The Royal Ranger

Twenty-two

Maddie’s training continued, but now there was an extra element added to her schedule. In addition to her other skill training, she now had daily sessions with Bumper, where horse and rider developed their already close relationship into a deep, intimate understanding.

Bumper was rapidly becoming, as she had previously observed, an extension of herself, responding to her slightest signal, instantly aware of what she expected of him. In turn, she learned to interpret the many signals the horse sent to her—warnings of possible danger, the presence of an unknown person or the approach of a potentially dangerous animal.

There were also fitness sessions, involving long runs through the surrounding countryside, or the obstacle course that Will had improvised for her. He alternated these with basic instruction in unarmed combat, teaching her to strike with the heel of her hand rather than a closed fist—“A fist is an excuse to break your fingers,” he said—and how to use an attacker’s weight and impetus against him in a series of simple yet effective movements.

And there were tracking and camouflage lessons. Will and Maddie rode through the fief, looking for and identifying different animal tracks, following innocent travellers without making them aware that they were being tracked and standing, wrapped in her cloak, on the verge of the road, while travellers passed by, oblivious to the fact that Maddie was a few metres away.

“Trust the cloak,” Will told her repeatedly. “And don’t move. Even if you think you’ve been spotted.”

So her days were full and, at the end of each one, she was happy to roll into her bed, exhausted, and sleep soundly till the following morning, when the whole sequence would begin again.

She still went to Wensley Village each morning to fetch fresh bread and milk for the day. But now she rode instead of walking.

Will had previously banned her from riding Sundancer to the village. “He’s altogether too exotic for these parts,” he had told her cryptically. But now that she had Bumper, he lifted this restriction. “A Ranger and her horse should do things together,” he explained.

Maddie wasn’t quite sure what the difference was, but she was happy to ride Bumper, talking to him, patting him and generally enjoying his company, on her early morning excursions. Even a task as simple as fetching bread and milk became enjoyable in Bumper’s company, she thought. Perhaps that was what Will had in mind.

So the sight of the small, upright figure, wrapped in her camouflage cloak, riding the shaggy black and white horse and with her bow across the saddle in front of her, became a familiar one in the village. Maddie was at first bemused, then a little flattered, as she realised that she had become something of a celebrity among the teenagers in the village. As a Ranger, she was a mysterious and intriguing figure—all the more so because she was the first girl to be taken on for Ranger training.

There was a group of half a dozen boys and girls roughly her own age in the village. They looked on her with some awe and a lot of respect—and envy. Their own lives were routine and circumscribed. Life in a small village held little in the way of excitement, whereas the new girl among them was an apprentice Ranger. She carried a bow, and they had observed on several occasions, when they had crept through the woods to watch her practise, that she knew how to use it.

As Maddie rode through the village, they took to calling to her and greeting her. From time to time she would rein Bumper in and stop to talk with them. She enjoyed their obvious hero worship—particularly that of the young girls. She wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t. She found a quiet satisfaction and enjoyment in being a minor celebrity. But by now she had learned not to become too full of herself because of it.

Of course, in her time at Castle Araluen, she had had a circle of admirers and acquaintances. But she had sensed that most of them were more impressed by her title and her position than by her personal worth. At Araluen, she was the princess, and people around her vied for her attention and approval simply because she was the princess—not out of any real desire to be her friends.

Here, it was different. Aside from a small circle of people that included Jenny, Baron Arald and Lady Sandra, Halt and Lady Pauline, nobody knew Maddie’s real identity. Will had thought it best not to reveal her royal lineage to others.

So Maddie enjoyed the admiration and the friendship of the young people of Wensley. From time to time, when her busy schedule permitted, she rode to the village and spent time with them, coaching some of the boys in archery, fishing in the calm waters of the river with them and playing games of hide and seek—which she invariably won, until the others banned the use of her cloak.

Will watched these activities with a careful eye. “Don’t get too close to them,” he cautioned. “Rangers need to maintain a certain separation from the ordinary people. It helps if they hold us in a little awe. It maintains the mystique.”

