Chapter Six

Half surprised she’d accompanied him this far, yet feeling equally so at ease with her that he hoped she felt the same about him, Lucian turned off Rotten Row and led them deeper into a lesser-frequented area of Hyde Park. A secluded and thickly wooded corner where, at this early hour, they’d be guaranteed peace and solitude.

He stopped in a clearing shielded by ancient oaks and maples, their leaves deeply red and gold, a scattering of them strewn across the grass. After dismounting, he helped Lady Melissa down from her own horse, then took a plaid from the back of his saddle. He also retrieved a small leather pouch, which he placed on the plaid after spreading it on the cold, autumn ground.

“I wouldn’t sit,” he said, straightening. “The grass is still is damp with dew. But” – he gestured to the pouch – “I wasn’t sure if you’d have breakfast, so I brought along some cold meat and cheese, a loaf of fresh-baked bread, and tea.”

She glanced at the plaid, then back to him, her smile going straight to his heart.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Because I told you I mean to keep you safe?” He couldn’t stop his own smile. “That includes making sure you dinnae go hungry.”

“Thank you.” She bent to open the pouch, began lifting out the food and arranging it for them. “You are right. I did not eat, but now I am famished.”

“Then please enjoy.” He gestured to the offerings. “Perhaps as we eat, you can tell me about the crone.”

And she did, her account striking him in the same way as her willingness to meet him alone, even accompany him into the loneliest wilds of Hyde Park.

She trusted him.

And though her story was fantastical, he believed every word.

How could he not? He’d been born into a family that lived with their own legends and a curse, accepting suchlike as much a part of their inheritance as Lyongate Hall and the family’s sometimes great, other times dwindling fortune?

He knew strange things existed, occurrences that couldn’t be explained.

For sure, in the Highlands. And perhaps, as well, in London.

Some things simply were.

So after helping himself to a good-sized chunk of bread and a generous serving of cold, sliced beef and cheese, he took a gulp of tea, and prepared to tell her a tale of his own…

“I have no idea who the old woman is, lass,” he said, pacing before the plaid. “But my gut tells me she hails from a time and place more distant than-”

“A time?”

He nodded. “Aye, just that.”

“What do you mean?” She looked at him, her eyes wide. “Are you saying she’s a ghost?”

“No’ at all. But she is something.”

“Something?” she echoed again.

“Sweet lass…” He went over to her and took her gently by the shoulders. “The crone’s appearance goes along with everything my family, and others like us, have always known. Scotland, the Highlands in particular, is a place of myth and legend, deeply entrenched in superstition and belief in the old ways. Ghosts, beasties, magic, call such things what you will.

“By whatever name, such mysteries float about our hills and glens just like our famed Highland mist.” He paused, pleased when she didn’t argue. “We accept that an uncanny, ancient world exists alongside, or just beneath the surface of our own. And sometimes…”

He waited.

“They mesh,” she said, answering as he’d hoped. “The veil between them thins.”

“So we believe.”

She glanced at the trees, then back to him. “You think the old woman comes from such a place?”

He nodded. “I’ve no’ doubt.”

“Then I will believe so, too. I just wish we knew who she was.”

“We might yet find out.” He topped her tea and also refilled his own cup. “Then again, she may remain a mystery, her name and purpose forever lost to us.”

She sipped her tea, looking thoughtful.

“I think she wanted us to meet.” She smiled and lowered the cup. “A meddlesome and well-meaning soul, come here on a swirl of magic to right wrongs and do a bit of good.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, pleased she’d accepted his explanation.

He doubted many English would, though he knew that the gentry in their stately homes and even the owners of many London residences did believe in ghosts.

They made no secret of it, many claiming their homes were long haunted, often by numerous spirits.

His family had Conley’s gate-stone and a shadow cat.

“Do you like cats?” He’d best settle this now.

“I love all animals.” She glanced back the way they’d come. “Speaking of which, I hear horses heading this way.”

Lucian listened, agreeing. “We should be going.”

She didn’t budge. “Why did you ask about cats?”

“Because two are near to my heart,” he said, his words true enough. “I will tell you of them on the ride out of the park. But first…”

He stepped closer, taking her by the arm and drawing her behind his two horses, moving her out of sight as two older gentlemen rode past the clearing. When the men were out of hearing range, he released her and helped her mount.

She glanced after the riders. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d care if we were seen?”

“I don’t, as you’ll see soon enough.”

“I will?”

He smiled, liking the amusement in her eyes. “Nary a doubt about it.”

Turning away from her, he gathered his plaid and the remains of their picnic. He put everything back into the leather pouch, and then fastened it to the back of his saddle. That done, he swung up onto his horse.

“I’d no’ alarm you, but I had reason for no’ wanting you seen,” he said, serious again. “The truth is, until you’re out of the reach of your stepmother, I’ll no’ risk anything that might draw her wrath.”

“Visiting Hyde Park so early in the morning, and alone, already did that. Being here with you-”

“Riding along Rotten Row is no’ so worrisome as being spotted in a copse of trees deep inside the park. Now…”

He reached over and clapped her mount’s rump, then kneed his own horse. Well-trained, the two bays adopted a smooth, leisurely pace as they left the clearing and started back through the more wooded section of the park, toward the popular bridle path.

“We were speaking of cats.” He glanced at her. “Tell me what you were doing when the crone mentioned one to you.”

“H’mmm…” She considered.

“You were in the middle of the crush at Hyde Park Corner,” he reminded her. “I was a bit late because one of my maids saw our Lyongate cat. You said the crone told you to ‘ask me about the cat,’ and then said ‘I’d be along shortly.’”

“That’s right. She clearly meant you.”

“So it seems.”

“I remember!” She clasped a hand to her breast. “I was worried because you weren’t there and wondering what to do. I was about to leave when the old woman bumped me with her cart.”

The hairs on Lucian’s nape stood on end, but his heart thumped.

“That’s the answer.” He smiled at her. “She was indeed the crone from the Merrivale townhouse, the old Scottish woman with the red plaid laces.”

“She knew I was about to go,” she spoke his mind. “She knew your cat had something to do with your lateness. And so-”

“She comes from that hazy realm we spoke of.”

“Oh, my.”

“Indeed.” Lucian agreed, feeling chills himself. “There’s only one more thing to mention. The reason my maid was so upset was because the Lyongate cat isn’t of this world,” he said, watching her carefully. “He’s a shadow cat, part of a legend attached to my family.”

“How fascinating,” she said, seeming more intrigued than shocked or frightened.

“He’s quite large,” Lucian told her. “We believe he’s tied to a lion once rescued by a distant ancestor.”

She didn’t blink, her great blue eyes lighting with interest.

“I think we should slow our horses,” she said, already doing so. “I must hear all about him. I am fond of lions.”

And I am growing fond of you.

Lucian kept that to himself, but he did begin to talk, telling her everything he knew about the first laird of Lyongate Hall, Renton MacRae, and how he saved Conley the Lion. He finished with the lion-faced stone at the gate, the shadow cat, and even his family’s triumphs and travails over the years.

He’d tell her later about his uncle and his father. Just now, only one thing mattered…

Lady Melissa.

The half-English, half-Scottish woman he suspected would soon be his wife.