Treasure of the Celtic Triangle (49 page)

Thunderstruck, Courtenay stared at the paper in disbelief. He read over the words a second time then finally looked up.

Gwyneth was just disappearing into the house.

Quickly he stooped down, picked up the flowers she had spent three hours to find, and hurried after her. “Wait … Gwyneth, wait!” he called.

She turned and faced him.

“What is … I mean, is this … what does this mean—how did you …”

“I paid your bill,” said Gwyneth simply.

“So … I don’t understand. Do I now owe you the money?”

“No, Courtenay, you owe me nothing.”

“But it was
my
debt.”

“I know. But I took your debt on myself so that you would not have to pay it.”

“Why would you do that?” he said, shaking his head in stunned disbelief.

“Because I care about you, Courtenay, and I want the best for you. After all, you are my half brother or my uncle or something—I still am a little confused about all that. I think you are my uncle. But most of all, you are a person God made and that makes you wonderful and special. I think I will even learn to love you in time. For now I wanted to do something for you to show you that I bear you no ill will despite that you are sometimes cruel to me. But I do not think you will be rude to me after this, because you will know that you are forgiven.”

Speechless, Courtenay stared at her for another moment then turned, still holding both receipt and forgiveness bouquet, and walked slowly back in the direction of the stables.

S
EVENTY
-N
INE

The Offer

C
ourtenay excitedly read for the third time the letter that had come that morning. He could hardly believe the words on the page in front of him.

Courtenay set the letter down, his mind racing. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for! But he had spent his account completely dry engaging that imbecile of a barrister in London who now said there was nothing more he could do. Where could he lay his hands on £225?

For the rest of the day, Courtenay hung about more than was generally his custom. Early in the afternoon, Percy, Steven, and Codnor rode into the hills to check on the new flock of sheep they had taken to one of the high meadows a month earlier. He happened to know that Florilyn was in town visiting Rhawn Lorimer. He also knew that Gwyneth never remained cooped up inside on a nice day for long.

He busied himself in and about the stables, checking on his horses, dreaming and scheming what he dared hope might be a chance to compete in a major race. After about twenty minutes, he saw Gwyneth walking from the kitchen garden behind the house. Though shorter than any of the young people of the manor, the grace and dignity of her bearing made her appear taller than she actually was. Even wearing a worker’s frock and with her hands soiled with dirt, one look was enough to command an observer’s attention. Her entire countenance said that here was a young woman somehow set apart from her peers. As yet, however, because they were focused on himself, Courtenay’s eyes were unseeing of all this. He came out from the shadow of the barn and, with pretended nonchalance, intercepted her.

“Hello, Courtenay,” said Gwyneth sweetly.

“What are you doing today?” he asked.

“I was helping Mrs. Drynwydd pick the beans for tonight’s dinner.”

“If you are going to be viscountess one day, don’t you think you should let the servants do that kind of work?”

“I will never want anyone waiting on me. Why should someone else do for me what I can do well enough for myself. Besides, I like to work.”

An awkward silence followed.

“I say, uh … Gwyneth,” began Courtenay, “you know my, uh—the racehorses that you, well … that you helped me keep?”

“Of course, Courtenay.”

“I have a chance … that is, I’ve been invited to enter a big race next month.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Courtenay. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he said, smiling awkwardly. “It wouldn’t have been possible if you hadn’t … you know, done what you did.”

Gwyneth smiled.

“Are you, uh … interested in horses?”

“I thought you knew that. I love all kinds of animals, especially horses.”

“Do you think I should enter the race?”

“Oh yes—it sounds like just what you have wanted.”

“Yes, well … actually, yes it is. I would be very excited about it if … well, you see, there is one little problem. I need £225 to enter the race.”

“Don’t you have that much?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“And you are trying to find a way to ask if you could borrow it from me,” said Gwyneth with the hint of a playful smile.