Still, he thought, it was good for her to learn to relate to the common people—as opposed to the self-important sprigs of nobility who inhabited Castle Araluen. He was pleased to see that she didn’t put on airs or graces any more. He could see she enjoyed being respected for her abilities and he saw no harm in that.

“Better to be respected for what you can do, rather than who your parents are,” he said to Jenny on one occasion. His friend looked at him keenly as he said it, watching the way his eyes followed Maddie as she laughed and joked with a group of local youngsters.

The lines of pain, graved in his face by Alyss’s loss, were still evident. But they had softened, and the grim expression wasn’t quite as grim as it had been. At times, she sensed, he was on the brink of smiling. There was a fondness in his eyes as he watched his goddaughter—one that he hastily disguised when she was aware of him.

She’s doing him good, Jenny thought, smiling to herself. She had long forgiven Maddie’s bumptious remark to her. The week after she said it, the girl had appeared on the doorstep of Jenny’s cottage, a bunch of flowers in her hand and a remorseful look on her face, and apologised profusely. Jenny, warm-hearted and forgiving, accepted the apology instantly. Since then, they had become friends, with Jenny ever ready to listen to Maddie as she bemoaned her lack of talent with the bow—a totally inaccurate assessment of her ability, Jenny knew.

“If you want practice,” she had told Maddie, “I can always use fresh game in my restaurant.”

In the following weeks, she had received a steady stream of rabbits, hares and wildfowl, either shot with Maddie’s bow or brought down by her sling. It was evident that Maddie, who had spent her life having every whim catered for, was enjoying doing something for someone else.

And Jenny was more than content to be that someone else, so long as the game kept appearing on her doorstep.

It was a Friday morning. Maddie was riding back from the small dairy farm at the end of the village. A sack of warm loaves was hung across her saddle bow, the smell of fresh bread hitting her nostrils and reminding her stomach that she hadn’t yet had breakfast. Two of the local teenagers waved her down and she checked Bumper, calling a greeting to them as they stepped out into the road.

“Morning, Gordon. Morning, Lucy,” she said. They were two of her favourites. Lucy was the daughter of Mistress Buttersby, Wensley’s seamstress. She was a gangly, freckled girl who was something of a tomboy. Gordon was dark-haired and had mischievous blue eyes. He was something of a rogue, although she felt there was no real harm or malice in him.

He glanced around now, making sure that nobody was listening, then spoke to her in a lowered voice.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

She frowned, thinking. “Nothing,” she replied. She had a free Saturday for the first time in weeks. Will was going to the castle to have dinner with Halt, Pauline and Baron Arald and Lady Sandra. “Why?”

Lucy giggled. “We’re having a party,” she said, her tone conspiratorial.

Maddie cocked her head curiously. A party was no reason for their lowered voices and constant looking around. Something was afoot, she realised.

“Just a party?” she asked.

Lucy giggled again and Gordon grinned. He had a very attractive grin, Maddie thought. There was all sorts of devilment in it.

“A… special kind of party,” he said. “Behind the stable at the inn. Lucy’s bringing game pies and lamb on skewers. And we’re going to bake potatoes in the fire.”

Lucy worked as a waitress in Jenny’s restaurant. From time to time, Jenny rewarded her with choice bits of food from the menu. At other times, Lucy surreptitiously helped herself. Maddie guessed that this was one of those times, which would account for the knowing grins both her friends wore.

“And Martin’s got a cask!” Lucy burst out, unable to contain herself. Then she dissolved in a fit of giggles.

“A cask?” Maddie asked, although she was beginning to understand what Lucy meant. “A cask of what?”

“Of wine!” Gordon said triumphantly. “Fine wine, it is, too. Will you join us?”

Maddie hesitated. She knew she shouldn’t. But she had been working hard for weeks now, with very few breaks and little time to herself. She didn’t know if she liked wine or not. But she knew she liked adventure and there was still a streak of the rebel in her. She deserved a chance to let her hair down, she thought. And nobody would know.

“Why not?” she told them.