by Olivia Drake
She clutched his small, warm body close to hers. “Oh, darling, I saw you fall. Are you all right?”
He nodded, his look more curious than fearful. “Was somebody shooting?”
Annabelle wrestled her wild emotions under control. Her heart was still pounding madly. It wouldn’t do to frighten him, so she forced herself to speak calmly. “Yes, I think so. It … must have been a poacher.”
He lifted his chin. “Poachers are not allowed here. They must be made to go away so they don’t kill my rabbits.”
At his imperious frown, she swallowed a hysterical bubble of laughter. It was he who needed protection, not the wildlife. Thank goodness, he must not have realized just how close the shot had been. If the bullet had hit him …
Annabelle rose shakily to her feet. Though she burned to find out who had fired the gun, her first duty was to Nicholas. He must be taken straight back to the safety of the schoolroom. “You’re quite right, I’ll speak to your uncle about it as soon as possible. Now come. We must return to the castle at once.”
Slipping her arm around him, Annabelle urged him away from the area where she estimated the shooter to be, all the while keeping a sharp eye out. She felt dangerously exposed, having no means to protect the duke except to keep him close to her side as they traversed at a wide angle up the hill. The only sounds were the scuffling of their feet through the underbrush and the distant crash of the waves on the other side of the cliff. Not even the birds twittered in the treetops. It was as if a hush had fallen over the woods.
Where was the gunman? She could see no sign of him anywhere. What if he fired again?
No. No, surely he wouldn’t. When she’d shouted, he must have realized his mistake. Now he would be lying low until he could slink away without being caught. Oh, how she would love to give the coward a severe tongue-lashing!
An unwelcome suspicion wormed into her mind. What if she was wrong to think him a poacher? What if chance had had nothing to do with the incident? What if the shooting had been deliberate?
Her mind shunned the possibility. It simply couldn’t be. For what wicked purpose would anyone fire a gun at a young boy?
Except that he was no ordinary little boy. He was the wealthy Duke of Kevern, owner of this immense estate, descendant of a noble lineage that included royalty …
Nicholas tugged on her arm. “Look what I found,” he said, holding up a small object in the grimy palm of his hand.
Annabelle gave it a distracted glance. The piece was a dirt-encrusted bit of metal with some markings on it. Because she didn’t want to alarm him, she attempted to speak normally. “How remarkable. Where did you get it?”
“I picked it up back there. You know, where we heard the shot.”
Her mind resurrected that terrible moment. Annabelle realized that Nicholas had vanished from sight because he’d seen the tiny treasure lying on the ground. He must have bent down to grab it at the very instant the bullet had been fired.
She shuddered to think of what might have transpired if not for that chance action.
“I’m very glad you picked it up,” she said. “Very glad, indeed.”
As they emerged from the forest, they found themselves on the main drive that sloped upward to Castle Kevern. Annabelle had never been happier to see the tall gray towers and high battlements looming only a short distance away. Intent on ushering him inside those protective walls, she hurried Nicholas toward the open iron portcullis.
The drum of hoofbeats behind them caught her attention. A rider was fast approaching, though the bend in the road and the thickness of the woods hid him from view. No one was expected, the guests were gone for the day, and for all Annabelle knew it could be the gunman. On instinct, she urged the duke back toward the screen of trees.
“Where are we going?” Nicholas asked in confusion.
“Just over here for a moment.”
Before they could take shelter, however, the horseman cantered into sight. It was Lord Simon in his hunting finery: a dark burgundy coat with buckskin breeches and black knee boots. Upon seeing them on the grassy sward at the edge of the forest, he reined his large gray gelding to a halt, the animal dancing and snorting.
A vast sense of relief washed through Annabelle. Never had she been happier to see him. Then abruptly her blood ran cold as her gaze fell on the object lashed to the back of his saddle.
A hunting rifle.
His gaze intent on them, Lord Simon called out, “Why are you out here? Is something amiss?”
