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“You cannot owe that much.”
“Can’t I? I do.” Unlike before when he was raving, at this moment he was perfectly calm. “So you see I really have no choice. I’m sorry.”
There was no misunderstanding the meaning of the pistol in his hand. His intent was clear.
She was going to die.
Looking over Geoffrey’s shoulder in the direction Luc would come, she suddenly saw him. He had just left the shelter of the woods, but was too far away to help her, though he was desperately plowing through the snow, trying to reach her.
As she thought about leaving him, what they might have had together, tears welled.
Ria looked back at Geoffrey. The woodpile was to her left. The thick log she had dropped earlier lay very near her feet. If she could just get to it in time, she might have a chance.
Just then, Luc gave a loud roar and Geoffrey turned in the direction of the noise. Luc had given her the distraction she needed.
Grasping the log of wood, she ran the few steps separating her and Geoffrey. Clasping it firmly between two hands, she ruthlessly swung at the arm holding the pistol.
Geoffrey’s gun went flying. Ria ran to pick it up, hampered by her long skirts.
Behind her, she could hear Geoffrey yelling hoarsely. Then the sound of heavy footsteps on the snow. Arms grabbed her around the waist, and she was pushed forward, causing her to crash heavily to the ground.
Desperately she reached for the pistol, her hands scrambling in the snow. Geoffrey once again grabbed her around the waist and pulled her away, tossing her into a snowdrift near the overhang so she landed on her back.
Geoffrey’s chestnut gelding whickered, stamped his feet nervously, and pulled against the reins tied to the railing.
Leaning over her, Geoffrey reached for her throat, but Ria brought both legs up against his chest and shoved, knocking him into the side of the chestnut. The horse jumped sideways and Geoffrey fell heavily to the ground behind the horse.
The skittish gelding bucked, lashing out at the unknown threat coming from behind.
Geoffrey scampered back, trying to get out of the way, but he was too slow. One of the horse’s hooves connected with his head with a loud, sickening crack. To Ria, it sounded like eggshells breaking.
As she watched in horror, Geoffrey crumpled to the snow. He lay there, unmoving.
Ria carefully approached the frantic horse and moved it away. After tethering it further along the rail, she ran to Geoffrey and knelt in the snow beside him.
Slowly, his eyes grew dim as the snow beneath his head turned red until he gazed sightlessly up at the vivid blue sky.
She stared as another mirror image of Geoffrey began to rise from his body. She had never seen this before. Never seen someone die.
Scrambling to her feet, she watched as he stood up, turned, and looked at himself on the ground, then looked at Ria mournfully. “I didn’t want to do it. He made me.”
Glancing back at his body lying in the snow, Geoffrey shook his head and repeated, “He made me do it.”
She frowned. “Who is he? Monty? Monty made you do it?”
“He made me.”
Shaking her head, she told him, “I’m sorry, Geoffrey, I don’t understand. Who made you do what?”
“He made me poison him!”
Slowly, realization dawned. Ria regarded Geoffrey’s ghost with horror. “You poisoned Monty? Your uncle?”
“I told you I couldn’t pay off my debts,” he whined.
“But you said your debts were more than the St. James estate can cover so…”
Geoffrey swiftly turned from petulant child to angry man. “I told you—don’t you ever listen! Monty’s estate wouldn’t cover the debt, but it might have given me breathing room.” Calming down, he added softly, “And he made me.”
