Page 12 of Betrothal Between Enemies

She wrenched her arm free. ‘I know you’re here, and that seems to be quite enough.’ She nodded to the fowling piece beneath his arm as the cry went up to release the dogs. ‘Can you shoot that?’

‘Can you?’

It became a competition then. Each of them firing in alternate rapid succession, keeping their gun-handlers busy. The estate was well-stocked and there was no shortage of grouse. In fact, their host, Lord Danton, had remarked on the walk out to the fields that his grouse population had gotten out of hand. Having them out today to shoot was truly a favour to him.

‘That’s ten for me,’ Ismay boasted proudly as they walked to the blinds set up closer to the pond.

‘One could hardly miss,’ Alistair said, dismissing her effort. ‘They were as thick as locusts in the sky.’

She tossed her head. ‘So you have at least ten as well, I assume? Or perhaps more since you are a man.’

Alistair laughed. ‘I have ten, and you are the very definition of impertinence.’ Not impertinent enough, though, if all he did was laugh at her efforts to rile him. Well, he’d get tired of her sharp tongue soon enough. They all did in the end.

They broke for luncheon at one, eating enormous servings of a ragout Bolognese served en famille beneath the shade trees and sipping a hearty red wine. ‘Your daughter is an excellent shot,’ Lord Danton complimented Sir Thomas as a bowl of arugula salad sprinkled with parmesan was passed down the table. ‘No one shot as much as she did. You should bring her back to try her hand at boar-hunting. I have several of them in the forest.’

Ismay beamed her victory at Alistair who sat across from her. She’d outshot everyone at the blinds. But her sense of triumph was short-lived. When the men rose to see to the gathering of the grouse, her mother motioned for her to stay. ‘At least try to act like a lady some of the time, Ismay,’ she scolded. ‘Gathering and plucking is not a lady’s work.’

‘Since when am I a lady?’ Ismay sulked.

‘Since you knew better. Since we knew better.’ That meant since she’d lost Edward Ashford.

‘You want me to be something I am not,’ Ismay argued.

‘I want you to be safe and cared for. If being a lady is the price one must pay for that, I do not think it is too high. You cannot lose Alistair. What if he decides the enticement of your father’s business is not enough? What if he decides to break the contract?’

Hope sparked. Would he break it? She could certainly encourage that. It would give them two opportunities to get out of the mess her father had made for them, although she was sure that wasn’t the reaction her mother was looking to provoke.

‘And why would he stay? You ignored him last night after dinner. You were unconscionably rude to him in the carriage. You outshot him this morning. It wouldn’t have been difficult for you to have simply shot one grouse fewer than him. A man’s pride is a fragile flower, Ismay. It must be managed with delicacy if it’s to bloom, and if it’s to feel safe in your care. No man wants a wife who will erode his self-confidence.’

‘I was rude? So was he. He challenged my reading abilities and made fun of reading Pliny. Is Father going to castigate him? No wife wants a husband who does not value her mind, soul and body.’ Ismay stood up from the wood benches. ‘If this morning showed you anything it was how unsuited we are for one another. If all we can do is spar with each other, I don’t see much hope of happiness, and that cannot be what my father or his wants for us.’ She strode off towards the meadow where the men worked, satisfied with getting that particular last word. She might as well start planting that seed in the most blatant way possible.

‘Ismay, come back here. We are not finished. Ismay…’ Ismay wasn’t listening. Something moved in the tall grasses of the meadow not far from where the men were working. One of the hounds perhaps? Ismay squinted her eyes. Behind her, she heard her mother call again, but not in anger…in warning…in fear. ‘Ismay, come back here!’ But Ismay was already on the move.

It was not a dog. It was too thick, too large. She could see that now. As it neared the men, she could make out its tusks. Tusks. Fear lanced through her. There was nothing more dangerous than a wild boar, and now there was one in the meadow! No doubt attracted by the scent of the kill. Someone else noticed. One of the servants began shouting and waving his arms, someone loosed the dogs from their leashes, but the commotion only enraged the boar. It lowered its head to charge the nearest target—her father! She heard her mother scream. Ismay grabbed the nearest gun propped beside a tree and raised it to her shoulder, but Alistair was closer and faster. He raced towards her father, pushing him to safety, only to put himself in the boar’s trajectory. No!

There was no time to think; the beast was nearly on him. Ismay fired, never doubting her accuracy, only the distance and the power of the small shot. She hoped it would be enough to steer the boar off course and give Alistair time to get to safety. It was all she could hope for. The small shot would not be enough to bring down a boar. She grabbed another gun and fired again. Perhaps what she couldn’t achieve in quality she could achieve in quantity.

The shots hit the boar. It gave a squeal and turned, racing off for the tree-line as a cheer went up from the meadow. Ismay fired once more to ensure its retreat. Only when she’d put the gun down did she allow herself to breathe, to acknowledge the racing of her pulse and the reality of what had just occurred.

The men came in from the meadows, and they all took a glass of wine to settle everyone’s nerves, although Ismay could have definitely used something much stronger. She rather thought Alistair could have, too. He looked as pale as she felt as he put a hand at her elbow and led her apart from the group.

He reached into his coat and withdrew a flask. He stood in front of her blocking her from the view of the group and passed it to her. ‘Here, take a swallow. It will help. Take two. No one can see.’

‘I might take three.’ She took a long swallow. It was whiskey, warm, strong whiskey from Scotland, and it was indeed bracing. She’d not realised how much she’d needed it.

‘Just leave some for me. After all, it’s not every day one’s fiancée shoots at him.’ Dear heavens, his eyes were blue, perhaps because his face was so pale. Or because she’d nearly lost him. No matter what animosity lay between them, she didn’t want that.

‘I didn’t shoot at you. I saved you. The boar would have gored you.’

‘Do you know the difference between shooting at me and saving me, Ismay? It’s about one inch.’

‘Are you berating me or thanking me?’ This was almost an argument. An argument would be good. It would normalise things and then maybe both of them could stop shaking, although the whiskey was helping.

‘It was a hell of a shot. Both of them,’ he said quietly. It was as close to a compliment as she would get from Alistair.

‘Well, it was a hell of a risk you took saving my father. It was the least I could do.’ It was as close as she’d get to saying You’re welcome. She handed the flask back to him.

‘I’m glad you didn’t miss, Ismay.’ He took a long swallow and then another.