While she was busy, she saw Farmer Hamme walk out to the barn with Mr. Worthington.

LYSANDER PUT HIS NEW calming skills to work to help Hamme mend a gate. Hamme was a silent fellow who never seemed to pass by his plump dark-haired wife without a touch to her shoulder or hand. Lysander put a good effort into fixing the gate, which was definitely a two-man job.

Mrs. Hamme banged a spoon on a cookpot to call the children inside and Lysander watched the black-haired horde pop up from all around him and stream into the house.

Life in the dale seemed very challenging to him, with the harsh winters and the hard work. Hamme's place wasn't a hovel, but neither was it prosperous. The house was a ramshackle mix of wood and stone and the barn a three-sided shed dug into the hillside with an earthen rear wall.

Yet the children were sturdy and well-tended and they had laughed and tussled as they obediently ran indoors. Hamme laughed heartily when Lysander's riding boots slid on the damp slope, landing him on his arse, but there was no meanness in it. People in the dale had a hard go, that was certain, but they also seemed to know how to have a bit of fun.

That made Lysander wonder. Why did Gemma Oakes never seem to have any fun?

CHAPTER 17

Chapter 17

AFTER LEAVING THE HAMME farmstead, Gemma decided to take Mr. Bing's none-too-subtle advice. "If you follow the fork in the lane to the right, the path will take us up to the Nine Standards." She smiled at Mr. Worthington. "It's quite an astonishing view of the dale."

Oh dear. She'd forgotten how smiling at him quite turned him to a statue. She reached a hand over his to tug gently on the reins he held. Bad Pony veered smartly onto the path and continued his astonishingly well-behaved trot.

After leaving the lane, which had never been any wider than the cart wheels, the path began to narrow and turn bumpy with exposed rock and twisting turns that wound ever higher. To Gemma's surprise, Bad Pony took it all in stride. Mr. Worthington slowed him to a more careful walk but the pony nimbly picked his way through the chunks of half buried limestone. His short, sturdy legs pulled the cart with great ease despite the incline.

Gemma shook her head in wonder. "He's like another creature altogether."

To her surprise, Mr. Worthington shook his head to refute her. "He's the same. We've changed. We understand now."

Was he speaking of the war pony, or of himself? Either way it was the most spontaneous conversation she'd ever had from him. There had been no prying questions required.