The Heiress Bride - Catherine Coulter [97]
And now she’d come again to tell her that Sinjun was in trouble and ill. Alex felt a slight spasm of dizziness but it passed quickly. Her heart was pounding hard and she stopped, drawing deep breaths.
Douglas wasn’t here. He’d had to return to London to meet with Lord Avery at the Foreign Office several days before.
Well, he would be of no use in any case. If she told him what the Virgin Bride had said, he’d sneer and laugh and be an ass about it. No, it was a good thing that he wasn’t here because she knew that he wouldn’t allow her to take any action—he’d gone so far as to swear her to near complete inaction during his absence—and she knew she had to.
Alex informed her household that she was going for a visit to her brother and sister-in-law in the Cotswolds. Hollis, their butler, stared at her as if she’d lost her wits instead of her breakfast, but her mother-in-law seemed overly pleased to see the back of her for a while.
Sophie had received her own visits from the Virgin Bride over the past five years. Together they would figure out what to do.
Vere Castle
Philip crept out of the castle at ten o’clock that night. He wasn’t scared, not so much that he couldn’t think, anyway. Any fear he did feel was overcome by his worry for Sinjun.
He made the stables without a single bark from George II, whom he saw just in time to scratch behind his mangy ears before the dog could howl the house down.
Philip didn’t pause in the stables. The lads were asleep in their chambers off the tack room. He saddled his pony, Bracken, and quickly led him well down the drive before mounting.
He had a long ride ahead of him, but he was determined. He just prayed that he would be in time.
He’d wanted to tell Dulcie what he was going to do, but he knew deep down that she wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut. He told her instead, as he was yawning deeply, all ready for his bed, to please look in on his stepmother, and give her water to drink and keep her covered with as many blankets as she could find.
Dulcie had promised. He prayed as he sent his pony into a gallop that Aunt Arleth wouldn’t come upon Dulcie and dismiss her, or worse, hurt her.
There was a half-moon overhead and the dark rain clouds of the past three days had disappeared, replaced by soft white ones that did little to obscure the moon or stars. He could see quite well enough.
When he heard hoofbeats behind him, Philip thought his heart would burst through his chest. He quickly guided Bracken into the thick brush beside the road and clamped his fingers over the pony’s nostrils to keep him from whinnying.
There were three men riding toward him. When they neared he heard them speaking clearly.
“Aye, ’tis a wee-witted lassie she be, but I’ll hae her non’ the less.”
“Nay, she be fer me, ye louthead, her father promised me an’ th’ laird is fer th’ banns.”
A third man laughed aloud, a smug, triumphant laugh. He spat and said, “Well, yer both off the mark, ye are. Dinna ye ken, I already bedded wi’ her, she’s all mine. I’ll tell th’ laird, an’ ’tis done. I’ll tell ye something else, lads, her tits bain’t be wee.”
There were howls and yells and curses, and the horses were whinnying and plowing into each other. Philip stayed still as a stone, waiting, praying that the strongest of the men would get the wee lassie and the other two would go to the devil.
The fight lasted another ten minutes. Finally, Philip heard a loud curse and then the loud report of a gun. Oh God, he thought, swallowing so hard he nearly choked himself.
There was a yell, followed by a profound silence.
“Ye kilt Dingle, ye fool.”
“Aye, he bedded wi’ her, he deserved t’ croak it.”
The other man groaned, then shouted, “An’ wot if she’s got his seed ’n her belly? Yer a stupid sod, Alfie, MacPherson’ll have