“The way I figure…” The farmer leaned back in his chair and took a long sip of tea. “I am who I am, and how I am,” he said, holding Lucian’s gaze. “Folk who come to Frogbottom are three sorts. Many hope to commission a woodcarving, or to pick up one they’ve ordered. Such folk will not be troubled by Badger’s presence at the gate.
“Indeed, they are then more likely to want my carvings.” He set down his cup. “Others are friends and they, likewise, aren’t bothered by Badger. The rest…”
He shrugged, looking amused. “Aye, well. Such folk who find it odd to have a giant badger guarding a gate? They can keep on walking or riding past my little patch of this good green earth. I wouldn’t be getting on with such souls, and they sure wouldn’t care to come spend time with me.”
“Then I am honored Bamber let me pass.” Lucian wondered what it said about him that he admired the farmer so much.
The reason was the older man could be a Highlander, he supposed.
“What made you carve him out there?” He found he wanted to know. “And so large?”
“Badgers are big animals.” The farmer spread his hands. “Have you ever seen a small one?”
Lucian chuckled this time. “No’ that I recall.”
“The truth is I liked that old tree Bamber is carved from.” Steckles leaned forward to top Lucian’s tea. “A huge old oak, it was – till a lightning strike split it in two and sent most of it crashing to the ground. I was heartsick for days, and one morning bright and early, I found a badger sitting by the stump.
“The beastie gave me such a long look that the idea came to me to honor him by doing a carving of him. So I gave new life to my favorite tree by creating Bamber from what remained of the massive trunk.
“That was the way of it.” He sat back, turning a speculative look of his own on Lucian. “And now I’m wondering what sort of visitor you are? I don’t think you’re here for a carving. Nor have we met, so you aren’t a friend coming to call.”
He paused, considering. “You’re also not local, so…?”
“I am here on a matter that regards Lady Melissa Tandy,” Lucian said. “She thinks highly of you and has told me of your assistance with her aged coach horses.”
“She is a fine young woman.” The farmer’s eyes warmed. “So she is a friend of yours?”
“Nae. She is to be my wife.”
Steckles’ brows shot upward. “I hadn’t heard she planned to marry.”
Neither has she… yet.
Lucian could hardly contain his own amazement at his oh-so-calmly stated pronouncement. But now that he’d made it, the rightness of it swelled inside him, assuring him that he wanted nothing more than to claim the lass as his bride.
No maid would suit him better.
He was certain of that, so he smiled at the farmer, his heart warming when the older man beamed and slapped the table.
“I knew there was a reason Bamber liked you,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “So what can I do for you? What is this matter concerning Mellie… er, ah… Lady Melissa?”
“She’s worried about her horses.” Lucian was blunt. “She believes they are in danger and that they need to be removed from Cranleigh at the soonest, all of them. I agree, hence coming to speak with you.”
“I will do what I can.” The farmer didn’t hesitate. “I’ll need to round up some local lads and have them act at night, getting the horses away to Crickhollow-”
“It is too late for that.” Lucian shook his head. “The beasts are to come to my home in Scotland. I want them shipped up and around the coast to Lyongate Hall.”
The farmer’s eyes rounded. “I don’t have the funds or means to do that,” he said. “Much as I’d like to help.”
“You needn’t trouble yourself with the cost.” Lucian now knew he’d gone fully mad, but another part of him was elated he had the means to help. “I’ll make all arrangements. You just need to hire men to assist you and then get the horses safely to the ship.”
Reaching beneath his cloak, he retrieved a plump coin pouch and placed it on the table between them.
“This money should take care of your costs,” he said, well aware it would do that, and more. “If anything else arises, contact my London solicitor, Mr. Henry Brentwood. He will have instructions to serve you in any way.”
The farmer stared at him. “I don’t know what to say.”
Lucian stood. “Just agree, and all will be well.”
