‘Tha’ sounds, er, most unpleasant, m’lady.’
Out of the blue, she shot a smouldering look straight into William’s eyes, catching him completely off-guard and sending charged static crackling across the surface of his skin.
‘Call me Aurora, rather.’
‘M’lady?’ stammered William. ‘I er, I couldnae possibly call you by your first name, it would be most disrespectful ay me, I er—’
‘I insist,’ she said firmly, and her tone suggested that there would be no further arguing over this point. ‘And what should I call you, rather than “stable boy”?’
‘My name’s William, m’lady. William Gisborne.’
‘William. I like that name. And honestly, enough of this “m’lady” nonsense. “Aurora”, please!’ she insisted with a smile. ‘Now, as I mentioned earlier I have a rather dire need to, well, to step into the forest for a moment. William, please take Robert’s reins while I, er, you know…’
‘Of course, of course … Aurora. Why, your Robert’s a magnificent beast, he is.’
She handed him the reins, and as she did so her gloved hand brushed his skin, ever so lightly. That millisecond of physical contact was enough to jolt liquid fire through his body with the abrupt violence of a gunpowder keg exploding. He gasped involuntarily and hoped that she hadn’t noticed the damning redness of his cheeks as a blush spread across them; his usual effortless confidence seemed to have all but deserted him.
‘Robert was a gift from my father for my sixteenth birthday last October,’ she remarked, showing no indication of having noticed the crimson hue of William’s face.
‘A fine gift indeed, m’lady,’ William mumbled awkwardly as Aurora turned on her heels and strolled with casual grace into the trees.
He could not help but stare after her as she went, noticing the slimness of her arms and the straightness of her back beneath her tight-fitting riding blouse. Her buttocks and long legs were hidden beneath the billowing folds of her long dress, but it took little imagination on William’s part to conjure a rather vivid picture of how exquisite they must have looked. Her dark hair, tumbling its silky, wavy length down her back, shimmered in the honeyed sunlight as she moved, majestic and full as any lion’s mane.
William’s heart raced, but at the same time a strange dryness parched the inside of his mouth. Even after Aurora had disappeared into the trees the image of her angelic face remained, burned behind his eyes, indelible as tattooed ink beneath the skin. Over and over he heard the sound of her voice ringing in his mind, her every syllable resounding with a perfect musical pitch, and whether his eyes were open or closed, a vision of her entrancing, almost bronze-coloured eyes hovered before him in a glorious mirage. He closed his own eyes and breathed in deeply of the chilly forest air, drinking in its earthy essence and wallowing in both the bliss of his surroundings and the afterglow of her presence, letting time creep along like sap oozing from a slow-bleeding tree.
‘William?’
‘I, er, uh, m’lady?’ he spluttered as her voice jolted him back to the present.
‘I’ll need the reins if I am to take Robert.’
‘Apologies m’lady,’ he stammered, thrusting the reins with nervous clumsiness into her hands.
‘It’s “Aurora”, remember?’ she replied with a bemused grin. ‘Not “m’lady”. Please, no more of that.’
‘Er, yes, yes Aurora.’
‘You must understand, William, that I’ve had quite enough of all of these put-on manners and forced etiquette and insincere graces,’ she declared with a sad sigh. ‘That’s why I came out here for a ride, as long a ride as I could take, far longer than my father would ever allow me to go, if he knew … to escape all of that humbug for a time. And what a time it has been! The forest is such a magical place, is it not?’
‘It’s one ay m’ favourite places, tae be quite sure.’
She looked up at the sky and then across the tops of the trees, drinking in the sight of their sun-blazed tips burning like an ocean of candles against the pre-dusk sky.
‘I shall have to bring my paints and easel out here sometime to capture this beauty. The way this light falls through the canopy of leaves from above, and rests upon the carpet of leaves below—’
‘Like a gentle drizzle ay’ molten gold, it neither burns nor sears, for this light is cool, though no’ yet cold; Father Sun’s gift ay’ his flaming tears, for soon will he sink intae the fire, the western horizon’s funeral pyre.’
Somehow William had found and gripped a sliver of courage; a force deep within him had brought up these words of poetry, and he had been able to utter them with a calm, intense sincerity. Aurora, despite having been interrupted mid-sentence, stood in silence, staring intently into William’s eyes. For a few terrifying seconds he could not discern whether it was awe or indignation that fired her gaze, but then a delighted smile broke out across her lips and put his worries to rest.
‘You are a poet, William! Why, that was most exquisite!’ she exclaimed, genuinely impressed. ‘Is it one of your own compositions?’
‘Aye, it is,’ he replied, unable to suppress a shy smile dusted with glowing pride. ‘And it pleases me greatly tae know that you like it.’
‘I adore it, William. I honestly do!’
Their eyes met for a brief moment, and each held the other’s gaze fast. Each also felt a reciprocity of blazing energy travelling back and forth, from grey eyes to amber eyes and then back again, probing gently into the depths of the cloaked soul beneath. Aurora was the first to disengage; this was fortunate for William, for he was not sure if he could disengage.
‘As much as I enjoy your poetry, William, the hour grows late and I must return, lest father begins to worry. And he does
