Chapter Eight

Eliot and Renard guided their horses along the avenue away from Granville, Renard’s family home.

Eliot had wanted Bertran’s advice about his ongoing training in the light of the letter from Hugo Lambert, after which he and Renard had decided on a ride.

“Where are you going?” said a disembodied voice.

Startled, Eliot pulled on the reins, stopping his horse and Renard did the same. They both looked around, trying to find the source of the voice.

“We’re up here,” said the young voice amid laughter.

They tilted their heads up at the wide-branched tree that stood proud on the edge of the front garden. Two young faces peered down at them. At first glance, it was easy to mistake them for boys given their outfits of shirts and breeches. But the twin braids they sported gave them away. They sat astride one of the wide branches, facing each other, bare feet dangling.

“Well, where are you going?”

“Busybodies,” said Renard, shaking his head as Eliot grinned. “We’re going for a ride.”

“We can see that,” said the one on the right. “Where?”

“Probably up to the Tangled Tree.”

“You always go there,” said the other.

“I do beg your pardon, my lady.” Renard bowed his head. “But we enjoy that particular ride.”

“When will you let us go with you?”

“That is a question for Mother, not me.”

“Renard.” Her tone made it clear she didn’t agree.

“Yes, Fay?”

“You know Mama won’t allow it.”

“I am not getting between you two and Mother. Life’s too short.”

“Eliot,” said her sister with a sweet smile. “If you ask–”

“Oh no, Lise.” He held his hand up as if to ward off the request. “There’s nothing stopping Aunt Elisanna giving me a verbal hiding for even suggesting it.”

Both girls pouted at them.

As they urged their horses on again, Renard glanced back at the house. “Best get down and at least get your shoes on before Mother realises where you are.”

Leaving the grumbling duo behind, Eliot said, “Aunt Elisanna is still fighting the good fight, I see, trying to convince them to wear dresses.”

“She is tenacious, but the girls are as stubborn. Though she seems to have scored a sort of victory with her compromise of allowing them to wear breeches under their dresses.”

The twins were ten years younger than Renard, which meant they were ten years younger than Eliot. He found them a source of delight, and he knew Renard loved them to distraction and took his role as protective older brother very seriously. Bertran would sometimes jest his daughters should have been born boys for their wild, rascally ways surpassed any mischief Renard had instigated when he’d been their age.

Once Renard’s horse had stretched and warmed up, they eased both mounts into a gentle trot then a canter.

“Shall we?” said Renard, his riding crop ready to tap against his chestnut horse, Tas.

All it took was Eliot to give a light kick to Fordel’s side and the horse, already straining to go faster, gathered speed and galloped towards the Tangled Tree.

Eliot had barely reached the trees when Renard caught up with him. “That was your fastest ride yet,” he said as Renard eased Tas around in a wide arc, giving the horse no choice but to check his speed.

Renard grinned as he came alongside Eliot and they walked their horses back and forth beside the pair of wide trees, which had somehow, many years before, become tangled together as they’d grown from saplings. “I’m finding galloping easier so long as I don’t do it for too long. Or too often.”

They moved on from the trees, keeping the horses at a walk, so they could talk. This was the first chance Eliot had had alone with Renard since Marcelin had given him the letter from Hugo Lambert.

“And that’s why I wanted to talk to Uncle Bertran.”

After a long silence, Renard said, “What did Father say?”

“Not to rush my decision. He understands how much I want to go to Salmarin, but to wait until I’ve met with Master Lambert first, find out more before planning my visit. He said he wouldn’t influence my decision. But I don’t want to give up on my apprenticeship, I’m so close to finishing it.”

Renard nodded but said nothing.

“What do you think?” said Eliot.

“It’s a long way to Salmarin.”

“I know.”

“Will you, do you think you might live there?”

It was Eliot’s turn to hesitate. Then he straightened in the saddle. “Visiting is one thing, but to leave here and move to a city where I don’t know anyone.” He frowned, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“Seems foolish speaking of it now,” said Renard with a sigh, “before you’ve met with Master, what’s his name again?”

“Lambert. Master Hugo Lambert.”

“What intrigues me more is knowing your grandmother kept his letters from you.”

“You should have seen Mother when she realised,” said Eliot. “I’ve not seen her that angry in a long time.”

“Why would your grandmother do that? She doesn’t hide her disinterest in you.”

“Mother believes it’s to do with her, not me, because Climence has never forgiven her for marrying my father.”

Renard grimaced. “What? The times Father has spoken of your father, he’s only had good things to say about him.” After a pause, he continued. “Though I suppose where your grandmother is concerned, nothing has to make sense.”

A smile tugged at Eliot’s mouth.

“Something amuses the young sir?”

“Wondering what Climence’s reaction will be when she discovers I’ve received this letter and when I meet Master Lambert,” said Eliot with a chuckle.