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Hearing familiar female voices, Luc excused himself and strode from the room. From the landing, he caught a glimpse of fluttering, colorful feathers in the wood-paneled foyer below.
The ladies from St. James Manor had arrived.
He descended the stairs and sidestepped around a footman carrying an alarming number of hatboxes, one of which he deftly caught as it began to topple. The ladies caught sight of him, wheeled in unison, and swooped, chattering all at once.
“Is she all right? We couldn’t stay at the manor. We had to come.”
“However did it happen?”
“What did the doctor say?”
“If anything happens to our sweet Ria…” Aunt Charity’s voice trailed off, and all of them shared the same frightened, anxious expression.
Luc felt humbled at their obvious concern and deep love and affection for Ria. What must it feel like to be so important to someone?
He hastened to reassure them. “The doctor is sure she will be all right.” He ignored the rush of anxiety he felt as he spoke. She had to be all right—he would not permit anything else.
Luc firmed his voice to sound more confident. “She is still sleeping and needs rest and quiet. There is nothing more to be done but to wait.”
“I will go up and see her at once.” Aunt Charity gestured to the hovering innkeeper and asked to be taken to Ria immediately.
Luc excused himself and looked into the taproom. Danielson was at one of the wooden tables near the large chimney corner, playing dice with a companion. He looked remarkably unconcerned, smiling at his companion and laughing at a quip he made before taking a sip from the mug on the table beside him.
Luc eyed him appraisingly. Was it credible that a horseman like Danielson, generally accepted amongst their circles as a bruising rider, should lose control of his horse? It was possible but…
Leaving the taproom, he strode along a wood-paneled hallway to the kitchen at the back of the inn. His sudden appearance in the room caused somewhat of a stir. An older woman kneading bread at a large, well-scrubbed table wiped her hands on her white apron, used the back of her hand to push back gray hair that had escaped from her cap, and asked, “Can I help you, my lord?”
“I would like a couple of apples please, or carrots, and a knife.”
The woman nodded to a young scullery maid who quickly left the room and came back moments later with a bowl of apples and carrots.
The older woman presented it to him along with a vegetable knife. “Here you are, my lord.” She paused for a moment and then said, “We are very sorry about the young lady and hope she will be better soon.”
Luc thanked her gravely and proceeded out to the stables.
The gelding was in one of the stalls. Although its saddle had been removed, it had not yet been rubbed down.
He put the bowl on an upturned barrel outside an adjacent stall, cut up one of the apples, and slowly walked up to the young horse. At his approach, it flicked its ginger ears forward but made no obvious threatening moves.
He held his hand out flat, an apple segment resting on his palm. The horse stretched its neck and gently took the proffered treat. He patted the horse’s outstretched neck, but at his touch the horse jerked its head away. Murmuring soothing sounds, he slowly fed the horse the rest of the apple and part of a second.
Settling, the gelding allowed him closer. While the horse was munching, he carefully checked its neck for injury. Seeing nothing, he gently lifted its mane. There he found what he was looking for.
Small cuts. A lot of them. Beads of dried blood surrounded the puncture wounds and fine scratches.
What could have made the wounds? Could they have occurred naturally? He couldn’t see how. Eyes narrowing, he realized a pin could have caused the damage. Like the one Danielson wore in his intricately-tied cravat.
An icy chill ran down his spine. So it had been deliberate. Why?
Why would Danielson deliberately cause his horse to rear?
Why would he want Ria dead?
He quickly made his way back to the taproom. As he entered, Danielson looked up, a smile on his face. The smile vanished as he saw who it was.
Before he could say a word, Luc reached down and grabbed him by the collar and, with his other hand gripping his arm, hauled him from his seat, which toppled over with a loud crash.
Luc dragged him out of the taproom and tossed him onto the floor of the private parlor opposite, narrowly missing the heavy wooden sideboard. He then stalked into the room, slamming the door behind him.
