They started down the gradual hill, heading for the side gardens, the stables still to the left.
A shot rang out and something whizzed past her and buried itself in the ground before them. Atalanta reared, and she held on, her leg around the pommel gripping hard to keep her seat.
“The stables! Run for the stables!” Marcus’ shout was hardly needed as Atalanta lunged forward, settling into a full out gallop. As they sped across the field, another shot rang out and fear blossomed in her belly. “Fly like the wind, Atalanta.”
It wasn’t until she’d raced through the gardens and had the stables in sight that she realized there were no more shots. Looking behind her to confer with Marcus, she found herself alone. Her heart lurched. She turned her mount around to race back.
“What’s happening?” Mr. Clancy ran toward her with another man.
“It’s Marcus. We heard shots as we descended Raven’s Ridge. He must have gone to investigate.”
Mr. Clancy exchanged a quick look with the stranger then took hold of Atalanta. “Here, let me help you off your poor mount. I’ll have her walked while Anthony finds my lord.”
She looked to the other man, but he had run back into the stable. Her feet had barely touched the ground before the man called Anthony galloped past them on a beautiful Irish Hunter. She watched him race up the hill, her gaze scanning the ridgeline for Marcus.
A hand on her arm had her turning to Mr. Clancy.
“Come inside the stable. His lordship will have me drawn and quartered if anything happens to you.”
She looked back up the ridge, but now no horse was in sight.
“Don’t worry. Anthony will make sure my lord comes back to you in one piece. He always has.”
At that, she finally turned as Mr. Clancy walked Atalanta around to the stable doors. She stepped to the side of the building to see him handing the horse over to a groom with strict instructions. Instructions she approved of.
“Come. I have a little something that will settle your nerves.” He held his arm out toward the open doors.
She followed the older man, who despite his bushy gray beard and slightly curved back, walked with vigor. She stepped into the stable and allowed her vision to adjust before taking a quick look outside again, but the ridge was out of view. Continuing inside, she took her seat again on the bench against the wall of a stall.
“Here you go, my lady. Just take a sip at a time. I don’t want my lord to find you tipsy when he returns.”
She sniffed at the tin cup he handed her. “Scotch?”
He puffed out his chest. “I think not. That’s good Irish whiskey, that is.”
She hid her smile as she took a sip. The liquid burned as it slid down her throat, but the warmth that filled her afterward did calm her nerves. “Who is that man, Anthony?”
Mr. Clancy poured himself a bit of whiskey and sat on a hay bale opposite her. “Don’t know much about him. What I know, I like.”
She took another sip then put the cup aside. Any more and she’d be asleep before Marcus returned.Ifhe returned. She didn’t want to think that way. He’d just risen from the dead. She returned her attention to Mr. Clancy. “What do you know?”
Mr. Clancy took a second swallow then held the cup with both hands. “I know if it weren’t for him, the lord wouldn’t be alive or here in England. It was that young man that took it upon himself to go looking for Lord Blackmore. His name is Anthony Taylour and he served under the lord. After a battle when the other men in his company said the lord had died, Anthony went back to look for the body, but it wasn’t there. Weeks later, when Anthony left the war, he went back again to look for my lord and found him at an old French woman’s farmhouse.”
“Was he badly injured?”
Mr. Clancy looked away. “I believe so, but he won’t talk about it. Neither does Anthony. When his lordship was well enough to travel, which took almost a year, Anthony brought him back. That’s all I need to know to trust that young man.” He took another swallow of whiskey.
She glanced at her cup, but decided against the temptation. The longer it took for the two to return, the more nervous she became, but she would not give in to it. “Do you think it could be a poacher?”
“Aye, it must be. Why else would there be shooting so close to Ravenridge?”
She shook her head. “Not close, on the grounds, and not a very good shot from the earth before me that was hit.”
Mr. Clancy’s hand stilled with the cup halfway to his mouth. “The shot came close to you?”
“Right in front of us.”
Mr. Clancy set the cup down and rose.
