by Regina Scott
“And it shall not,” Allison promised, hurrying to her horse. “Help me mount, Gen. I’ll be back straight away.”
“Wait,” Gen commanded, his words finally sinking in even as her fear rose anew. “Vicar, you keep saying brigands. How many were there? Where did they go? And how do you know they have gone?”
Her hands on the reins, Allison shivered, eyeing the nearby trees.
“Oh, they’ve gone, they’ve gone,” York assured her with a wag of one plump finger. “They’ve done their vile deed. What need to stay? Nine of them there were, hacking at the poor tree like crazed drummers, like the most crazed of drummers. And I’m most sorry to say, Miss Allison, most very sorry to say that Geoffrey Pentercast was leading them.”
“No!” Allison cried and was forced to yank on the reins as her horse shied again.
Gen stared at the tree, feeling as if her life blood was draining even as the Thorn wilted. Nine of them? Drumming? It could not be. Even a Pentercast would not be so vindictive. Yet he had sent Geoffrey to do his dirty work before. Heat rushed up from her heart to her face. She stalked to her horse.
“Allison, help me to mount. You will stay with Reverend York. I have a few choice words to say to the Squire.”
Chapter Thirteen
Interlude, Baritone Solo
A
lan stared at the calculations on the paper before him, staggered by the results. He had had two days to assess the results of the flood, two days to review his plans for the estate and what impact it would have on them. He groaned aloud. His entire spring wheat crop was destroyed. The portion of the fall’s harvest that was still being threshed, a good third of it, was gone as well. Two of his sheep had been trampled in the process of getting the animals to higher ground. One would have lambed in a few months. Several of his horses had come up lame. A neighbor reported at least a dozen cows dry. Tom Harvey said that the Munroes were doing what they could for the cows he had left with them, but without barns to hold them, he might lose another thirty head as well. Eight of the trees in the old orchard had been washed off their roots; another half dozen were listing and might not last the winter. It would take him months to rebuild.
He slouched in the leather-upholstered desk chair and stared at the frescoed ceiling. And what had he accomplished for all these troubles? His worst fears about his brother had been confirmed—Geoffrey was a drunken wastrel with no regard to personal property or human life. He was everything anyone ever thought a Pentercast should be. And Alan had sworn when he became head of the family that he would not let his brother follow in their father’s stead. He had failed miserably. He could only hope his brother was somewhere safe and warm, and that he would return soon unharmed.
Worse yet was his relationship with Gen. He had done everything to change her mind about his acceptability as a husband. Then just when she had showed signs of weakening, he had taken his frustrations out on her, allowed his worries to make him snap at her. She had every right to be disgusted.
He ran his hand back through his hair. Whatever way he looked at it, he had botched it badly. His farm lay in ruins, his brother was missing, and the woman he had chosen for his bride wanted nothing to do with him. And all by the ninth day of Christmas!
The door to his study creaked open, and he found himself scowling at the interruption. Then he rose to his feet, heart in his throat. “Geoff?”
His brother managed a weak smile, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “Hello, Alan. Do you have a moment?”
“Have a moment!” he roared. He swung around his desk and dashed across the room. “Is that all you can say for yourself!”
He hugged his brother to him, wondering if it was only his imagination that said the lad was pounds thinner. Geoffrey submitted to the pummeling with a shrug. “What do you want me to say? I wasn’t even sure I’d be missed.”
“Not missed?” Alan pushed him out to arm’s length and stared at him. His hair was on end, his clothes rumpled and filthy, his boots caked with mud. He was surely a sight, but Alan could have cared less. “We had half the village scouring the hills for you. Have you seen Mother yet? She’s been wild with worry.”
Geoffrey refused to meet his gaze. “Sorry about that. I didn’t intend to worry her. I just needed some time to think.”
Alan frowned, releasing him. “About what?” He tried again to get his brother to look at him, but to no avail. His heart sank as he realized most likely he was about to hear a confession.
“About everything,” Geoffrey muttered. “The last few days, the flood, my life.” He sighed, looking up to meet Alan’s eyes at last. He squared his jaw. “I didn’t do it, Alan. I swear. I thought I might have, but now I’m sure.”
Alan wanted to feel relieved, but somehow couldn’t. He knew his frown had deepened with his confusion. “What do you mean, you thought you might have? Either you did or you didn’t.”
“Well,” his brother hedged, “I had my reasons. You see, I was a bit well-to-live when I left the tavern that night. I remember heading home, but I got to thinking about what Miss Allison said to Reverend Wellfordhouse, about being their first footer for New Year’s. And I was thinking how I had threatened to come instead and wouldn’t it be a grand joke if I made good on that threat. Me being dark complexioned, that would serve her right for toying with my affections.”
“Toying with your affections?” Alan couldn’t help asking with raised eyebrow.
Geoffrey had the good sense to hang his head. “Well, perhaps toying isn’t the right word. But you must admit she’s been flirting practically since the day we met, and her not even out yet!”
“You still owe it to her to behave like a gentleman,” Alan pointed out.
