The man jolted, the rock thudding to the shingle. He staggered,glanced up, his face a smear of angles and fear, and fled along the ledge, disappearing the way rats know the dark.
For a heartbeat, only the rifle’s echo argued with the cliffs.
Gabriel stood very still, touched his jaw as if confirming it remained. He took two steps after the fleeing man, saw the water leap at the path like a dog at a gate, and chose the living over the chase. By the time he reached the cottage, rain had smudged his hair flat and turned his collar to paste.
Lady Eastbury caught the door before the wind could wrench it wide. “Inside,” she ordered. “You will not bleed on the step.”
Leticia lowered the rifle, her hands suddenly useless. Mrs. Benson brought towels, a bowl, and the old green bottle of spirits. Gabriel sat where Lady Eastbury pointed. Blood marked a bright line from chin to cravat; Leticia touched it with a cloth, careful as she had not been with the shot.
“You could have been killed,” he said, not loud, not sharp, but enough to make the room smaller.
“So could you,” she replied, without adding the rest,and I can count the cost.
His breath caught at the sting. “You fired cleanly.”
“I fired,” she said.
Lady Eastbury set a thimble of spirits near his hand. “Drink that, or I shall pour it over your head.”
He obeyed.
“Hold a moment,” Leticia murmured, angling the candle closer. “Aunt, the glass.”
Lady Eastbury fetched the small looking glass. Leticia lifted Gabriel’s chin, keeping her touch steady.
Under the cut, the bruise was blooming into the precise geometry of a diamond shape with a bird scratched within.
“Do you see?” she asked quietly.
Gabriel stilled, took the glass, and turned it so the candle spared nodetail. The mark looked back at them, impertinent and clear.
“A raven in a diamond,” Lady Eastbury said, as if naming a thief at a tea party.
“His ring,” Leticia said. “He hit you with it.”
Gabriel set the glass down, the anger in him a controlled line from problem to remedy. “He’ll have the bruise to match. He wasn’t there by chance.”
“Who, then?” Lady Eastbury asked.
“A watcher,” Gabriel said. “Paid to take note. Perhaps to intervene.”
“Paid by whom?” Leticia asked.
His gaze met hers, words spared. “We will have to find out.”
The wind eased, the lull sounding like an omen. Mrs. Benson set the stew on the trivet and asked whether anyone meant to eat like people intending to remain upright.
Lady Eastbury took the bloody cloth from Leticia and replaced it with a clean one. “Tomorrow,” she said.
Gabriel nodded, including them both. “At first light.”
Leticia set the glass back on the mantel. She could still feel the echo of the rifle in her shoulder, the shot in her bones. The mark on his skin would fade, but for tonight, the raven remained in the room.
She lifted her chin.
“Next time,” Gabriel said, “you do not step into a doorway with a weapon when men are trying to kill each other.”
“Then don’t give me reason to,” she answered calmly.
