Page 31 of The Widow Wore Plaid

“Jane, I forbid it. You’ll be running into the gunfire.” The look of rage as well as the underlying fear in his eyes made her pause. He needed to conserve his strength if he was to make it to the lodge.

“All right, I won’t.” But they needed those supplies. “Are you ready?”

He nodded and his muscles tensed. “Go.”

They sprang forward, Kinellan leading, making better speed than she’d expected.

A shot rang out that hit the dirt off to their right.

Immediately, Jane changed course, sprinting back toward the clearing and the precious carry bag.

“Jane! Dear God!” Kinellan’s frantic voice filled the air as she grabbed the bag and reversed her course.

“Go, Kinellan, go!” The bag tucked under her arm, she raced back up the walk to the house, overtaking Kinellan as another shot rang out. That one went wide, striking a tree to the right of the house.

Bursting through the door, Jane stopped, gasping for breath as Kinellan stormed into the house. She banged the door closed and dropped the latch, securing it as another ball exploded against the stone wall of the house.

Turning toward the table, Jane was brought up short by the sight of Kinellan, sitting panting . . . and glaring at her.

“What in the name of God possessed you to do that?” Perhaps some of his strength had returned. His voice, at least, sounded extremely healthy.

“I’m sorry, but as soon as he fired the first time, I knew I had time to make a grab for the bag.” She set it down on the table, avoiding his eyes.

“And you knew this how?” The sarcasm in his usually loving voice saddened her, but she opened the bag and began rummaging around in it.

“I counted.” They hadn’t eaten half of the contents. Good. This would make a passable dinner.

“You counted what?” His anger wouldn’t dissipate by ignoring it.

Raising her gaze to his, she stared straight into the infuriated face. “The seconds between the shots. Tark once told me that good marksmen can reload a gun in about thirty seconds. Mediocre ones take longer.” She nodded toward the door. “The person firing at us had hit what he was shooting at once out of four shots. I calculated it would take at least the thirty seconds for him to reload. Probably more, but I was going to give him the benefit of the doubt on that one. So I started to count as soon as he fired that first shot. As a result, we have enough food for tonight and maybe something for tomorrow morning.” She glanced down and pulled a bottle out of the bag. “Plus the wine, which may give you some comfort as well.”

“But Jane, damn it”—misery looked out of his eyes—“he could have had two guns. Or had a companion firing as well. What would I have done had he . . .” Kinellan swallowed hard and ground his jaw. “What if he had hit you?”

She walked slowly around the table until she stood directly in front of him. “I noticed the timing of his shots before, my love. He never shot twice together. It was always thirty or more seconds apart. It was a risk, yes, but a measured one.” She stroked his cheek. “I would not want to leave you, but neither do I intend to lose you.”

He stopped her hand and placed a kiss on the palm. “My life would have been over had something happened to you, Jane.”

“And you think I would have gaily worn widow’s weeds again?” Brushing a kiss over his forehead, she clutched him to her. “With God’s grace we will come through this, Kinellan.”

He nodded and clasped his arms around her.

“I do need to look at your wound more closely, bandage it up as best I can.” She went to the fireplace to investigate the large pot hanging over the hearth. Poking up the ancient bits of log, she frowned. “I’ll need to make a fire and heat some water. Is there kindling here?”

“There might be some in that box to your right.” He’d gone to the window, peering out from behind the dust-filled curtains. “Well, he’s still not shown himself. So I have no idea if he’s moved closer since we came in here.”

“Who do you think he is?” She lifted the lid of a square box and crowed when she found not only kindling but several old logs as well. “These are so dry they should catch even without tinder.” She wrestled one out of the box and dropped it onto the grate, then grabbed the tinderbox with a flint and steel from the mantel. A fire crackled moments later. Now if only she were as lucky with the water. “I don’t suppose there is any water?”

Kinellan shrugged. “The lodge hasn’t been used for at least ten years, but there used to be a well out back, not ten paces from the door, that should still have potable water. I’ll go fetch a bucket.”

“You will not.” Jane had already started toward the back door. “I can move quicker than you.”

He snatched her arm, stopping her and drawing her to him. “You were saying?”

“Let me go, Kinellan.” She pulled her arm from his slack grip. “You can overpower me, true, but I can run faster if necessary. We need to get the water before whoever it is out there decides to move to the back of the lodge. If we had a weapon, you could stand guard as I did it. Fine hunting lodge this is that doesn’t have any guns.”

“In the lodge’s defense, my dear, hunters usually bring their own weapons and take them away when they leave. So . . .” A faraway look came into his eyes, then he bolted up from the chair. “Stay there. Keep watch out the window. Call me if you see even a leaf move.” He took the stairs two at a time and disappeared into the second floor, his wound apparently forgotten for the moment.

Jane tried to keep her eyes on the trees across the clearing, but she wanted more than anything to turn and follow Kinellan up the staircase. That would earn her a curtain lecture she was certain, so instead, she concentrated on staring at the clearing, looking for any kind of movement. A clatter from upstairs made her jump and wonder if he was tearing up the floor boards to search for hidden weapons. “What are you doing up there?”