“His Grace and I just went for a walk,” she said, forcing a smile while keeping Nicholas close to her side. “I—I thought you would be gone all day.”
“Lady Louisa took ill so the party broke up early. The others decided to go into the village to look at the shops.” He swung down from the saddle and walked toward them, leading the horse by the reins. He was limping slightly, favoring his left leg. His sharp gray eyes studied her, and it was clear that he’d noticed her distress. “Something is wrong. Tell me.”
Annabelle hesitated. She hardly knew what to say. Was it mere coincidence that he had appeared so soon after the shooting and in possession of a rifle?
Until Nicholas married someday and sired a son, Lord Simon was the heir presumptive. He would become the Duke of Kevern if …
No. To think that he might murder his nephew for personal gain was just too hideous to contemplate.
Nicholas gripped her hand. Gazing cautiously at his uncle, he said in a small voice, “There was a poacher, sir. He was shooting in the woods.”
Lord Simon’s expression darkened as he stared down at the boy. Then his gaze snapped to Annabelle’s. “Do you mean to say this happened while you two were out there just now?”
She nodded shakily, deciding to play along with the poacher explanation. “Yes, just a few minutes ago. The bullet passed rather close to where we were standing. Of course we came straight back here.”
Lord Simon’s face took on an even more thunderous look. She had never seen him so angry, not even the time when the vicar had struck Nicholas. “Who was the man? Describe him to me.”
“I can’t. I never saw him.”
“Where exactly did this occur?”
“That way,” Annabelle said, pointing into the forest. “On our return from the beach, Nicholas ventured off the path. He was … he was chasing a rabbit when—” Her voice broke and she couldn’t trust herself to say more.
Lord Simon placed his hand on her back, urging her toward the castle. “Come,” he ordered, not unkindly. “Both of you need to go inside.”
Together they hurried into the courtyard where the dolphin fountain splashed water, the merry sound a stark contrast to the darkness inside her. Lord Simon shouted for a groom to take the horse to the stables. She tried not to flinch from the warm pressure of his hand against her back. Could those fingers have held the rifle, aimed it at Nicholas, and pulled the trigger?
Did he despise his nephew that much?
Annabelle ordered herself to cease the wild speculation. All the facts had yet to be gathered. She needed time to think, to assemble the pieces and find logic in the madness. First and foremost, Nicholas must be protected from harm. Only then could she seek answers.
The duke seemed blessedly unaffected by the events, likely because he hadn’t realized just how close the bullet had come. He trotted straight to the fountain, where he leaned over the stone edge and proceeded to wash his dirty little treasure in the burbling water.
Before she could follow, Lord Simon caught hold of her wrist. “Take the boy upstairs to his nursemaid,” he said in an undertone. “Then I want you back down here at once. In the meantime, I’ll have a look around. If I’m not here when you return, wait for me.”
He turned on his heel, stalked out the massive gateway, and vanished from sight.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Annabelle paced the courtyard. It had been wrenching for her to leave Nicholas to play with his toy soldiers with only Elowen t
o watch over him. Annabelle had extracted a promise from the maidservant not to let him out of her sight, even for an instant.
Despite the balmy weather, she rubbed her arms in an attempt to dispel a bone-deep chill. Even the brightness of the sun couldn’t penetrate the darkness of her thoughts. Her mind kept worrying over the course of events. She felt certain someone had been spying on her and Nicholas from the cliff. If that same person had been waiting for them to leave the beach, it meant the shooting hadn’t been the act of a careless hunter.
The villain must have concealed himself along the trail that led back to Castle Kevern. But they had strayed off the path, and so the gunman had been forced to reposition himself. That was when she’d heard the twig snap behind her on the hillside. Moments later, the shot had been fired.
By whom? And for what purpose? And worse, was it merely a ghastly happenstance that shortly thereafter, Lord Simon had ridden up the road with a rifle strapped to his saddle?
