She ran her work-worn hand over the soft fur. She could make a bonnet from it. Or she could trade it at the next market day for two good wool coats for her and her husband. Maddie’s gift would keep them both warm this coming winter.
‘You are a fine lady,’ Maddie told her. She glanced at Will. ‘Shall we go now?’
They rode back to the cabin in silence. Will studied the young girl beside him in some detail.
She had come to him as a bumptious, self-centred and selfish princess, thinking only of herself and her own enjoyment. Gradually, he had watched her transformation. Of course, the episode with the wine was a step back. But everyone made mistakes, he thought. Smiling, he recalled several from his own days as a trainee. But her unpremeditated gesture this evening, handing over the valuable pelt to the poor farmer’s wife, showed a growth and a maturity that gave him a warm glow. Finally, he spoke.
‘That was a nice thing you did.’
She glanced at him. ‘Did you see her clothes? They were thin and threadbare and patched. At least now she’ll have one warm item for winter.’
He nodded. ‘Yes. She will.’
But the old Maddie, Princess Maddie, wouldn’t have even noticed the state of Aggie’s clothes, let alone made the connection that she would be cold in winter.
I think she’s going to work out just fine, he thought to himself.
Tug shook his mane and snorted. I always knew she would.
THE LITTLE CABIN in the trees was still hidden from sight when Tug raised his head and let out a cheerful whinny. Bumper looked up at the sound. Almost instantly, an answering whinny came from the direction of the cabin.
‘We’ve got company,’ Will said.
Maddie looked at him inquiringly but he said no more. He thought he’d recognised the strange horse’s sound but he wasn’t totally sure. No sense in voicing an assumption only to have it proven wrong.
As it turned out, he was right. They rode into the clearing and saw a bay mare standing before the porch. She turned her head as they approached and whinnied again. Both Bumper and Tug responded.
Maddie looked at her horse, puzzled. ‘How does Bumper know her?’ she asked.
Will glanced at her. ‘Ranger horses tend to recognise each other. Even if they’ve never met.’
‘That doesn’t make a lot of sense,’ said a cheerful voice from the end of the porch. ‘How can you recognise someone you’ve never met?’
Will shrugged. ‘Why ask me? I’m not a horse.’
You don’t have the legs for it, Tug commented dryly.
Gilan was sitting at the end of the porch, fondling Sable’s ears. The dog had her head to one side, eyes closed and a blissful expression on her face. Sable loved to have the thick fur around her ears and throat patted and smoothed.
Will dismounted and glared in mock disappointment at Sable.
‘Some watchdog you are. You should have torn him to pieces.’
Sable thumped her tail on the porch boards in agreement. Gilan gave her a final pat and rose to his feet.
‘Hello, Maddie. How’s your training going?’
She gave him a wan smile as she dismounted. ‘Well, some days I think I’m getting there. Then others I know I’m not.’
Gilan raised an eyebrow and looked at Will. He had never heard such self-deprecation from Maddie before. Perhaps this idea of Halt’s was working out. Will saw the look and guessed its meaning. He gave a brief nod.
‘Should I take the horses to the stable?’ she asked and Gilan’s surprise went up another notch. Maddie volunteering to do menial work was something else he wasn’t accustomed to.
‘Yes. If you would,’ Will told her. ‘Blaze too.’ He glanced at Gilan. ‘I assume you’ll stay with us? Or did you want to sleep at the castle?’
‘No. I’ll stay here if I’m welcome,’ Gilan said hastily. ‘Too much fuss and formality at the castle.’
‘And we’re closer to The Heaped Platter here, of course,’ Will said.
Gilan allowed himself a grin. The Heaped Platter was the name of Jenny’s eating house in Wensley Village.
‘Well, yes,’ the Commandant replied. ‘I thought I might slip over there for breakfast in the morning.’
‘She’ll be glad to see you,’ Will said, and for a moment, a hint of sadness tinged his expression. Jenny and Gilan might not have married, but they still had each other.
