Kay Springsteen (47 page)

Jon whistled a sea tune as he tromped along the lane back to Blackmoor Hall. Home — at least for the moment — and Annabella awaited him. Fresh off the victory of saving not only the ewe but
also
her twin lambs, Jon considered the likelihood o
f persuading Annabella to dine
alone with him in their suite. He sniffed at his shirt
and grimaced at the pungent scent
. After he bathed away the grime of the lambing
,
that was.

He stepped from the canopy of the woods and onto the drive up to Blackmoor and felt the grin tugging his mouth upward. Mayhap something could be made of the bath as well.

At the sound of a horse nickering, Jon brought his head up in surprise. A shiny curricle stood near the end of the drive, its
top folded back, a
pair of
dark
horses stomping in the dust as they swished their tails lazily over one another. Irritation flashed
,
his steps faltered
,
and his lighthearted grin became a scowl. The gentleman from the other day paying a return call, perhaps? Why had he parked the carriage so far from Blackmoor Hall?

Resigned to the fact that bath
ing
would be delayed, Jon continued up the drive. This time, his uninvited guest would find himself received with
out
the benefit of Jon making himself
decent.

Whoosh
… Something blew past his right ear.
Thud
.

“
What the devil?
”
Jon swung around and looked behind him. The arrow rose from the ground where it had embedded itself, dark and deadly. The black fletching Gran preferred fluttered in the gentle breeze.

Blast the pair of them! They must be shooting from the battlement again.

He held up his hand to shield his eyes from the sun
’
s glare and squinted at the north tower. There it was! A faint movement, a flash of pink and white.

Jon waved his arms frantically over his head and called out.
“
Hallo! Annabella! Gran! Hold up a bit.
”
He stepped up his pace, muttering
,
“
I
’
m not the ruddy French.
”

Whoosh
. The arrow passed him on the left that time and landed flat in the dust. As he shied away from it, his hat tum
bled to the ground.
“
Have a care!
”
bellowed Jon,
and
then he cursed under his breath
as another arrow sailed over his head
.

“
Suitable bride?
”
Annabella screeched from the tower. The shrill sound rode over him
,
swallowed up by the woods behind.

Suitable bride?
Oh, heavens, she
’
d somehow managed to find the paperwork regarding Grandfather
’
s will.
“
Annabella…
”
He shaded his eyes again, struggling to see her.
“
Obviously we need
to
—
”

“
Well
-
bred!
”
she exploded. Another arrow flew over his head.
“
Am I a broodmare?
”

“
It
’
s not like tha— Egad!
”
He leaped backward as another arrow sank into the ground in front of him.
“
Stop shooting!
”

“
I found your grandfather
’
s blasted will!
”
she shrieked.

“
Yes, so I gathered.
”
With his hat somewhere in the dirt behind him, Jon narrowed his eyes and weaved his head b
ack and forth trying to see her.
W
here
would
the next shot come from
?
Any second, he expected his head to explode from a direct hit.

“
Do you get even more if I manage to produce a
suitable
heir?
”

Thump
. Another arrow bit in
to the ground at his feet.

“
Or will you somehow have to return some of your precious inheritance should I give birth to a
daughter
?
”

The image of his wife round with their child teased, providing
a
lovely distraction
—
until an arrow grazed his shoulder, thankfully taking nothing but a bit of wool from his favorite coat.

Time to end this foolishness!

Jon bolted for the
castle
, dodging arrows until he was no longer within the line of
fire
. He yanked open the front door, surprising a footman in the hallway. Jon waved him off and made a left turn along the corridor that led to the tower. He took the steps on the dim spiral staircase two at a time and burst onto the battlement, blinking, dazed by the slant of late afternoon sunlight.

Gran stood facing
him
, arms crossed over her chest. Shaking her head, she subjected him to an intense glare.

She was alone.

“
Where
’
s Annabella? Why did you let her shoot at me? She might have killed me.
”

Gran waved a hand dismissively.
“
Oh that
’
s rot. The girl can
’
t hit a thing from up here. Never has been able to.
”

Jon curled his hands into fists, realizing he was getting a good sense of exactly what had made his grandfather so frustrated for most of his married life.
“
Where. Is. My.
Wife?
”

His grandmother snorted.
“
Wife? Are you certain of that?
”

Jon
’
s blood flashed molten and rushed to his face.
“
She
’
s my wife,
”
he ground out.
“
And I
’
m looking for her. We
’
ve had a — misunderstanding.
”

“
A misunderstanding? My dear boy, in order to understand
or misunderstand
something, one must first
be
told
something.
”
She leaned forward, one eye narrowed.
“
Didn
’
t I warn you to stop lying?
”

“
I wasn
’
t lying,
”
he ground out. A sigh escaped and he raked a hand through his hair.
“
I was going to talk with her today
,
but Houghton had problems with an ewe a
nd— I am
not
discussing this with
you
.
”
He turned and stalked back to the door before he throttled his meddling old grandmother.

Annabella couldn
’
t have been far ahead of him. She
’
d obviously known he
’
d be coming after her and likely had taken the servants
’
corridor to avoid him. Jon slapped the stone wall as he retraced his steps along the spiral staircase. He should have foreseen that. His maddening wife had a habit of running away like a flushed rabbit.

His boots cl
u
mped on the hardwood as he raced along the narrow, dingy hallway. When he burst into the kitchen, he knew he
’
d been right.
Cook
regarded him with wariness but not even a smitch of surprise. Most
of the staff
kept their heads down, focused on their tasks.

He pushed open the door on the opposite end of the long kitchen and set his course for the stairs. Cool air whispered over his face as he passed the back door and he drew up short. The door stood ajar by a mere inch or two.

As though someone had been in too big a hurry to close it properly.

Abruptly, he changed direction. The bright sun once more dazzled his eyes
,
but he kept walking, reasonably certain she was heading for the archery range. With his next step, his foot brushed against something sticklike.

Her bow? Well, she
’
d not get much shoot
ing in without that… He smirked. Nor would she be able to keep firing on
him
. He scooped the bow up and kept walking
,
but he slowed again at the sight of an arrow
lying
in the grass. Puzzled, he picked that up as well.

Annabella
’
s voice came to him from a distance, raised and angry.

Nice to know he
’
d been correct in his deduction.

He heard her voice again, a bit more distant, then
her
shriek
of
rage
.
S
omething was amiss. The sound hadn
’
t come from the range. Rather
,
it seemed she had gone toward the front of the castle.