Page 55 of The Widow Wore Plaid

“Is that from the horse?” St. Just stood beside his friend, peering at the animal for cuts.

“Where’s he wounded?” Matthew pushed his way to the rear of Hector, rubbing his hand lightly over his coat, checking every few inches for blood.

“I don’t see a wound at all.” Granger had been examining the opposite side of the horse. He stared at Matthew with lowered brows. “Perhaps it’s not his blood.”

“Do you see a cut or scrape of any sort, Brack?” Matthew forced himself to ask calmly. Finding the horse said they were absolutely on the right track. Finding him bloody but without a wound said Kinellan was likely in grave trouble.

“No.” After conducting a thorough search of the horse’s skin, Brack shook his head. “There’s a splotch of dried blood here.” He pointed to a spot high up on the hip. “But if I rub it, it comes away with no wound beneath it.”

“I’d venture to say it’s Kinellan’s blood then.” The calm in Matthew’s voice surprised even him. “Spread out, see if you can find any more blood or . . .”

The group fanned out, frantically peering at the ground.

“Lord Lathbury.” MacKenna’s voice brought Matthew’s head up with a snap. “I’ve found Penelope.”

Tossing Hector’s reins to Granger, Matthew sprinted up the trail. MacKenna had tethered the other two horses to a shrub, then apparently headed farther up the falls. Now he walked carefully toward him, leading a chestnut mare, also fully saddled. Obviously Jane’s mount.

“Is there blood on her too?” The nightmare would be fully realized if both horses had their riders’ blood on them.

MacKenna ran his hands expertly over the animal and shook his head. “No wound, my lord. Nor a splash of blood, either. Whatever befell Lord Kinellan, did not befall Lady John.” He shrugged. “At least there’s no evidence of it.”

“Bring her down here.” Matthew walked slowly back toward Hector and the crowd of gentlemen milling and talking around him. “MacKenna found Jane’s horse, also not wounded, but no blood on her, either.”

“So Lathbury”—Granger stepped forward, still holding Hector’s reins—“do you think they were having their picnic here and were surprised by Seton? There’s no sign of a struggle. And Hector doesn’t have the carry bag, where the cook puts food, but he is carrying Kinellan’s rifle.”

“You think they were having their picnic somewhere else, were confronted there, someone was shot, the horses bolted, and so ended up down here?” A plausible theory, he’d have to agree. “Where might they have gone to have the picnic if not here. I’d have said this place ideal if one wanted to impress a lady.”

“The hunting lodge, m’lord.” MacKenna spoke up.

“It’s less than a mile from here. If they wished a bit more civilized setting for their picnic, that would be the place to go.”

Matthew nodded. It made as much sense as anything. And Kinellan and Jane were certainly not here. “Brack, St. Just. Take the horses and lead them behind you. When we find Kinellan and Jane they’ll welcome the ride I’m certain.” He turned to MacKenna. “Will we need to walk to the lodge or—”

“No, m’lord.” The hunt master grabbed the reins and handed Lucifer’s to Matthew. “We can ride to the lodge. The trail is over this—”

The roaring of the falls was suddenly overshadowed by the sharp report of a gun firing. Everyone froze, looked sharply at Matthew, then scrambled back onto their horses. He jumped into the saddle, tapped Lucifer’s side, and they leaped away down the trail, into the dim woods which were once again ominously silent.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The first streaks of pale gray light just before dawn found Jane already awake, snuggled beside Kinellan on their pallet. She’d not slept on a hard floor in years, so after the first exhausted sleep had passed, she’d awakened in the darkness and had not closed her eyes again. Her thoughts wheeled around through the events of the previous day, with questions about who the unknown man holding them captive was running swiftly through her mind, still without answers. If only they knew who the man was, perhaps they could reason with him, figure out a way to settle whatever debt he held against Kinellan. The man’s face remained a blank in her imagination, however, and so the questions remained unanswered.

Jane shook off her thoughts and scooted closer to Kinellan, who still slept deeply. The warmth of the big body next to her had been a great comfort throughout the night—she loved the feel of his strong muscles, his broad chest that seemed made for her head to rest upon. Covered with the blanket, they had been toasty all through the night. She stole her hand out from beneath the covers to softly touch his cheek. Had his fever grown worse? They must be able to leave the lodge as soon as they could make ready, though that might not be possible if his wound had festered, for his strength would be greatly weakened.

He needed to drink more willow bark tea before they left.

Stealthily, she wormed herself away from him, then from under the covers. Finally she stood, peering around the kitchen. The fire had gone out, although an errant coal or two might be coaxed into life again. The greatest need, however, was water. She moved quietly to the wooden bucket, but as she had known, they’d used it all last night to make the concoction. Someone needed to fetch more water.

Glancing at Kinellan, still sound asleep, Jane grasped the rope handle of the bucket and headed quietly toward the back door. Her foot crunched a piece of glass she’d missed last night when the window had exploded inward and now in the early light she could see several more. They must be careful until she could sweep that away as well. They needed no more cuts or accidents between them.

As she approached the window, her heart began to beat faster. What if the man was standing right there on the porch, about to storm the lodge? What would she do? No. She squelched those thoughts of the unknown man before her imagination could run away with them. There was no reason to believe the man was there at this exact moment. She had to get ahold of herself. Neither she nor Kinellan would survive if she lost her head now.

She took a deep breath and quietly blew it out to steady herself. Then, standing well back from the window, she twitched the curtain slightly so she could check for the gunman. He wasn’t at the door, of course, and some of her tension drained from her. Unfortunately, this vantage point gave her sight of only the back porch, the steps, and the well, tantalizingly close. At least nothing stirred there. But she’d have to move to the other side of the window in order to see the woods.

Feeling terribly exposed, even though the curtain shielded her from sight, Jane hurried across the short expanse. Pressing her back against the wall, she waited, panting. Her heart pounded in her chest so hard it hurt. After a moment she steeled herself and peeked out of the window.

A pearly pink and gray sky kept much of the woods in darkness, so it was hard to see if anything moved there. If she would do this before Kinellan awoke, she would need to do it now, without sure knowledge of the gunman’s whereabouts. She could wait for it to become lighter, but that would also increase her chances both of being seen by the intruder and being caught by Kinellan. Better to risk it now than later.

Easing the bar upward, Jane moved in front of the door, then grasped the latch. She clutched the rope handle of the bucket in her left hand and slowly pulled the door inward a crack. Holding her breath, she waited for the report of a gun, but only an early birdsong rent the still air. Heart in her throat, she eased out of the doorway, closed the door quietly, and sped down the steps and across the sparse tufts of grass to the stone well and dropped to her knees.