“You seem to know every village. And they know you.”
He grinned. “Not quite. But fostering good relations with the natives has always stood me in good stead.”
She took in the quality of his grin, of the smile in his eyes. With every mile they traveled in the cart, rolling slowly west with Henry’s plodding gait, the tension that had infected them all—but most of all Toby—decreased. Subsided.
Looking ahead, she acknowledged a certain lifting of her spirits. Not that they’d been depressed, but she’d been too busy over recent days to look forward to anything, much less with a sense of pleasant expectation. Of building excitement and anticipation.
She was, she admitted to herself, looking forward to a few days spent in Toby’s island sanctuary.
A few days spent learning why, for him, it qualified as a special place.
* * *
By the timeToby was guiding Henry along the narrow lane that hugged the shore of a small peninsula jutting into the waters of what he’d informed their party—now all awake—was Lake Orta, the sun was just starting to dip behind the mountains, and Diana and the children, and Helga, too, were utterly entranced.
With her hand raised to shade her eyes, Diana stared across the lightly rippling water, the tips of the wavelets gilded by the setting sun, at the small island a short distance off the shore. Isola San Giulio was an outcrop of rock that was covered by aged stone buildings. As well as an outer ring of dwellings—apparently houses and villas—there were several larger, taller structures located more centrally, their high roofs overlooked by a square tower that, from the island’s southern tip, soared against the backdrop of the mountains.
They were in the true foothills of the Alps. To the north, the higher peaks rose in majestic splendor, and to the northwest and northeast, arms of the mountains seemed to reach down to embrace the small lake.
Even the geography seemed to promise protection.
Henry clopped on, and minutes later, they rolled into the village of Orta San Giulio. Located on the eastern shore of the lake, it was, apparently, the sole point of access for the island, with local rowboats plying between the village dock and a small dock on the island’s southern shore.
The rumble of their cart’s wheels on the cobbles brought people to their cottage doors.
Several recognized Toby and greeted him with smiles and hails, which he returned.
He drove to the yard beside the dock and drew rein before a large shed. Judging by the sounds and sights visible through the wide-open doors, the place doubled as boat shed and stable.
The instant the cart rocked to a halt, Diana dropped to the cobbles and hurried to the cart’s rear, where, as she’d expected, the children were already clambering out. She lifted Evelyn down to join her brothers, and all three raced to the water’s edge to stand and stare and point at the island.
Smiling, Diana helped Helga down, then left the maid to watch over the children and Bruno and went to see how Toby was managing.
Before she rounded the cart, three large men—all as tall as Toby himself but half as wide again—appeared in the shed’s open doorway. Their expressions were initially watchful, almost suspicious, but the instant they set eyes on Toby, huge grins split their faces, and with joyful exclamations, they surged forward to surround him and clap him on the back.
The men’s rapid-fire Italian was too fast for Diana to decipher, but if at their previous stops, Toby had been greeted like a long-lost friend, here, he was embraced as a long-lost relative and a favored son at that.
Alerted by the noise, others appeared—an older couple, whom Toby greeted affectionately, and several younger lads. Even with everyone speaking in a foreign language, it was plain that, to these people, Toby was a valued friend.
Diana had paused by Henry’s head. Drawn by the noise, the children, followed by Helga and Bruno, came to join her. Curious glances were increasingly thrown their way, then one of the three original men asked Toby who Diana and the others were—she heard him clearly enough to understand him—and Toby turned and smiled encouragingly at them, then turned back to his friends and replied.
Diana smiled at all the faces turned their way and wished she spoke better Italian.
Straining her ears and her comprehension of the language, she grew fairly certain that Toby was describing them as his family. Realizing that these people—having known him over a period of years—probably knew him by his own name, she crouched beside the children and beckoned them close.
She met their wide eyes and whispered, “Our family name has just changed. It’s no longer Caldwell. Now, it’s Cynster. Can you remember that? Cynster is now our surname, all right?”
“Cynster,” Evelyn echoed and nodded.
Bryce and Roland—and Helga, who had moved closer—nodded as well.
“Is that Toby’s family name?” Roland asked.
“Yes.” Diana met Roland’s gaze. “I think Toby just said we’re his family.”
Roland’s lips lightly curved, and quietly, he murmured, “All right.”
Diana drew back and studied the children and realized that all three viewed the name change in a positive way.
