the hill; it was easier going down than it had been going up. They chatted together as Rufus pulled on his lead, and eventually Verity gave up trying to persuade him to heel and released him. Rufus headed off down the path ahead of them, stopping when they got out of sight, the dog would wait for them until they caught up.
They stopped halfway to admire the view again, and Rupert took the opportunity to steal another brief kiss. Verity giggled, so happy she wanted to hug him. They continued onwards hand in hand as they neared Ellesmere Manor.
“Did you see that?” Rupert asked, slowing.
Verity frowned. “What?”
“I noticed a movement in the bushes below where there is no reason for anyone to be.”
On the heels of that pronouncement, there was a flash and crash of a musket. Shock blasted through Verity when Rupert pushed her behind him.
“What is it?” she cried, her heart racing with fright.
“Come,” he said, grabbing her hand. “I need to get you to safety.”
Safety?
“There is a shooter,” he said before she could demand an explanation. They hurried down the path, and as they turned and were out of sight of the mysterious shooter, she grabbed his arm and he flinched with a soft groan. It was then she noted the blood on his jacket. A dark tide of fear washed over her senses and she swayed. “You’re shot, Rupert! Are you all right?”
“I think so,” he said, examining the holes in his coat. “Seems to be only a flesh wound and as there are two holes in my coat, so it looks like the ball went straight through. I don’t think he can hit us here, but we need to get down as quick as possible, before he changes position.”
Rufus barked once and raced off down the path to the bottom but had then set off in the direction of the bushes barking loudly.
It hit her with the force of a runaway carriage that he could have been killed just now. A weak, awful feeling assailed her, and she had to bite into her bottom lip to steady herself against the fear of loss bubbling inside her heart. You could have died…before we even started to know each other, you could have died. And once again, she would have been left in the ashes of her pain and torment. And possibly another child, considering what they had done earlier. Verity wanted to weep. “Who would do such a thing, Rupert? Have you got enemies?”
“Maurice or one of his cronies, but probably Maurice himself because he was always a lousy shot,” Rupert said through clenched teeth.
“You’ve gone pale,” she said, clutching at him.
“The wound, even if relatively minor, stings and hurts like the devil. It does not seem to be bleeding much, but it is most unpleasant.”
“Rupert…he could have killed you,” she said faintly.
“But he did not,” he said firmly. “And I will ensure it stays that way. Now hurry.”
They kept moving when they heard voices shouting, with the accompaniment of Rufus barking. Verity saw a number of Rupert’s servants and groundsmen clustered around as they reached the bottom. A couple of the grooms armed with pitchforks appeared from the shrubbery looking hot and flustered.
“We heard a shot, my lord. Are you all right, your sleeve is torn, are you wounded?” Farrant asked his master, looking worried.
“Slightly, did you catch sight of him, Seth?” Rupert said, turning to the grooms.
“Not that well, my lord, we could not grab hold of him, he had a horse and escaped, but it looked like that sly cove, Farrant slung out yesterday. The dog bit his leg though, but he shook him off.”
Dear heavens, the bounder who shot Rupert was really that nasty cousin of his. How did he dare to do something so terrible? Verity held Rupert’s hand, uncaring what it signalled of their intimacy. Perhaps it was even more for herself than him, for there was still a heavy press of horror inside, even knowing the wound was not fatal. Would his cousin attempt to kill Rupert again?
“Are you certain it was that man you saw?” Rupert asked.
“I saw him clearly, my lord, it was that Friday-faced nephew of the late Baron, Maurice Rogers, I think his name is. Shabbed off fast but the dog bit deep into the back of his knee, must hurt like the blazes, my lord,” the other groom John Cutler said.
What in God’s name was Maurice thinking?
“Thank you both, please keep a special watch