“I suppose that is about the size of it,” replied Courtenay, with an uncharacteristically sheepish expression on his own face.

“What would you say if I just
gave
you the money instead of loaned it to you?”

“I would be very appreciative.”

“It would be my investment in your horses.”

“I suppose that is only fair, since I wouldn’t even have them if it weren’t for you. So how big a cut of the action would you want for your investment?”

“I’m not sure what you mean. What is a cut of the action?”

“What percentage of my winnings would be yours, and what percentage would be mine?”

“I don’t want anything in return, Courtenay!” laughed Gwyneth. “Whatever you win would be yours.”

“What about the entry fee—you know, the two-twenty-five?”

“If I give it to you, Courtenay, I would not expect it back. Don’t you know what Jesus said—to do good and lend and give to others and expect nothing in return? I try to do what Jesus said, that is all. The money would be yours, Courtenay.”

“Hmm … yes, well … there is that, I suppose, though I never thought of anything
He
said having to do with finances or racehorses.”

“But,” Gwyneth added, “there would be one condition.”

“A condition—what kind of condition?”

“Would you be riding in the race yourself?”

Courtenay nodded.

“Then if I am going to invest in this race, I would want to give you riding lessons.”

“What!” Courtenay began in a blustering tone. “Do you think that you are actually—” He stopped abruptly and managed to control himself. This was a gift horse into whose mouth he didn’t want to look too closely! He drew in a deep breath, trying to find the wherewithal to swallow his gigantic pride—no mean feat for one like Courtenay—and put up with whatever absurdities were being hatched in Gwyneth’s brain.

“Yes, Courtenay,” said Gwyneth. “I know what you are thinking, that you are a superior horseman to me. But you are not all you could be. If you gave me two weeks with any of your horses, I would beat you in a race with you riding any of the others. I know how to talk to horses in a way you don’t, Courtenay. You are not that good in the saddle. I can teach you to race much faster.”

Momentarily Courtenay’s calm gave way.

“How dare you propose to—” he began. Again he caught himself. This was galling, but if he wanted to race, he had no choice. “What exactly did you have in mind?” he said.

“Just to teach you how to talk to your horses, how to sit in the saddle, and how to ride faster. It will take me a few days to get you the £225. I will have to speak to my father and some other people. Would you like to start your riding lessons tomorrow?”

“Whatever you say,” replied Courtenay with a supreme effort at self-control.

“Then we will take two horses to the wide sand south of the harbor tomorrow at low tide,” said Gwyneth. “You should ride the horse you plan to race, and I will show you how fast it might be.”

“I will be sure to bring my whip,” said Courtenay with a touch of sarcasm.

“You will not need your whip, Courtenay. The only use it might have would be to show you, if you tried to use it, how much faster than you I can ride without it. But I would rather you did not bring it. I don’t think you will ever need your whip again.”

“We shall see about that.”

For the next week, every day at low tide, Courtenay and Gwyneth met at the beach for Courtenay’s riding lessons. By the third day, Courtenay ceased his objections. Whether he had begun to
see
into Gwyneth as a person was doubtful, but he was a sufficient horseman to recognize that she knew what she was about.

From the promontory above the beach, Percy, Florilyn, and Steven watched the proceedings every day with amusement. What they would not have given to be able to hear the conversation taking place on the sand below them.

“I have to hand it to Courtenay,” said Percy. “He seems to be taking his medicine like a man.”

“You probably know everything Gwyneth is saying to him,” said Florilyn. “This is how she taught you to beat me.”

“‘High, forward, and loose in the saddle,’” nodded Percy. “‘Be one with your horse … feel the rhythm … relax and let him run.’ You’re right—I can imagine exactly what she is saying!”

“Are we witnessing the beginning of Courtenay’s transformation?” said Steven.

“I don’t think I would go
that
far!” laughed Florilyn. “Although,” she added in a thoughtful tone, “Gwyneth does have the power to get under the skin. If I can change, though it took me awhile, I suppose maybe Courtenay can, too. But I’m not holding my breath.”