He led the way inside and moved to the kitchen bench, filling the coffee pot from the large jug of fresh water. He didn’t ask if Gilan wanted coffee. He was a Ranger. Rangers always wanted coffee.
As Will began to grind coffee beans, the rich aroma released by the grinding filled Gilan’s nostrils. His mouth watered at the thought of fresh coffee. He sat at the table, pushing aside a stack of papers that had been left there. Glancing idly at them, he recognised several of the weekly reports he sent out to Rangers throughout the country. There were several letters as well, and beneath them was a leather folder, with more papers inside. He tapped his finger on it.
‘What’s this?’ he asked. Will looked round and saw the leather folder. His face took on a slightly embarrassed look.
‘Oh . . . just an idea I was working on. It’s not important now.’ He took the folder and shoved it into a bookshelf along one wall of the living room. There was an air of finality about the gesture, Gilan thought. He shrugged. He had merely been making idle conversation.
‘So, how’s it working out with Maddie?’ he asked, changing the subject. Will, who had resumed his coffee grinding, turned to face him.
‘Surprisingly well,’ he said. ‘She’s quick and keen and she’s eager to learn. She loves the outdoor life and a little freedom. My guess is, she was rebelling against all the restrictions at Castle Araluen. Now that she’s not a princess any more, she seems to be taking more notice of people around her.’
Gilan pursed his lips with interest. ‘Did you use the letter?’ he asked. He was aware of the letter that Cassandra and Horace had sent to Will, disinheriting their daughter.
Will nodded, turning back to the task of making coffee again.
‘Had to. She needed a jolt. Needed to know she was nothing special. And it worked.’
‘How so?’
Will paused to consider, while he set the pot on the stovetop. He opened the firebox and tossed in several pieces of wood, then opened the draught at the bottom of the stove.
‘Well, today is a good example. A local farmer was having trouble with a marten, stealing his eggs and killing his hens.’
‘So you took care of it?’
‘Maddie did. Knocked it down with her sling. She’s a dead shot with that thing, by the way. Then she slipped over and skinned it in a few minutes.’
Gilan looked impressed. ‘Be a good pelt at this time of year.’
Will nodded as he dropped a handful of coffee into the boiling pot. ‘It was. It was a beautiful pelt. And that’s the thing. The farmer and his wife were as poor as church mice. Their clothes were thin and ragged. She gave the woman the pelt. Said she wanted her to have something warm for winter.’
Gilan nodded. ‘As you say, it sounds as if she’s taking notice of other people’s needs. Which is a good quality to have in a Ranger.’
‘She’s always been a good kid at heart,’ Will said. He’d decided not to say anything about the episode with the wine. ‘She just needed to remember it.’
Gilan stroked his chin thoughtfully. The news about Maddie was interesting – and gratifying. Appointing a girl as an apprentice Ranger had always been a risk. But it appeared to be working out.
But even more interesting was Will’s attitude and manner. There was a sense of muted enthusiasm as he talked about his apprentice and her abilities. The haunted look, the tension, the morbid obsession with revenge that had been so much a part of him over the past months seemed to have gone. He wasn’t back to his original, cheerful self. But he was definitely improving.
Looks like Halt knew what he was talking about, Gilan thought.
Then he wondered why he was surprised by the revelation. Halt usually did know what he was talking about.
He waited while Will placed a cup of steaming, rich coffee in front of him, then said, ‘So, do you think she’s ready to go on a mission with you?’
He said it casually, but it was a crucial point. Will, torn by grief and fixated on the idea of hunting down Jory Ruhl, had spurned the last two missions Gilan had assigned to him. Gilan felt a surge of relief as he saw his friend considering the point, then nodding.
‘Yes. I’d be happy to take her along on a mission. Be good for her at this stage of her training.’
The door opened and Maddie entered. They both turned and fell silent, as people do when the subject of their conversation suddenly appears. Maddie noticed their sudden lack of conversation and looked anxiously from Will to Gilan. Had Will been telling the Commandant of her fall from grace, she wondered?
