Page 40 of An Inconvenient Vow

Sabina turned her head and saw the groom leading the gleaming Blitha out, now saddled and harnessed. “This is Blitha,” she told the round-eyed boys. She could tell her horse and her hounds had risen her stock considerably with her brothers-in-law. Then again, her shabby dresses were likely of little consequence to a ten and twelve-year-old.

Jasper whistled and he and his brother exchanged glances.

“Do you own a hawk, sister?” Crispin asked hopefully. Sabina shook her head and he sighed philosophically. “You cannot have everything,” he said sadly.

“My first husband owned a hawk,” Sabina admitted as she picked up her bag of clothing and wondered if she could fasten it behind her saddle. “He was a keen huntsman.”

“You had a husband before?” Jasper asked with interest. “What happened to him?”

“He was gored to death by a wild boar he was harassing,” she answered absently, examining the decorative saddle for loops. Hearing the boy’s gasps, Sabina looked up quickly to see if she had alarmed them, but they looked more enthralled than aghast.

“Did it have big tusks?” Crispin asked in awe-struck tones.

“Did you see it happen?” demanded Jasper, his eyes agleam.

“Boys!” Sir Dudley’s shocked accents startled the three of them out of their conversation. “Those questions are far from seemly. Apologize at once!”

Sabina made haste to explain she was far from offended. “I was not there at the time,” she said quickly. “And Miles and I were living separate lives by that point.” If anything, she thought Sir Dudley looked even more shocked by her response. As for the boys, they looked as though they had even more questions trembling on their unguarded lips.

She threw them a cautioning frown. Ask me later, she conveyed with a waggle of her eyebrows and could tell they had understood her by the way they lowered their brimming gazes and pressed their lips together. Pair of young imps.

“If you have quite finished entertaining the boys,” Jeffree said scathingly, appearing in front of her so suddenly, he made her jump. “Then we can perhaps finish our packing.” He plucked the bag from her hands and carried it over to his waiting horse. Sabina watched in silence as he secured it with the rest of his packs and then swung back to help her mount Blitha.

Placing a hand on Jeffree’s muscular shoulder, Sabina felt strangely flustered as he swung her up and onto the saddle. She remembered Alfred Hendry’s two large manservants flying through the air and landing in the water trough. Sir Jeffree was a powerful man. Even his fancy tunic could not hide that fact. Today’s outfit was a stunning shade of lapis lazuli trimmed with gold thread. Did he never dress down, even when on the road?

It was not long before they set off and Sabina was pleased to find Blitha an almost effortless ride after the horses she had grown up with. She was attentive, responsive to commands, and had a smooth, even gait. She seemed just as gleaming and handsome as when she had been Miles’s most prized possession. Whoever it was had owned her the past year had clearly looked after her well.

Despite the fact she had no interest in reaching their destination, Sabina found herself enjoying the ride. It did not grow uncomfortably warm until midday, and by then, they had reached the lower slopes of The Bitterleys, the range of hills that separated Ganfordshire from the neighboring county of Leighminster. As the slopes were tree-lined they were given plenty of shade after this point and the blazing sun did not affect them. The dogs ran happily alongside the horses, their tongues hanging out of their mouths as they bounded along, keeping easily apace.

Luckily, they were not looking to scale the highest point, the impressive Midsummer Mountain from which three cathedrals could be seen on a good day. Instead, they were heading for a pass that cut through two of the lesser hills, Old Foy and the Jaggedstone. They climbed their slopes gradually until, by midafternoon, their route started to get a little more challenging.

At Sir Dudley’s request, they halted around three o’clock and some provisions were shared around, and the horses and dogs were given water. Jeffree concerned himself with his own charger and Sabina’s mount as Sir Dudley’s manservant, Hadley, and Osborn saw to the rest. Sabina sat on a grassy bank beside Lady Maud, Jasper, and Crispin and accepted a share of the barley cakes and cheese that their servant Githa handed out.

“I don’t think much of this mountain range,” Crispin said disparagingly, his mouth full of cheese. “If that is what the locals call it.” He cast a quick look at Sabina. “The ones near Kellingford are much grander.”

“Old Foy is not a mountain,” Sabina agreed calmly. “It is one of the smaller hills belonging to the Bitterleys, but if you were to climb Midsummer Mount, then you could say you had climbed the tallest mountain in all Karadok.”

“Is that so?” Jasper responded, sitting up with interest, shielding his eyes with his hand. “Which one is Midsummer Mount?”

Sabina turned and pointed to a blue-gray looming peak in the distance. “That one.”

“I don’t believe it is the tallest in the land,” Crispin muttered, looking to his father for confirmation. Sir Dudley frowned at him but did not back up Sabina’s claim.

“I assure you that I am familiar with the facts of my home county,” Sabina was stung into responding. When Jeffree approached to grab another waterskin, she appealed to him. “Husband, will you not support me in this?”

Jeffree looked startled, then hid his reaction with a frown. “With what?” he asked, taking a sip of the water.

“My claim that Mount Midsummer is the highest peak in all Karadok.”

“Every boy knows that,” he retorted in a withering tone.

“Apparently not,” Lady Maud responded as both her sons started protesting the rival claims of the Sehoran mountains.

“Nonsense,” Jeffree corrected them, turning to his mother. “What manner of tutor have you employed that they should be so ignorant in basic geography?”

Crispin looked mutinous and Sabina began to wish she had not raised the matter with Jeffree at all. He had an unfortunately combative nature which seemed to turn everything into an argument. At this point, Sir Dudley had joined the fray, mildly but doggedly defending the man they had employed for their sons’ lessons. “Master Hibbold studied under the Bishop of Hudde himself and came most highly recommended.”

“He sounds unfit for anything but the cloister,” Jeffree concluded damningly. His stepfather looked pained.