E
IGHTY

The Race

A
s the twelve entries in the Chester Derby entered the starting gate, few expected anything from the late entrant from the north coast of Wales, Viscount’s Pride. At twenty-five to one, neither had the three-year-old garnered much activity with the punters and bookmakers, though a few late rumors that the filly’s pedigree came from France and could surprise had aroused a mild flurry of interest. Most of the bets laid down, however, followed conventional wisdom and remained with the three favorites, the Empress, Red Heat, and Birdsong Meadow.

In the seats just above the rail about fifty yards from the finish line, however, sat a small cluster of visitors to the Cheshire city, some of whom, in the excitement of participation more than expectation of gain, held markers for the wagers they had placed on the long shot.

Katherine had invited any from the manor who desired to accompany them to watch the race. Mrs. Drynwydd and Mrs. Llewellyn, attired in their finest Sunday dresses, were beside themselves at the fun of such an adventure and behaving like two schoolgirls in the midst of the great crowd. This was the first horse race either had seen in their lives. They had speculated to the sum of ten shillings each and were now clutching their receipts as if the economy of the entire British Empire was at stake. Stuart Wyckham was more daring. He had invested a pound and now sat more nervous than excited, fearing the worst and regretting having been caught up in the prerace enthusiasm of the others. Florilyn had bet four pounds, Steven two. They had also invited Rhawn Lorimer to accompany them, and she had equaled Florilyn’s bet. Adela Muir had declined to place a wager. Beside her, however, the mother whose son would carry the hopes of Snowdonia on his shoulders had invested five pounds. Only one of the company had sufficient personal prior experience with the techniques of Viscount’s Pride’s diminutive trainer to have reason for optimism. Percy was so convinced of Gwyneth’s genius with animals that he had confidently placed a ten-pound note on the table in front of the skeptical bookie, who, he said, had no objection if the young Scotsman wanted to throw his money away, and he would be glad to take it. Gwyneth, most quietly confident of all, placed no bet. She had no desire to profit from the day’s adventure. She was thinking more of the eternal consequences of her investment and what interest might be gained from it within Courtenay’s heart.

Courtenay arranged to go ahead with the horse several days before. The contingent from the manor followed two days prior to the race, riding in two large carriages to Blaenau Ffestiniog, where they caught the train the rest of the way. A festive dinner at the hotel had capped off the adventure. Katherine and Adela treated the women to ice cream, and her housekeeper and cook thought they were in heaven. They invited Stuart Wyckham to accompany them. Glancing about at the four women, however, he declined and instead spent a boring evening in his room, wishing that Hollin Radnor had been up for the trip, or that Codnor Barrie did not possess such a keen sense of duty that compelled him to stay behind and keep watch over affairs at the manor.

Steven and Florilyn walked through the city with Percy, Gwyneth, and Rhawn. As they made their way back toward the hotel, Gwyneth and Florilyn were engaged in conversation with Steven and gradually moved ahead. Behind them Percy and Rhawn found themselves alone together.

“What is it like being without your little Amren for so long?” asked Percy.

“I miss him,” replied Rhawn. “But it feels so good to be free of the duties of a mother for a few days. Sir Armond and Doris are like two little children in a candy store to have their grandson to themselves for three days. My parents are going to Burrenchobay Hall one evening as well. You don’t know how much I appreciate your asking me along. I know I’m sort of the odd woman out—you and Gwyneth, Steven and Florilyn, you know—but I appreciate it.”

“It was Gwyneth’s idea.”

Rhawn smiled. “Somehow, I am not surprised. She is an amazing girl,” she said. “After how I treated her all those years when we were young, now she acts as if I am her best friend. You are a very lucky man.”

“She cares for you, Rhawn. She
does
consider you a friend. I think she is proud of you, too, for not giving up, for growing, for becoming the person you are. I am proud of you, too.”