“A penny for your thoughts,” Quentin said. He glanced at her quizzically. “Scratch that. I think I shall offer at least a quid. I have a feeling it’ll be worth it.”
Cassidy sat up in the saddle and truly looked around for the first time since they’d left the Greyburn stables.
“Fine weather,” Quentin continued, as if he’d set himself to cheering her up. “Northumberland is ordinarily a damp and boggy country. You seem to have brought the sun from your desert, for which I am eternally grateful.”
She couldn’t help smiling. Quentin’s nonchalance was infectious. “Where are we going?”
“Just a nice little private place I know of,” he said, prompting his mount into a canter.
Cassidy concentrated on the ride as they climbed gentle hills, jumped low stone fences and silvery burns. Quentin led her past clusters of cottages, too small to be called villages, and lonely farmhouses. Sheep scattered out of their way, and the occasional shepherd or laborer looked up from his work to watch them pass.
“How much of this belongs to Greyburn?” she asked after they’d ridden a mile or so.
“We don’t own as many acres as some, but we’ve been here longer than most human gentry. I hear America is so vast that all of Greyburn would make a tiny fraction of one of your great ranches. Still, Braden takes his guardianship seriously. He’s tended the woods, improved the soil, kept poachers out. And for all his faults, he takes good care of his tenants and laborers.”
“Then the people around here—the ordinary people—aren’t afraid of him?”
Quentin was silent for several moments. “You’re thinking of the ceremony.”
But she didn’t want to think of that—not of her own embarrassment, or the disquiet she’d felt when the Forsters displayed their power to the servants.
“Greyburn is one of the main employers in this part of Northumberland,” Quentin said. “People are happy to get work, and the servants always have a choice. They, and Greyburn’s tenants, know that Braden will care for them as long as they remain loyal… and discreet.” His irrepressible smile returned. “After so many years, the parish folk have heard the legends and seen things they can’t explain. But they know better than to gossip.” He looked keenly at Cassidy.” Braden can be quite generous when he’s of a mind, though he’d never let you know it. He’s a trifle obsessed, but I suppose one might be, given the burdens he has chosen to carry.”
“The Cause,” Cassidy stated.
“Quite. He has taken personal responsibility for saving the world’s werewolves. It’s a miracle he’s not entirely mad.”
“But you must help him. You’re his brother—”
“Precisely. And since Braden has lost any talent whatsoever for enjoying himself, I’ve ‘made it my life’s work to compensate for his deficiency. One of the Forsters must. And Ro, despite being my twin, takes after Braden.”
The mention of Rowena brought back other unsettling memories. “He expects Rowena to marry someone she doesn’t love,” Cassidy said.
“Ah. She told you, did she? I wondered how long it would take for her ice to crack. You have a certain way of finding chinks in armor, Cassidy Holt.”
“She didn’t tell me much.”
“It would be a rather embarrassing topic for my prim and proper sister. It’s all exceedingly medieval. Braden has plans for us—you most of all.”
Anticipation and excitement shivered through her. “Tell me,” she said, reining her mare to a halt. “I know I have to learn to Change. But what does he want me to do? How can I help him?”
Quentin wouldn’t meet her eyes. “First you must become one of us,” he said, “in every way.” He sounded almost like Braden then, until he smiled and swept her a bow. “Not that I don’t find you immensely appealing just as you are, my dear cousin. I don’t believe you can be improved. I’m certain that you and I can find a way to make these lessons pleasant for both of us.” He yawned behind his hand. “Though I’d far rather play another hand of poker. What say you? Luncheon, a bit of wine, a friendly game…”
He urged his horse into a sudden burst of speed, pulling well ahead of Cassidy’s mare. Cleopatra gamely followed, and soon they were racing neck and neck over the broken ground of a rocky fell.