THE FOREST LORD By Susan Krinard

Eden led him to the window. “You didn’t celebrate Candlemas when you lived in Ireland?”

He shook his head, and his lower jaw jutted. Perhaps it was just as well if his past—and hers—simply ceased to exist.

“Come,” she said in a sly whisper. “Let’s see if we can find something sweet in the kitchen. I’ll wager that I can reach it before you!”

With a yelp of joy, Donal dashed pell-mell for the hall. She followed at a more leisurely pace, giving Donal plenty of time to arrive before she did.

The kitchen was redolent of the evening’s dinner and something warm and spicy. The dishes and pots had already been washed and put away. A plate of fresh buns waited on the broad oak table.

“Cook has gone to bed,” Eden whispered. “Do we dare?” She reached for a bun, letting her hand hover over the nearest pastry.

Donal grinned with a waggish expression she’d never seen on his face before. As one, they dove on the buns and took warm, sticky bites.

This was how life was supposed to be. This simplicity, this contentment, this happiness.

Miss Waterson and Hartley Shaw could go to the devil.

Candlelight filled nearly every window of Hartsmere, upstairs and down.

Drawn to the light, Hartley gazed up at the gray stone walls. This eve had long been celebrated by men as a time of transition. He felt that transition in his very bones: the rebirth of a new season tied, as if by twisting, succulent vines, to his very heart.

The candles hadn’t been lit at Hartsmere for centuries. Eden was not responsible; she had no knowledge of such traditions. But something in the warm yellow squares and rectangles, defiant against the darkness, reminded him of her. They gave the house a sense of peace it did not often have.

The horses, and even the returning beasts of field and forest, seemed very poor company tonight. He needed to know how Donal fared. That was excuse enough to make another sally into Eden’s fortress.

He started toward the house but paused after a few steps, sensing a hostile presence.

“Mr. Shaw.”

Lady Claudia Raines moved with remarkable skill for a mortal woman. Hartley turned to face her, somehow unsurprised to find her seeking him under cover of darkness. He had known her once before.

She stopped, wrapped in her innate air of superiority over all lesser beings. She was a handsome woman, in her bearing as regal as the most High Fane. Hartley was not impressed.

Six years ago, she had controlled her niece in every way but one, and therefore she had despised the man she knew as Cornelius Fleming. He had sensed then, on several occasions, that she worked to undermine his courtship of Eden.

He had never understood why. He hadn’t cared. Lady Claudia had not been worthy of his attention.

He gave it to her now only because of the role he played. Like Eden, she failed to recognize him. Her reasons for approaching Hartley Shaw were not difficult to guess.

“Your ladyship,” he said with a slight nod. “How can I be of service?”

She put out her hand. In her palm lay a pouch. She spilled a few coins into her glove, and they shone silver in the moonlight.

“You will leave Hartsmere immediately,” she said.

She was used to giving commands, but so was he. The hair along the back of his neck bristled. His foot dug a furrow into the earth of its own volition, as if he were a stag facing a rival during the season of rut. His brow felt weighted with the many-tined antlers of his heritage.

Instinct. Instinct warned him she was his enemy in a way she had not been six years before.

“Why?” he demanded.

He’d expected to shock her with his insolence. She merely smiled.

“I knew you must be beyond bold to trifle so with Lady Eden,” she said, closing her hand over the coins. “If you mean to gain wealth or influence by taking advantage of her, you are sadly mistaken. I shall not permit it.”

So this woman had either seen him with Eden or suspected their relationship. He was certain that Eden hadn’t spoken of their conversations. Even without recognizing him, Lady Claudia Raines was still intent on keeping Eden from an unsuitable partner. Had she set her seal of approval on the man her niece had married?

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