Reason told her he was the only one who would benefit from the duke’s death. Yet her heart resisted believing Lord Simon was a murderer. If he wanted his nephew dead, why shoot him in broad daylight and invite a criminal inquiry? Why risk being seen by a passing farmer or a servant? There were easier ways to make a death appear to be an accident. Poison the boy’s food, for instance. Or lure him up to the parapet and push him over onto the rocks below …
Annabelle shuddered at the gruesome image. Until the truth came out, she must keep an extremely close watch over Nicholas. She must also be careful not to make assumptions. Without solid proof on her side, she dared not make such a serious accusation against a man as powerful as Lord Simon.
Treading a circuit around the fountain, she tried to think of anyone else who might want Nicholas dead. Lady Louisa wished to wed Lord Simon, and if Nicholas were out of the way, she could aspire to become Duchess of Kevern, rather than merely the wife of a second son. Her father, Lord Danville, had bragged at the dinner table that she was a crack shot. Perhaps Lady Louisa had only claimed to be ill this morning, then had ridden here on the sly.
Yet try as she might, Annabelle couldn’t picture the elegant lady hiding in the bushes and stalking her prey. It was ludicrous even to consider such a thing. However, it was always possible that Lady Louisa had hired a ruffian to do the wicked deed.
And at least it proved there were other scenarios to consider—in addition to the possibility that the shooting truly had been unintentional, the mistake of a nearsighted local who’d wanted a rabbit for his stewpot.
The crunch of footsteps on gravel made Annabelle whirl around to see Lord Simon striding into the courtyard. He looked no less grim-faced than he’d been earlier.
She darted forward to meet him. “Did you see anyone?”
“No, but I did find this.” He was carrying the gunny-sack with their treasures from the beach.
“I forgot all about that!”
“It was helpful that you’d dropped it,” he said. “It enabled me to pinpoint exactly where you were standing. But I’m afraid I didn’t see evidence of a bullet anywhere in the immediate vicinity.”
One of his dark brows was raised, giving him a look of faint skepticism. Was he hinting that she must have imagined the incident? So that he could claim it had never happened?
“I heard the bullet fly directly past me,” she insisted. “It made a peculiar whining sound. Almost instantly, there was a loud report that echoed across the valley. Nicholas heard it, too.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like for you to come out there with me. You may be able to help me determine the route of the bullet.”
Her heart skipped a beat at the notion of venturing into the woods with Lord Simon. Tall and intimidating, he loomed over her. He could easily overpower her in the isolation of the forest where no one would witness his attack. But she had to risk it for Nicholas’s sake.
Biting her lip, she nodded. “Of course.”
He left the gunnysack in the courtyard, then led the way into the trees. Sunlight sifted through the branches of the leafy oaks and tall firs. The brambles and vines helped create the illusion of a primeval forest far from civilization. Annabelle hadn’t remembered the hill being quite so steep and difficult to navigate. Of course, at the time, her mind had been focused on getting Nicholas back to the castle as swiftly as possible.
Lord Simon’s fingers suddenly closed around her arm. She drew a sharp, involuntary breath, glancing up to find him regarding her curiously.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “I thought you might need help stepping over this log.”
His nearness made her nervous. But she mustn’t flinch every time he came close or he might realize her suspicion of him. “I suppose I’m on edge,” she said. “Are you absolutely certain the poacher is gone?”
“Without a doubt. Anyone reckless enough to fire a gun so close to the castle wouldn’t linger to face the consequences.”
His hand firm on her arm, Lord Simon assisted her over the rotted remains of a tree trunk. It was the act of a gentleman, Annabelle told herself, and under normal circumstances she would have appreciated the courtesy. But there was nothing normal about this day.
A short distance later, they reached the spot where the tiny stream trickled through fallen leaves. “This is where I dropped the gunnysack,” she said.
