“I did ask her once, commenting on how she names them all and appears fond of them. She said she is but she is also raising them to feed people, that that is their purpose in life, and that the life she gives them is a ‘demmed good one’ so she doesnae feel badly when she ends it.”
“Very practical, our Mrs. O’Neal.” He stood up and then pulled her to her feet. Emily held firmly to his hand as he went back up to their horses. It was a pleasant place and she had enjoyed herself, in ways she would never tell anyone, but she was not sure she would like to picnic on what was no more than a cliff too often.
When they reached the house and dismounted, Emily saw Mrs. O’Neal standing with one of her larger pigs. She suspected that was one of her problems with the animals, they could grow so huge. Walking over to Mrs. O’Neal, she put herself on the opposite side of the woman from the pig that was noisily enjoying a bucketful of scraps from the table.
“Has he finished living his good life?” Emily asked.
“Humphrey here is close,” said Mrs. O’Neal. “Just trying to decide if he is for a regular meal or should be saved for a holiday. I am thinking he would best serve for one of the winter holidays. Handsome fellow as he is, he deserves to be something special.”
Emily looked at the pig and figured only a pig lover could see something beautiful in the animal. “I suspect he won’t find it all that special.”
Mrs. O’Neal laughed and Emily started toward the house, leaving Iain there to discuss Humphrey’s fate. There were certain aspects of farm life that took some getting used to, she decided. The manor house had had farms but she had only ever seen them in a picturesque setting, the less pleasant side of farming kept out of her view. She was heartily glad she was not the one who had to make the decisions about which animal would grace the table tonight and she fully intended to keep it that way.
Iain finally left Mrs. O’Neal having her last days with Humphrey and went looking for Emily. He was not fond of picking the animals to use for the table but was accustomed to it, but she was not. Although she had not looked sickened or truly upset, he could read the unease on her face.
As he started up the stairs he realized he had completely used up his newly found strength. It had, perhaps, been a little early to use his picnic idea but he did not regret it. Iain knew Emily and Mrs. O’Neal would harangue him about it though. He was about to go into his room when Emily came up beside him and put an arm around his waist. It was only then he realized he was swaying a little.
“Too soon,” he said as she helped him to the bed.
“I suspect you will recover quickly though.” After settling him on the bed she stood up and grinned at him. “I was just thinking of going to the kitchen and getting myself some cold tea and a nice small piece of pie.”
“Ye just had pie.”
“A small piece. Adding another will not hurt. Mrs. O’Neal has all the boys off picking berries with her and thought I would enjoy the quiet.”
“So will I.” He started to sit up and she pushed him back down with one small hand against his chest. “I am not feeling so poorly I cannae go sit in the kitchen to eat pie.”
“No, most likely not, but rest for a few more minutes then come on down and if you feel the least bit unsteady on your feet, ring the bell, and I will come up to give you extra support.” When he just frowned, she said, “Promise me.”
“Fine. If a short rest doesnae cure me, I will ring for your aid.”
She kissed him and, laughing, skipped out of the room. Iain shook his head. It was humiliating to find out he was still prone to moments of weakness but he should have realized something like that could bother him for a while. He would give himself a short rest period and then go down to the kitchen for pie and Emily.
Chapter Nineteen
“Albert!”
Emily backed up as the man stepped in through the back door. He looked terrible. He was a sickly shade of pale, his hair was dirty, snarled, and oily, and his clothes were dirty and torn. There was a fierce glint in his eyes that terrified her. And just him standing there in the kitchen was terrifying enough without all that was now wrong with him. It had been two weeks since the confrontation in the saloon. Had he healed from the gunshot? Where were his men?
He stepped closer and she realized he also smelled bad, almost as if something was rotting on him. Albert had always been so fastidious. It was then she realized he had been hit with a bullet and he had not healed from the wound he had gotten. She could not see it but knew it was there. Then she saw the gun in his hand.
“Where’s the boy?” he demanded.
“Albert, he is only three years old. A mere babe, for mercy’s sake.”
“A babe who holdsmytitle,mylands, andmybloody money. Now, where is he?”
“You cannot kill a child.”
“Watch me. I suspect I will do a very good job of it. Tell me where he is. There is no point in trying to hide him. How many others do you want to die because of that brat?”
“Thatbratis your blood. So was my sister. So were those three other relations of ours whose only crime was trying to help me and Annabel. And my mother and father. And it was you and only you who killed them. Do not try to shove your sins on others. Did you kill poor Constance, too?”
“That stupid cow? No, no need to. She left your fool sister’s letters in one of the prissy keepsake boxes you women fancy. Right on her desk in plain sight. So, I invited her to go for a ride with me in my carriage and, when she ran up the stairs to change, I went through her things. Did not even lock the demmed box so I saw the letters and had a nice read. Your sister did love to blather on. Then I put them all back so she would not even know. All I had to do was listen to her. Less than an hour spent listening to her empty, senseless chatter and I had all I needed. Though there was a time or two when I did consider the joy of putting a bullet in her constantly moving mouth.”
Constance was obviously very fortunate that Albert had been in a good mood that day. “You do not need any of it. Not the lands nor the money. You have your own. You just want it. One can sometimes sympathize with ones who commit crimes because of desperation, poverty, or need. Even revenge. What you suffer from is pure unrelenting greed. How can you do this to Grandfather? He took you in, raised you. You were like a son to him.”
“Not enough of a son to be named his heir.”