‘I gave Blaze an apple,’ she said tentatively. ‘She seemed to think that was totally inadequate, so I gave her another.’
‘She’ll be your slave for life,’ Gilan said easily.
Maddie relaxed a little at his friendly tone. She glanced anxiously at Will and, sensing the cause for her concern, he gave a slight shake of the head. He pointed to the cup on the table.
‘Coffee’s made,’ he said and she sat gratefully, cradling her cup in both hands.
‘I drink coffee now,’ she told Gilan.
He nodded gravely. ‘Just as well. It’s a condition of becoming a Ranger.’ He saw the look of relief in her eyes and he’d noticed the quick glance that passed between her and Will. Will’s face was deadpan. So deadpan that Gilan knew there was something he wasn’t being told. Then he shrugged mentally. If Will had decided not to tell him, it was probably none of his business, he thought.
‘Will says you’re ready to go on a mission with him,’ he said. ‘What do you think?’
She glanced once at her mentor, then looked back to Gilan.
‘I’m ready,’ she said. ‘What’s the mission?’
Gilan was pleased with her reply. No hesitating. No uncertainty.
‘It’s in Trelleth Fief,’ he said. ‘The Ranger there has been killed.’
Will’s head snapped up instantly. ‘Killed? Killed by whom?’
Gilan shook his head uncertainly. ‘There’s no one suspected. He fell from his horse and his neck was broken.’
‘So it was an accident?’ Maddie said.
Gilan looked at her sceptically. ‘Possibly. Indeed, that’s the way it looks. But I don’t believe in accidents – not when it’s a Ranger who’s died.’
Will was frowning thoughtfully. ‘Who’s the Ranger at Trelleth?’ He paused and corrected himself. ‘Or rather, who was he?’
In a small force like the Ranger Corps, everyone knew each other, at least by sight and name. Of course, there were some closer relationships within the ranks as well.
‘It was Liam,’ Gilan told him. ‘Remember him?’
Will nodded sadly. He’d been present at Liam’s graduation, the day he was presented with his silver oakleaf. It had been the year that he and Halt and Horace had travelled to Hibernia to track down the cult leader, Tennyson.
‘Yes. He was a good type.’
‘He was indeed. He was one of the brighter ones among the younger crop of Rangers. We’ll miss him badly.’
‘So what do you want us to do?’ Will asked.
‘Go up to Trelleth and ask around. See if you can find anything suspicious about his death. As I say, I’m always suspicious when a Ranger dies.’
Will glanced at a map of Araluen on the wall of the cabin. Trelleth was a medium-sized fief on the eastern coast of the country. Gilan followed the direction of his gaze.
‘The baron there is called Scully. He sent a carrier pigeon with news of Liam’s death. The man who found Liam’s body is a farmer,’ he said. ‘Name of Wendell Gatt. His farm is a large one, about five kilometres south-west of Castle Trelleth.’
Will’s eyes remained fixed on the map. Like Gilan, he distrusted accidents. Particularly in a coastal fief like Trelleth. Coastal fiefs were vulnerable to outsiders – smugglers, pirates and the like. A coastline presented too many opportunities for intruders.
‘We’ve nothing to keep us here,’ he said. ‘We’ll start out tomorrow.’
Gilan nodded approvingly. ‘The sooner the better,’ he said. The phrase might well have been the official Ranger motto, Will thought. ‘Check it out and see if it was just an accident.’
Will turned his gaze from the map to look at his old friend. ‘And if it wasn’t?’
Gilan made a small hand gesture. ‘Find out why someone wanted a Ranger dead. And who that someone might be.’
THEY LEFT THE following morning, shortly after an early breakfast. Gilan had coffee with them, but he planned to have breakfast later, at Jenny’s eating house. He promised to let Jenny know they were gone so she could arrange to feed and water Sable each day.
They rode north-east, at the usual Ranger travelling pace – cantering for twenty minutes, then dismounting and walking briskly for ten, leading the horses. The horses could maintain this pace hour after hour and it ate up the miles to their destination.
