of him. But he has been a vague image in my mind, hardly there at all, given I was only four when we left. You, of course, I never knew. I have always wondered why you didn’t go after my mother, to take care of her, and me.”
“Wait here.” He went over to the vestry and out of sight. Moments later he came back with a leather packet. Opening it, he took out a letter, its edges frayed from much handling, and gave it to her.
“What is this?”
“Please, read it.”
“My dearest Geraint, Forgive me that I cannot tell you where I am going. You have a right to know, but I cannot take the risk. He would follow you, I am sure of it. He knows about us. Ydonea’s life is the price you would pay to reach me. I ask of you the worst thing I ever could. Who would guess it has all come to this? But I would lose her if you came here. Trust in my love, always. Forgive me. Your Sarah.”
“I received it after she had left, taking you with her. It was months before I could manage the grieving. No one else knew. It was an unbearable loneliness. I don’t say that to get your pity, merely to explain. I turned to my faith at last, and here I am.” He gestured with his arm out into the main church with its stained glass and golden light.
“She knew my uncle would not give up.”
“I can’t ask you to forgive me, that I did not help. We had done nothing wrong, I must assure you. Except discover the love we shared. But that was where it stayed.”
“You trusted my mother’s wish. There is no wrong done. I feel the loss, yes, but for my mother’s sake, not my own. You are a stranger to me, and we have to find our way into that. But I am not here to dwell on it now. My purpose is a clear one, just as I told Amelie and William and Alayn. I intend to reclaim the land my mother willed to me. And I need your help.”
“I expected you before now.”
“Leaving Australia was not easy. It had been my world for fourteen years, a lifetime, really. But my mother saw me living here again. I could not say no to her.”
“What do you plan?”
“First, I would like to get warm and dry, have my supper, and if you have it, a strong ale as well.”
Geraint laughed. “My house is behind this church. I set up a room for you, and a fire burns in the hearth. I had food prepared by a church assistant, but I am happy to supply the ale.”
He extended his arm for Ydonea to take and they went out the front entrance. The rain had stopped and the moon had risen, casting a silver glow over the moor that extended far beyond them.
Ydonea checked first on Rowan, who was eating contentedly in the shed. She added another blanket over her back, though the enclosed shed was warm enough, and rejoined her companion.
Not until they had finished their supper did Geraint speak again, and then it was to warn her.
“You have no legal right to the property by our laws here. Even though your grandfather intended your mother as his sole heir, in everyone’s eyes your uncle as the son is the heir at law and has justified possession.” He paused and stared a moment into the fire. “Your mother’s will is not going to be acknowledged as valid.”
To his surprise Ydonea gave a soft chuckle. “If I didn’t know any of that, you and Amelie would both soon have set me straight. Yes, I realize legally I have no way to change what is. Nor do I intend to break the law in any way. What good is taking what belongs to me if I do it with force? The chance of others being hurt increases. I’m not looking for enemies.”
“Your uncle is one.”
“No. Towards me he has no special emotion. I was simply a means to an end for him. He feels free to stay where he is and live as he does and I am but a small thorn reminding him of the past, not a threat to him. My mother left to save me, not the property. But she always believed it was hers by moral right.”
Geraint took a sip of the deep red wine he had set out in crystal glasses that were, he felt, his one vanity, a reminder of another life he had let go long before. The flicker of the firelight in the crystal brought him peace. A last gift from Sarah in a life once shared.
“If you are aware of all of that, what can you possibly do? How can you expect to retrieve the land your mother wanted you to have?”
“That is why I am here, and why I require your help.”
(To Be Continued)
NOTES:
Law of the land?
Myfanwe from the west country