Geoffrey grimaced. “Dash it all, I know that. Only she is the most taking little thing. Anyway, I was thinking about her and the next thing I knew, I was almost to the Abbey and my horse was shying away from water in my path. It took me a moment to realize what I was seeing. Then I realized that the water was going everywhere and rode to the Abbey to warn them. Afterward, I came straight home, as you know. But you see, I couldn’t really remember anything from the time I left the tavern until I reached the flood. And I thought, what if I did it and don’t even remember it?”
He blinked and looked away, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “I thought maybe the drink was getting to me. You’ve hammered that into me, I suppose. And of course there was Father. So I decided to stay away from it and see what would happen. There was a nice abandoned barn over by Brightsfield. Good place to think.” His brother grinned at him, and Alan found himself returning the smile. “You might try it sometime. Anyway, I’m still here. And I know I didn’t do it, Alan.”
Alan clapped him on the shoulder, feeling his own spirits lighten. “I believe you, Geoff. And I’m glad you’re back. The question remains, however, if not you, who did break the dam that night?” He turned to the desk and felt Geoff’s eyes on him as he resumed his seat.
“I don’t know, Alan. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to play such a scurvy trick—on us or the Munroes.”
“You knew there have been other such acts?” Alan probed. Geoff frowned, shaking his head. “Reverend York told me. Barn doors let open, fence posts toppled, that sort of thing. It sounded to me like a gang of youths with too much time on their hands.”
Geoff shook his head again. “Why haven’t I heard anything about this? You’d think there’d be more gossip down at the tavern. Besides, I know all the lads for miles about, and none of them would cause such trouble, unless…”
“Unless?” Alan prompted with interest.
“Nothing,” Geoffrey muttered, looking away.
Alan had a suspicion where his brother’s thoughts were leading. “You know, if there’s anyone besides the Pentercasts with a reputation for wildness in this area, I understand it’s our friend Tom Harvey. And I believe you mentioned once that he gets fairly unpredictable when drunk.”
Geoffrey tried to pro
test, but Alan could see that he’d given his brother something to think about. “I suppose he could be our culprit, but wasn’t he here the night of the flood?”
“He arrived later, after the water started coming. I thought perhaps he was with you at the tavern.”
Geoffrey shook his head. “I didn’t see him there. I don’t want to accuse anyone, Alan. Besides, Tom can be a very helpful fellow, as you’ve seen since the flood.”
“Working off a guilty conscience, perhaps?” Alan asked with raised eyebrow.
“I can’t believe it,” Geoffrey insisted.
Alan frowned. “Then who?”
“I’m at a loss,” Geoff admitted.
Alan rose again, feeling the chair too confining. “Well, never mind that now. We should let Mother know you’ve returned.” Putting his arm around his brother’s shoulder, he steered him out of the study and down the corridor toward the center stair. Time enough later to determine exactly what had happened New Year’s Eve. Although he had so much as accused Gen of causing the flood, he knew she could have had nothing to do with it. More and more he was becoming convinced there was a very real danger in their midst. Next time it struck, someone might be hurt. He very much doubted the solution would wait until the twelve days of Christmas were over.
Geoff had his foot on the bottom step when the front door knocker sounded.
“Go on,” Alan urged him, falling back. “I’ll see to it.”
With a nod, his brother continued up the stairs.
Munson appeared from below stairs, crossing the marble floor with measured tread as the knocking came again, louder. Alan frowned, wondering what could have happened to put their unknown caller in such a pucker. Given the last few days, he was almost afraid to find out.
Munson swung open the door, and Gen brushed past him into the entry hall. Though her jaw was set and her vivid blue eyes snapped fire, he could see that she was pale. Her riding habit was rumpled as if she’d ridden hard, and pieces of dead leaves speckled her skirt from hem to knee. Alarmed, he took a step forward. “What’s happened? Are you all right?”
She turned her glare on him, stalking across the entryway. Before he knew what she was about, she swung back her arm and slapped him across the face. “Murderer!”
He recoiled, more surprised than hurt.
“Oh, I say,” Munson sputtered. “Squire, shall I call the footman to have this person evicted?”
Alan rubbed his cheek thoughtfully, gazing down at the tiny fury who stood with heaving breast below him. Part of him wanted to demand her removal. The other part wanted to make sure she was all right.
“That won’t be necessary, Munson. I take it there’s some explanation for this, Miss Munroe? Perhaps we can discuss it, in private.” He nodded toward the nearby withdrawing room, not sure she would accept his offer. To his relief, she swept back her skirts and stalked ahead of him to the door.
Alan eyed her as Munson shut the doors behind him, leaving them open just enough for propriety’s sake and promising to go fetch his mother immediately. He wondered whether that was for Gen’s protection, or his own. She was pacing before the windows, the sunlight glinting off her disheveled hair. As if she sensed his gaze upon her, she paused and eyed him in return. He wondered what she was seeing. Although he was fairly sure he was innocent of whatever she was angry about, he had to fight the urge not to squirm.
