But only if the boy actually fired the shot. Every moment that ticked by decreased the odds of it happening. It was time to intervene, encourage the boy.
The Raven silently made his way to where the boy stood. “Problem?” he asked upon approach.
The boy started at The Raven’s voice. “I haven’t had a clean shot,” Dougal said.
“You have one now,” The Raven said. At the moment Graeme and Vanessa were standing alone beside a large tree.
Dougal’s arm shook. “She’s ruining everything,” he said. Then he cocked the gun. There was a sharp pop, and a moment later, The Raven watched as the girl fell to the ground.
Party guests screamed, and Graeme, instead of falling to his knees to tend to his dying wife, looked out into the trees. He would not see anything. The area where he stood amidst the candlelight was far too well lit, and the surrounding woods conversely dark as pitch. Still, he looked out, and The Raven felt as if the large Scot stared directly at him.
The Raven took several steps backward. If Graeme were to see anyone there, pistol in hand, he’d only find his younger brother. A realization such as that should keep the man doubly occupied. With a dead wife and a murderer for a brother, Graeme would be far too busy to worry about what his cousin was up to.
Perfect for The Raven to complete his plan. The Kingmaker was almost his.
Graeme stared out into the woods, toward where the shot must have come, but he saw nothing. He wanted to run out there, but whoever had shot her would see him coming and have plenty of time to flee and hide. What Graeme needed to do now was tend to her wound. With one last look into the darkness, he cursed, then turned to face his wife.
“Move!” he shouted, trying to clear the crowd of people out of the way. He knelt and scooped her into his arms and carried her into the house. Without a word to anyone, he brought her all the way into his bedchamber and laid her on the bed. His hands moved all over her, checking for any sign of injury. Her body was limp, her skin cold to the touch, but he didn’t find much blood.
He didn’t wait to patiently unfasten her pretty gown. Instead he ripped the bodice until he’d revealed the wound. Her shift stuck to her side where the blood slowly seeped. He gently tugged the fabric away until her torso was mostly uncovered. The bullet had entered her side, and then exited in a similar place on her back. It was not a dangerous injury, as only the fleshy part at her waist had been pierced.
“Get me some water,” Graeme shouted, but his mother was prepared and already by his side with the items he would need. He knew he could leave the tending to his mother and grandmother, but Vanessa was his responsibility.
Vanessa’s eyes fluttered open, but were still heavy-lidded and glazed. “What happened?” she asked, trying to sit up.
“Lie still,” he demanded. He’d already soaked the rag in the water. He ran the damp cloth over her injury, and she jerked away from him.
Her brow furrowed with her wince. “That burns.”
“Keep still; I’m almost done.” He exhaled. “I’ve got to get the wound cleaned.”
“I don’t think it’s bad,” Moira said from behind him. “I believe it merely grazed her.”
“What grazed me?” Vanessa asked.
“You were shot, dear,” Moira said. “Probably some drunken fools shooting guns off to celebrate.”
“I don’t think so,” Graeme muttered as he continued to clean the wound. He met his mother’s gaze, and she clearly didn’t believe what she’d said, either. She was obviously trying not to concern Vanessa.
As the blood cleared and the wound became visible, his heart slowed. What his mother said was correct; it was little more than a light grazing. Enough to draw blood, but not deep enough to require stitches. She’d probably be sore, though.
Vanessa blinked up at him. She shook her head in disbelief. “You believe someone tried to kill me?”
“Aye,” he said. He smeared some of Old Mazie’s salve on the wound, knowing Vanessa would stink like death for the night, but tomorrow she’d feel much better.
“Probably because I’m trying to confirm Mr. McElroy’s initial theory about his fossil,” she said.
“I don’t think that’s why,” Graeme said, sharper than he’d intended. If he wasn’t so bloody angry, he might have found it charming that she thought people were as passionate about fossils as she was. Enough so to try to kill her. But as it was, he was in no mood for humor.
“Then who? Why?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” Graeme exhaled through his nose, trying to keep his anger at bay. He wasn’t mad at her, and getting frustrated when she asked a legitimate question wasn’t fair. “But I fully intend to find out.”
Graeme left the room to give Vanessa some quiet so she could rest. The wound was cleaned and dressed, and she’d been given a shot or two of whiskey to dull the pain. She was barely injured, yet the thought of someone hurting her…
Who the hell had tried to kill her? Or had they been aiming for someone else? Namely him. He’d been standing right next to her. For a poor marksman, it would have been a simple mistake.
Graeme made his way into the study. There he found Dougal flipping through his notes scattered across the desk.
