Page 71 of Bluebell’s Fate

Grandmother put her hand on Bell’s shoulder. “This is no laughing matter, Bell. What happened out here?”

Ian sauntered into the clearing. “I tried to tell her it was a bad idea to try to woo me out here in the open.” He winked at Bell. “Secrecy, love.”

Nathaniel’s blood boiled. “Don’t you ever touch my wife.”

“It’s far too late for that. I always knew she had a little fire to her.” He started walking away from the group as if nothing had happened.

Nathaniel was stunned. He didn’t remember how they all got here, but there was no way Bell came bolting out of the trees, scared as a rabbit during a hunt, if meeting Ian was her idea. His brain felt foggy, and he put a hand up to his forehead. When he pulled away, it was covered with blood. What had happened to him? He recalled only a flash of metal before he’d gone unconscious.

Then, the memories bombarded him. Ian threatening him in the woods, being tied to the tree, and Bell…coming to talk to him. What had she endured while he was unconscious?

Bell was leading him to sit on the ground.

“Not so fast, young man,” Grandmother hollered at Ian’s retreating form. He paused, as if just realizing he couldn’t simply walk away from a scene like this. “You’ve just been challenged to a duel.”

Nathaniel’s head was spinning; perhaps this wasn’t his best plan. He could hardly see straight. But he hadn’t acted according to a plan—he’d challenged Ian to a duel because that was what his heart had called for. Upon a hazy awakening, his grandmother told him that Bell was in danger from his cousin.

Ian turned around and lifted his eyebrow, looking Nathaniel over. “Yes, you did challenge me to a duel.” He walked through the clearing and found both dueling pistols. He threw one toward him, but Bell reached out her hand and caught it.

She stood, holding the gun. It didn’t look right, Bell with a weapon. She was all goodness, and magic, and fairies. “That will not be necessary. I have the letter from your mother with me, Ian.” She narrowed her eyes and for the first time, she looked dangerous. If she was telling the truth, she was more dangerous with that letter than he might be with a gun.

“Wilson!” Grandmother called. “Mrs. Carter! Come here, please.”

Nathaniel heard someone approaching. However, the person who emerged from the tree line was none other than Miss Stone.

Nathaniel’s childhood friend bunched her eyebrows together, trying in vain to make sense of the chaos surrounding her. “Mrs. Hamilton, do you need me to fetch Wilson? What is going on?”

Nathaniel tried to stand, but Bell held his shoulder with her gun arm so he couldn’t rise. He shifted to see his neighbor instead. “Miss Stone, how did you know where to find us?”

Her confusion mounted even as her face grew pale. “Wilson said you went for a walk. But why are you bleeding? And Lady Bluebell, you look like a…what I mean to say is, you don’t seem to be feeling well. I came to visit with you, but perhaps I ought to run for a doctor instead.”

“Yes,” Nathaniel said.

“No,” Ian growled. “He won’t need a doctor if he’s dead. It’s not proper for ladies to watch a duel. I suggest you all go back to the house.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bell stood between Nathaniel and his odious cousin.

Nathaniel tugged on her dirty skirts. “Bell, I don’t want you to see this.”

She turned on him. “This is not necessary.” She grimaced as she reached her gun hand into the bosom of her dress. Nathaniel felt color return to his face with the force of a waterfall. She pulled out a piece of folded paper and handed it to Miss Stone. “Don’t read this unless I tell you to.” Bell turned back to Ian. “Drop your gun. You have no one here to tell lies about what happened today, and that gun only has one shot.”

Nathaniel watched as Ian’s face contorted in rage. He brought his hand up and aimed straight at Bell. His brow pinched and he paused. “Where is that bell ringing from?”

Grandmother tipped her head to the side, listening. “Bell? I don’t hear anything.”

Ian shook his head as if an annoying fly was before his eyes. “Never mind,” He narrowed his eyes at Bell. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

He cocked his gun.

A shot rang out, and the pistol Bell held smoked slightly in her shaking hand. Ian dropped to his knees, clutching his leg.

Grandmother hurried across the clearing. She bent down, and tugged the pistol from Ian’s grasp while he was stringing curse words together like a terrible sailor’s song. She tossed the weapon aside like it was infested with fleas. “Ian,” she cooed. “Ian, let me see it.”

“Get away from me!” he yelled at his grandmother.

She stood, not taking her eyes off him, “Miss Stone, run for Wilson. Bell, take Nathaniel to the house. I’ll wait here.”

Bell dropped the gun from her left hand as if it were a hot coal. Was she left-handed? Why hadn’t he ever noticed? He thought he was being so meticulous—learning things about her—how had he missed something so easy to spot? Then he looked at her right hand, cradled against her stomach, and contorted at a strange angle.