“It was lying at the base of that beech tree.” Lord Simon stood a few steps away, his gaze steady on her. “I want you to tell me exactly what happened. Don’t leave anything out. Will you do that?”
Annabelle nodded. To give an accurate accounting of the events, she must assume he knew nothing, that he hadn’t been the one hiding in the bushes. Nevertheless, she felt reluctant to tell him the part about the spy on the cliff. If it had been him …
“As I said, Nicholas and I had just come up from the seashore. We took the path that led back to the castle, but he spied a rabbit and went chasing after it. I followed him as he came downhill this way.” She indicated the approximate route behind her.
He studied the ground. “There’s a heel mark right here. Did you slip?”
“Yes. The stream made the ground damp. My shoe skidded on the fallen leaves and I braced my hand on this tree.” Reliving the awful event, she flattened her palm against the smooth bark. “That was when I heard the bullet. It sounded like … an angry bee flying past my ear. Then Nicholas fell out of my sight … and I thought … I feared…”
As the horror of that moment swamped Annabelle, an uncontrollable shudder shook her and she uttered a small moan. If the bullet had been fired an instant sooner, Nicholas might have been killed. That sweet little boy … dead …
At once, she found herself enclosed in Lord Simon’s arms. His action was so unexpected that she lacked the will to object. As he pressed her close, his muscled chest provided surprising comfort and his body heat penetrated the coldness in her heart. Never before had she been so near to a man. Never had she known he could make her feel protected in a way that swept away logic and reason.
Surrendering to temptation, she burrowed her face into the crook of his neck and slid her arms around his waist. The steady beating of his heart soothed her distress. She needed this closeness with a keen desperation. Sweet heaven, she could scarcely believe how perfect it felt to be held by him.
His hands stroked in a soothing pattern over her back. “It’s over, Annabelle,” he murmured. “Nicholas is safe. There’s no harm done.”
His use of her first name caused a quake inside Annabelle. It startled her to an awareness of the impropriety of their embrace. Lord Simon was her employer and a man far above her in rank. Worse, he might have been the gunman. For all she knew, he might be deliberately charming her for the purpose of allaying her suspicions.
On that sobering thought, she broke free and retreated a few steps. “I—I’m sorry, my lord. I don’t know what came over me.”
His eyes regarded her with cool intensity. “You’ve suffered a shock, that’s all. T
here’s no need to apologize.”
“I didn’t feel so paralyzed at the time of the incident.”
“You instinctively did what needed to be done. You ran to check on my nephew, to see if he’d been hit.”
“Yes.” She bit her lip and looked away. “At first I couldn’t see him and it terrified me.”
“If you think you can manage it, why don’t you show me exactly where he was standing?”
The question provided her with a much-needed excuse to escape his compelling presence. “Of course.”
Annabelle gingerly picked her way down the forested slope. It was disturbing how easily his embrace had broken through her guard. She must keep a clear head and remember that trusting Lord Simon could be extremely dangerous. No one else had a better reason than he did for wanting Nicholas dead. And for an even more compelling purpose than inheriting the dukedom.
The boy was a constant reminder of the woman who had spurned Lord Simon.
She reached a small flat place that jutted into the hillside. Birds twittered in the ancient oaks that brooded over the miniature plateau. “Nicholas was standing right here,” Annabelle said, pointing at the ground. “You can see the depression in the leaves where he knelt down.”
Lord Simon stopped beside her, his brow furrowed. “I didn’t realize he’d ventured quite so far. I’d assumed he was much closer to you.”
“No, he was running to catch the rabbit, you see. I could scarcely keep up.”
Lord Simon paced away from her. He seemed to be inspecting the nearby trees. Then he crouched down to gaze more closely at one of the oaks more than a yard distant from where she stood. “We’re in luck,” he said over his shoulder.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll see in a moment.”
He reached into his pocket for a penknife, employing the tip of the implement to dig at the bark. Then he returned to her and displayed a flattened ball nestled in his broad palm. “The bullet.”