They camped out that evening and reached Trelleth Fief early in the afternoon of the second day. There was a border sign to let them know they were entering the fief, but even more telling was the scent of salt on the air.
‘I can smell the sea,’ Maddie said.
Will nodded. He remembered the first time he had noticed that fresh, tangy scent. He had been riding to his first Ranger Gathering. He sighed quietly. It seemed like such a long time ago. Then, he shook his head in realisation. It was such a long time ago.
‘What do we do now?’ Maddie asked. She was curious to see how an investigation like this would be carried out.
‘We’ll look at the scene first,’ Will said. ‘We’ll find this farmer . . .’ He hesitated while he searched his memory for the name.
‘Wendell Gatt,’ Maddie supplied.
He looked at her, a little annoyed. ‘I know,’ he said.
She gave him an innocent look. ‘Just trying to be helpful. I thought maybe you’d forgotten.’
‘I don’t forget things.’
Hah! Tug gave one of those explosive snorts that indicated his derision. Will decided it was best to ignore him. You could never get the last word with a creature who could snort, stamp and shake his mane the way Tug could.
‘We’ll look for a hamlet or a farmhouse and ask directions to Gatt’s farm,’ he said.
A few minutes later, they came upon a small group of buildings. There was a blacksmith’s forge and a run-down-looking tavern, plus a few houses to accommodate those who worked there. As they approached, a man wearing a leather apron, and with soot stains on his bare arms, emerged from the smithy to greet them.
They learned that Gatt’s farm was a few kilometres further along the road they were travelling. Will thanked the smith and turned Tug’s head back towards the road, but the man called after him.
‘Rangers, are you?’
Since their cloaks, bows and shaggy horses made it obvious that they were, Will was disinclined to answer. He was still smarting over his momentary inability to remember Gatt’s name, and Maddie’s intemperate haste in supplying it. She might have given him a minute or two to recall it, he thought. As a result, he was not in a mood to be chatty, particularly since the smith’s question indicated that he was puzzled by Maddie’s garb and was looking for some explanation.
‘No. We’re travelling seamstresses,’ he said shortly, and set Tug into a canter, with Maddie hastily following.
The smith twisted his mouth into an ill-tempered expression and he wiped perspiration from his forehead with the hem of his leather apron.
‘Only asking,’ he said irritably as the two riders clattered away.
Several hundred metres later, Maddie drew alongside Will as he allowed Tug to slow down to a trot.
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‘Shouldn’t we call on the local baron first?’ she said, adding tactfully, ‘This Baron Scully?’
She was vaguely aware of the dictates of protocol. She had been present when her father and mother had visited fiefs in the past, and she knew it was normal procedure to make their presence known to the local baron when they did so. She was beginning to learn, however, that protocol and normal procedure had little to do with the way Rangers operated.
Will grunted disdainfully. ‘We’ll do that later. Local barons have a habit of getting in the way when something out of the ordinary has happened in their fief. They know we report directly to the crown and they often want to make sure there’s nothing that puts them in a bad light.’
Maddie was somewhat surprised at this. She had never been aware of this clash of power or purpose between barons and the Rangers who worked in their fiefs.
‘Not all of them, surely?’ she said.
Will relented a little. ‘Well, no. The majority of them are good men. Arald at Redmont, for example, is an excellent baron and he’s good to work with. But you do get the occasional one who’s inclined to stand on his dignity and exaggerate his own importance. I don’t know this Scully character, so I don’t want to take the chance he’s one of those – at least not till we’ve had a preliminary look around.’
They arrived at the Gatt farm a few minutes later. The contrast between this property and that of old Arnold Clum could not have been more marked. The farmhouse and barn were large, substantial buildings, in excellent repair and recently painted.
The fences were straight and well built. And the farmyard itself was a model of order, with the ground swept, tools piled neatly and a wagon standing in front of the barn. The wagon body was freshly painted as well. The undercarriage was in good repair and glistened with fresh grease. Several horses were in the home paddock and they crowded curiously along the fence to view the newcomers. A single dairy cow was tethered some distance away.