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Wind lifted the ribbons on her bonnet and chased her skirts around her ankles. A questing, churlish breeze that seemed to be seeking. Probing. For information. For weakness.
She clutched her pelisse tight as the gusts licked over her before moving on. The sun shone no less brightly, but a shadow darkened the sky, made real the ominous threat hanging over them all.
The jingle of harness pulled her heart into her throat. Had this ill breeze brought Simon with it? Was this her fault? A result of this crazy power Conor swore she had?
She backed off the path, hoping stealth would allow her to get far enough away before she made a dash for the house. But Mab ran ahead, the old dog barking with joyful abandon. So much for stealth.
“Miss Reskeen, isn’t it?” A man stepped from the trees, leading a leggy, gray gelding. In a stylish coat of bottle-green and buff breeches tucked into mirror-clean boots, she almost hadn’t recognized the officer from Glynnis’s funeral. The man Morgan was trying desperately to forget.
Mab trotted beside him, her tongue lolling in a big doggie grin, her tail drumming against his leg. Some guard dog she turned out to be.
She called Mab to her side, donning her best lady-of-the-manor reserve. “How do you know me, sir? We’ve never been properly introduced.”
His smile turned a handsome face into something dangerously appealing. A fact of which he seemed all too aware. “No, we haven’t. But Mr. Bligh mentioned you when I was here last. A close family friend, I believe?”
Family friend, indeed. That was putting more than a touch of rouge on the pig. She offered him a chilly smile. “You’ve been mentioned as well. Though the terms were far less complimentary. Rogue. Scoundrel. Libertine. Need I go on?”
His smile vanished, his gaze going stone-hard. “At least she’s mentioned me. That’s something, isn’t it?” The horse tossed its head, pawed impatiently at the ground as if sensing its rider’s flicker of a
nger, and Mab’s gaze moved between the colonel and Ellery as if unsure who to favor. Then, tail straight, ears pricked, she turned and, barking, ran up the track. Around a bend.
“Go home to your wife, Colonel Sinclair. You’re not welcome at Daggerfell. Surely you see that.”
“Can you take a message to Morgan for me?” Before she could refuse, he continued.
“Tell her I’m sorry she found out the way she did. Tell her I can explain.”
“I’ve listened to the explanations of men all my life. Excuses is more like it. If you were worth having, you’d tell her yourself, or better still, leave her alone. You’ve hurt her enough.”
He stiffened, his back parade ground straight, his chin set. “Thank you, Miss Reskeen for your help.”
“I’m not trying to help you, Colonel Sinclair. I’m thinking only of Morgan.” She crossed her arms. “Good day,” she said, hoping he’d take the hint.
Tipping his hat, he swung into the saddle, pulled his horse’s head around to follow Mab back through the trees and onto the track that led toward the village.
Ellery watched him leave. Good riddance. He looked like the worst sort of officer. Proud. Impatient. Full of his own self-worth.
She called for Mab, but the dog wouldn’t come. Following the sound of frenzied barking, Ellery rounded the trees. As she got closer, the yips and yowls grew shriller. More frantic. A snaky feeling made Ellery swallow hard. She started to run. Oh God, if something happened…
At the far side of the trees, she slid to a stop. Sinclair had dismounted and tied off his horse. Beyond him, Mab still growled and snarled, her back bristling with viciousness.
Ellery risked a look over his shoulder. Wished she hadn’t. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her breaths came short and quick as fear ricocheted through her like bullets.
A corpse dangled by its neck from a low bough across the path. Dressed in black, a dagger had been thrust hilt-deep into its chest.
The colonel approached it, nudged it with one hand so that it twisted back and forth, its head lolling at a grotesque angle.
“Is it…” Her words wouldn’t come.
“A dummy.” He reached up. Yanked the body to the ground.
“Dressed to look human.”
She shoved it with the toe of her boot. Flipped it onto its back so that its eerie painted stare grinned up at her. “No,” she whispered through chattering teeth. “Dressed to look like Conor.”
Conor stood at the door, a hand on the knob. Ysbel’s chambers lay just beyond. This time there was no hesitation. He slid the bolt back, flung the door open. Stepped inside as if he’d been gone only hours and she’d be here waiting for him.
Golden afternoon light from the diamond-paned windows splashed across the coverlet, climbed the sage-green walls, caught and clung to the dust that hung on the air. Her things still littered the mantel, the tabletops. Her bookshelves. But they’d been straightened and tidied. A sure sign that Ysbel no longer occupied the room. She’d been a complete mess.
