Treasure of the Celtic Triangle by Michael Phillips Read Free Book Online

that you?” she called into the semidarkness.
    “Miss Florilyn—yes,” came the familiar voice in reply. “I am checking on Grey Tide.”
    “How is she?” asked Florilyn, approaching slowly.
    “I would guess that she is perhaps two weeks away,” replied Steven. “I am not sure she will be ready for Mr. Percy to ride if he comes for Christmas.”
    “He has ridden Red Rhud many times,” said Florilyn. “I am not so worried about which horse he will ride as I am about snow and whether he and his parents will be able to get here at all.”
    “He will find a way. I am sure he is anxious to see you again.” Steven turned and walked toward the back of the barn.
    Florilyn followed him outside. There she saw Red Rhud saddled and apparently waiting for him. “Are you going out?” Florilyn asked.
    “I am. I’ve been waiting for the rain to break.”
    “Where are you going?”
    “Out to the Cnychwr croft. Their rent is due, but I haven’t had the chance to get out there. I haven’t seen them since Mr. Heygate left. Would you like to join me?”
    “Oh … yes—I think I would. This rain has been making me crazy. A ride would be nice, but I didn’t want to go out alone.”
    “Then I will saddle Black Flame. You may take your pick of mounts. But I should warn you,” added Steven, “it is six miles at least. We will not be back until late. The rain may resume.”
    “As long as you promise to take care of me, I won’t be worried.”
    Steven laughed. “You have my promise! It is not cold. Even if we should get wet, I don’t think it will do us any harm.”
    “I will go change into my riding clothes and get my raincoat while you saddle Black Flame.”
    Twenty minutes later, Florilyn Westbrooke set out through the eastern gate beside her mother’s young factor, who was only two years older than she. Accustomed to being in command and usually leading the way even when she rode with Percy, she found herself following, even occasionally along a few routes into the mountainous east she was not familiar with. Steven led the way almost due east toward the southern flank of Rhinog Fawr then veered south around the base of the mountain.
    At length they came around its far slope, where he again took a northerly bearing toward their destination, which sat nearly under the shadow of the peak to its northwest. It was a strange place for a croft. But the stone cottage had been there as long as anyone could remember. One family after another had somehow managed to scrape together an existence on the five acres that surrounded it, with cows and sheep and chickens and potatoes and what vegetables they were able to grow during the summer and autumn months.
    “Do you miss your father?” asked Florilyn as they rode.
    “Of course,” replied Steven. “But he was so unlike himself the last few years of his life, in another way it is a relief to have him released from all that. My mother misses him terribly. They spent their whole adult lives together. How about you?”
    “I do miss my father,” replied Florilyn. “He and I never really talked much together, though he was different the last few years. I suppose I miss his presence about the manor more than anything.”
    “In what way was he different?”
    “He seemed to pay more attention to little things. We began to talk more often.”
    “What about your mother?”
    “She doesn’t talk about him. But I can tell she is sad. Did you and your father talk?” asked Florilyn.
    “My papa wasn’t a talkative man,” replied Steven. “I loved him dearly, and he was a good man to one and all. But no, we didn’t talk much. Sometimes we worked together for hours without saying a word. We simply enjoyed being together. But he was a quiet man.”
    “Percy says he and his father discuss whatever he is thinking about. He says he asks his father’s advice about everything. When I listen to him, I find myself wishing I had enjoyed something like that with my father, even wondering