Kissed by Starlight by Cynthia Bailey Pratt Page B

ago. Family history was clear that at least one of Hamdry’s owners had perished in a sinkhole, as well as at least one mortal enemy.
    William the Footman pointed up the hill and started off again. Felicia followed, all but dragging Mary along behind. Sometimes the wind, like a giant hand, would push her in the back, propelling her up the hill. At other times, it acted like a dragline, making her bend over backward as she struggled on. Mary was in no better plight. Her lips moved constantly in a stream of complaints which, fortunately, Felicia could not hear.
    Once on the far side of the hill, it was better. Felicia could catch her breath and hear herself think. In the distance, more tors rose, the tallest scoured down to the granite bedrock and glinting like silver in the sun. Though she had less liking than ever for the moor, the sight lifted her heart.
    “Is it much farther?” Felicia asked.
    “Nobbut ‘round them rocks, miss. There, on the side of that rill.”
    Felicia nodded. “Very well.”
    She glanced at Mary, only to find the woman sitting on a rock, unlacing her shoe. “Here I am,” she announced. “Here I stay. I didn’t bargain for scramblin’ over half the county, Miss Felicia, ribbons or no.”
    When a Devonshire woman says no, she means it. Mary’s firm-set lips and level eyes made it clear that she was going no farther and that neither bribes nor pleas would soften her. “Very well,” Felicia said. “But no hair ribbons and no pins.”
    “Fair enough.” Mary shook out a few sharply hooked barbs from her shoe. “But I keep them two shillings!”
    “Lead on, William,” Felicia said. Mary, at any rate, would keep a clear sight of them as they walked. If, by some unhappy chance, William was overwhelmed with a yearning to declare himself her admirer, it would go no further than words. Mary might not stir herself for propriety’s sake alone, but were real danger to threaten, Felicia knew the maid would hurry to her rescue.
    Glancing at William, Felicia didn’t think Mary would need disturb herself. Though his cheeks were red from his exertions, he still looked like a six-foot piece of string dipped in tallow. When he noticed her scrutiny, he blushed and wriggled.
    Without the wind, it was a pleasant stroll, though the ground was still hummocky. Felicia found herself opening her cloak and pushing the hood back, for she’d grown too warm. She didn’t feel weak, surprisingly enough, though she’d taken little exercise of late. Indeed, she felt as though she’d never been ill a day in her life.
    They passed a tumbled pile of dark gray stone. “What’s that?” Felicia asked.
    “Giant’s Bones,” William answered.
    “I beg your pardon ... oh! It must be a fallen-down dolmen. My father said there were many such up here, but I had no idea there was one so close to the house. I wonder why he never offered to show it to me.”
    “Come on, miss,” William said, hurrying on as though she’d stopped to discuss something not quite decent.
    With another glance at the rough-hewn stone blocks, Felicia trotted along behind him. “Your brothers must know the moor as well as you do,” Felicia said.
    “No ‘un knows it so well as Lady Clarice,” William said. “My mother says it’s ‘cause she’s a natural and they can’t be led away by the will o’ the wisp.”
    Felicia repressed her instinctive protest at the word “natural.” Soon they’d all see that Clarice was as normal as any other girl her age.
    “There they are,” William said. In the distance, four figures moved in a rather stately pattern, dancing like their elders in prescribed movements. Though they had no music but the wild wind and their piping voices, they looked as though they belonged in some stuffy assembly room. The breeze tugged at hair the sun had turned to gold and flapped one white apron as the children let go their linked hands.
    “Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!”
    Suiting the action to the word, the four