“No,” she said truthfully. “I did not even like him then. He was arrogant and commanding and had little regard for anything but his own pleasure.” She hesitated. “Are you certain you want to hear this?”
“Quite certain. It hasn’t the power to hurt me now. I have honestly admitted I don’t love my husband. But the fact that you do has me curious. I wonder what draws you to him.”
Briefly Shannon described her first acquaintance with Brandon, detailing her fall in the brook and Brandon’s rescue. “Much against my will, he and the earl escorted me home. I did not thank them for it.”
“Your stepfather wasn’t pleased?”
“Not in the least,” Shannon said succinctly.
“Did he beat you?”
“Yes.”
Aurora nodded slowly, distracted in part by the odd tug of sympathy she felt for her sister. Neither Paul nor Michaeline had ever struck her. She could not imagine how she would have responded in Shannon’s place. “Why didn’t you fight him then? Hit him back?”
“I couldn’t,” she said simply. “I thought I was at fault, that any punishment he meted out was deserved.”
“It could have been me,” Aurora said softly, wonderingly. “Had you ever thought of that?”
“No. And I have never wished that it were you instead of me. I could not wish that on anyone.”
Aurora believed her. “You don’t hate me, do you?”
Shannon started, blinking in surprise at the question. “Of course not. Did you think I did?”
“I should hate me if our positions were reversed,” she said candidly. “I have had every advantage, while you were most foully abused. I wanted for nothing while growing up, and my parents loved me to distraction.”
“I had the love of one parent,” Shannon reminded her gently. “Anyway, you are speaking of jealousy or envy, not of hate.”
“And have you been jealous of me?”
Shannon shook her head, the movement faintly sad. “No, Aurora. I’ve never been jealous.” Her lips lifted in a reluctant smile even when she saw her sister’s bewilderment. “Would you feel better if I said I envied you?”
“Perhaps.”
“But why? What do you have that I should want?”
“Brandon.”
One of Shannon’s eyebrows arched. “Do you have him?” she asked quietly. “Do you really?”
Parker lay crouchedon a narrow ridge, hidden behind a grouping of rocks. He was propped up on his elbows and held his loaded musket in his hands. As he had done several times this morning, he fixed the weapon, making a target of the knot in a gnarled tree trunk nearly fifty yards away. Satisfied his aim was true, though he dared not test it, Parker relaxed, laying the musket down.
He turned on his back, crossing his legs at the ankles and covering his eyes with his forearm. God, he thought grimly, how tempted he had been to pick off Brandon when he and Cody had passed in front of him not much above thirty minutes ago. It would have been so simple, but hardly satisfying, and therefore he had restrained himself. Brandon’s death alone would not give him the revenge he sought. It was more important that Brandon know something of the humiliation and pain Parker believed he had suffered all his life. Shannon’s death would provide the pain; prison would be the humiliation. Then, and only then, would Parker be assured that he had carried out his promise to his mother and that his place at the folly, through Aurora, would be secure.
Even if his mother had not asked it of him, he would have proceeded no differently than he had. The folly was rightfully his. Bastard or no, he was the first son—or should have been. William Fleming might have been an amoral gentleman of means, but Parker believed he had loved Hannah Grant. It was not possible for him to believe otherwise. Why else would William permit Hannah’s presence in his home and give leave to his wife to become a virtual prisoner in her own chamber? And if William loved Hannah, it must follow that he loved Parker above his other sons. That William had not left the folly in his care, Parker blamed on Brandon. William’s only legitimate son had poisoned his mind against the bastards. Brandon wanted everything for himself. He had bought off Daniel, Steven, and Jake. Eventually he would remove Cody from the folly.
Parker’s lip curled to one side in disgust and derision. He had tried to explain Brandon’s plan to his brothers often enough, but they wouldn’t hear a word against Bran. Fools. The lot of them. Not that Parker minded. With the exception of Cody, they had been driven from the folly and cleared the path he had marked for himself.
He turned over on his stomach again and lifted his head so he could see over the ridge. Aurora and Shannon were not in sight, but he could hear them coming. It wouldn’t be long before they narrowed the gap between themselves and Cody and Brandon, who were on foot. Parker cautioned himself to be patient. It must appear possible that either Brandon or Cody could have made the shot. Knowing what he had to do, Parker jumped gracefully to his feet and began tracking his brothers while Aurora drew Shannon more deeply into the trap he had laid.
“What’s that over there?”Cody asked, jerking his chin to the left to indicate where he saw the movement.
“I didn’t see it.” Brandon looked at his brother archly. “For God’s sake, lower your rifle until you know what it is. This is Davey French’s land we’re on now. Wouldn’t he be happy if you shot him between the eyes?”
Rather sheepishly Cody did as he was told. He slipped his musket over his shoulder and continued walking at Brandon’s side. “The game is scarce,” he noted for the third time that morning. “We should have shot that first buck we saw.”
“And where was the challenge in that? We sighted him nearly the moment we walked into the woods. I thought you wanted a hunt, not an easy target.”