She sighed suddenly, looking away, as if the anger had fled. “How could you, Alan? I thought you understood what the Thorn means to so many people, what it means to me. To cut it down just to win the wager---”
He felt as if she’d kicked him in the gut. “The Thorn’s been cut down?”
She nodded, tears filling her eyes. “Allison and I found it just now. It is quite destroyed.” She gulped back a sob, and it was all he could do not to take her in his arms. His mind whirled. The Thorn destroyed? It could only be the work of the vandal. The creature must be stopped!
“I promise you, Miss Munroe,” he said, “the culprit will not go unpunished.”
She shook her head, wiping away her tears with gloved fingers. “What can you do to your own brother?”
“You suspect Geoffrey?” Before he could take umbrage, he realized it made sense. The entire village seemed convinced Geoff had caused the dam to break. He’d wondered himself. But now he knew otherwise. “I assure you, Miss Munroe, my brother had nothing to do with it.”
She gulped back another sob, and he could see she trembled with the effort to control her emotions. “Why do you bother to lie? He was seen. Your plan is clear, sir, but I swear you shall not win. Nothing would induce me to marry a man who would stoop so low.”
He stared at her, feeling the blood drain from his face. “You think I planned this? Why?”
She turned away from him, addressing her words to the winter landscape beyond the window. “Reverend York said there were nine of them, and the sound was like drumming.”
“And you assumed it was your ‘gift’ for the ninth day of Christmas.” He shook his head.
How could he have been so stupid to think he could win her past her cursed Pentercast prejudice? Everything he had done had been for naught. She could know nothing about him to accuse him of this.
Something inside him snapped. He strode to her side and grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to turn wide eyes to his face. “That’s right, look at me. Look at me! What do you see?”
She blinked, stiff in his grip. “I don’t know what you mean.”
His grip tightened. “No, of course you don’t, because you refuse to look beyond the end of your aristocratic little nose. Well, try, just this once, to see the man beyond. A man who’d give his life for you.” He gave a wry snort of laughter. “A man who’s already nearly lost everything he holds dear for the chance to win your love. A man who just happens to be a Pentercast.”
She stared up at him, arrested, and a last tear slid down her pale cheek. Her eyes were misty, her lips parted. With a groan, he pulled her to him and kissed her.
His anger melted immediately, even as she melted against him. He had dreamed of holding her like this for so long, and for once the dream did not disappoint. She was soft in his arms; he could feel the curve of her pressed against his chest. Her lips beneath his were cool and salty from her tears. As he pulled her closer, his heart pounded against his ribs as if trying to reach hers. He could feel her heart’s answering rhythm.
And he knew in that instant that he would do anything, anything, to have her by his side forever.
He raised his head and gazed down at her. Two bright spots of color stood out on her pale cheeks. He could feel her trembling. Her eyes were closed.
He had to laugh, releasing her. “You can’t even look at me when I’m kissing you.”
Her eyes snapped open, and she took a step back. “You should not have done that.”
He laughed again, freely this time, his tension surprisingly gone. “You’re quite right, Miss Munroe, as usual. However, I’m very much afraid that if you don’t leave right now, I’m going to do it again.”
She gasped and fled before he made good his threat.
Chapter Fourteen
Ten Pipers Piping
S
he raced the horse down the road from the Manor, heart pounding with the hooves, oblivious to the trees flying past, conscious only of the need for escape. She had gone some distance, driven in headlong flight, before she began to wonder why she was escaping. Then she slowed the horse to a trot, breathing as heavily as it did.
No doubt it was his kiss that had her so rattled. None of her other suitors had ever dared to kiss her. She couldn’t remember anyone kissing her, not even a brotherly kiss from William. Surely the first kiss was always discomposing. But this kiss!
She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his arms around her, the gentle caress of his lips, the firm line of his body. Her eyes snapped open, and she could feel herself blushing. Perhaps it was best not to think of his kiss.
She was so intent on her thoughts that she rode all the way back to the Abbey before realizing that she had never fetched help for Allison and the vicar. She was rousing the grooms and Chimes when the Pentercast carriage pulled into the yard. Panic seized her at the thought of facing Alan again so soon, and she froze. What should she say? How should she act? And she must look a sight. The driver leapt to the ground and opened the door, assisting Allison in clambering down. Gen sagged in relief.
They all gathered around her sister, who, preening over her importance, sketched out the tale with evident delight, hands waving dramatically in the air.
“And then the Squire came with his horse and carriage to bring me home and take the vicar back to the village,” she finished with a flourish.
“Lucky no one of importance was hurt,” Chimes said. “Seems to me this vandal fellow has gone too far this time.”
“Someone ought to plant him a facer,” one of the grooms muttered.
“If you ask me, ‘angin’s too good fer ‘im,” another grumbled.
Chimes snorted. “Aye, but with the Squire behind him, we’re not likely to see justice done.”
Gen didn’t like the way the conversation was going. However, before she could speak, Allison jumped in. “You all think Geoffrey Pentercast did it, don’t you? And with no more evidence than gossip. Shame on you.”
