“It’s only an old dovecote,” she muttered angrily.
But it was more than that to the Deveraux family. It was the oldest surviving building on the estate, and it still housed pigeons. It was part of the estate's ambiance, and even though it could be rebuilt, for the stone walls would remain standing, its place in time was forever destroyed.
“Well, ladies,” Lady Nevin said crisply, “we’d best return to the house. These men will be hungry and thirsty when they are finished here. We shall need to make arrangements for their comfort.” She turned to march back to Castle Marin, Maria at her side.
Leona and Lucy followed more slowly.
“How could that old dovecote simply catch fire?” Lucy asked as they retraced their steps. “It’s a clear night. There’s been no lightning. It’s impossible!”
“I don’t see how it could,” Leona said slowly. She shivered. “I don’t mind telling you, Lucy, that I don’t like this. I wonder . . .”
“You wonder what?”
Leona shook her head. “Nothing. It’s a ridiculous idea.”
“Leona!” Lucy said, exasperated.
Leona frowned. “I just wonder,” she said hesitantly, “if it might not have been purposefully set.”
“What?!”
“See, I told you it was ridiculous. Forget it.”
Lucy was silent for a moment, thinking, as they neared the far edge of the paddock. Ahead of them, her mother and Maria were reentering the house.
Leona gazed absently at the dark shapes of the house, paddock, stable yard, and outbuildings beyond. Her steps slowed further. She laid a hand on Lucy’s arm.
“Maybe—” Lucy began, but a firm hand clasped across her lips stilled her tongue. She looked at Leona wide-eyed.
“Sshhh! Look there!” Leona whispered, pointing toward the stable.
The dark shape of a man was creeping around the building.
Lucy nodded her understanding. Leona’s hand fell away from her mouth.
“We can’t raise the household. He’d see us and escape. Run back and fetch Deveraux,” Leona ordered. “Hurry!”
“Wh-what are you going to do?”
“Keep an eye on his activities and see he doesn’t escape. Now go!” She gave Lucy a gentle shove, then dropped down to crouch among the bushes and shadows along the paddock fence. She crept closer to the stable, seeing in her mind the layout of the building. From inside the stable came the rattling of bits and the pawing of hooves. Leona slipped in the open carriage house door and cautiously made her way over to the door that connected the carriage house with the stable courtyard. Carefully feeling her way along the wall’s dark shadows, her hand touched a rack of carriage whips. Silently she drew one out. The sounds from inside the stable were louder, more distinct: the scuffle of boots, the sliding of a latch, the nervous neighing of a horse. Whoever was in the stable was not supposed to be there. Was that the reason for the dovecote fire? A diversion? But it had only been luck that she spotted it. She shook her head. Nothing made sense.
She crept into the courtyard, staying to the deeply shadowed side.
A horse whinnied shrilly, and a man cursed before they burst into the open courtyard. The horse reared and pawed the air,fighting the man. He hung on, viciously pulling the horse’s head down. The horse was Nuit, Deveraux’s stallion!
Rage burned in Leona. She would not let this man get away with stealing Nuit! “No!” she yelled, running out of the shadows. “Let him go!”
With a muffled curse, the man turned toward her. She cracked the whip at him. It flung off his hat and caught his cheek. The man howled, dropping the reins.
“Go! Go!” she screamed at the horse. She flicked the whip again, catching the horse on his withers. Nuit reared and plunged out of the stable yard, knocking Leona backward against a post. Pain shot up her arm. She stumbled to the ground, dropping the whip.
The man swiped at the stream of blood on his face, and his eyes glittered with hatred. He stepped toward Leona. She skittered backward in the dirt, her arm useless at her side.
“Bitch,” he spat. “Didn’t believe Sally at first. She’s clever but a bit loose in the cockloft. But you’ll pay—” He stopped abruptly, turning his head to listen. The sound of horses and men shouting split the night air. The man swore, then turned and ran out of the stable yard.
She lay on the ground gasping for breath and shuddering. She squeezed her eyes tight, but she could not get the sound of his voice or the look on his face out of her mind. Though dressed shabbily and his face contorted in rage, Leona recognized him. It was Howard North.
Leona swallowed convulsively, her good arm brushing tendrils of dirty hair from her eyes. Chrissy’s kidnappers, though foiled, had not been defeated. Deveraux was right.
