She nodded and turned away. Did she sense how close he’d come to life and death?
“Cecilia, this place may have been built for religion, for healing, maybe even honoring the dead. Men . . . and women built something that outlived them. What my cousin has done is reprehensible. The consequences for us, our family, will outlive him. Are you sure that you want to be the instrument to bring permanent justice?”
She stared as if the henge would guide her.
Shuddering, clasping tightly to her shawl, she nodded. “Show me what to do.”
Taking Brown, he stood next to her. “This is a blunderbuss. It’s small enough to fit in a reticule. It’s small but will shoot a distance. One could easily dispatch and be rid of the weapon, but with such craftsmanship that would be regrettable.”
Linking her hand about the shaft, he steadied her. “Don’t disrespect the size. Like you, it is tiny and potent.”
“I suppose size doesn’t matter.”
“No, it does. Unlike the pistol in my pocket, Brown will do the job better at a distance. The more lethal, the faster death comes.” He pulled her close, wedging her to his ribs, then he raised their arms and pointed to the henge, the doorway-like opening between two of the largest stones. “We practice until you can shoot straight.”
“Shoot at the henge? Doorways are us.”
“Well, Cilia, neither of us is going to leave when a weapon is drawn.” He wrapped his free arm about her. “Ready? Let’s practice.”
“Practice killing, don’t you mean?”
Her nerves churned. Felton knew the noise would disturb her, but there was no other way. “Killing is either a success or failure. Trying to strike a man twice your size with a knife is too dangerous. One hit from the bullet packet of this gun will either kill Gladstone or infection will set in to claim his soul.”
“He has no soul, Felton. He couldn’t have one and do what he did.” Her heart beat strongly and threaded through and around him. Fear and respect of the weapon was what she needed, but they had to fire the gun.
He leaned near her ear. “Curl your finger about the trigger.”
“Yes, my lord.” Her shaking hand did so.
With his index finger over hers, he fired the gun and absorbed the kickback.
The smoke fluttered and surrounded them.
Cecilia was quiet, not moving, staying as stiff as a board against him.
“We keep at it, until you feel comfortable. When you fire the trigger there is no going back.”
She nodded and he loaded the gun again.
* * *
The sun had lowered a little. That was good because the bright shine of the light finally spared Felton’s eyes. They’d practiced shooting his blunderbuss through the biggest henge in Stonehenge. Except for her heavy breaths, Cecilia could be a statue.
“Let’s do it again, Lady Gantry.”
“Felton. We’ve shot twenty times. My ears are ringing. Is that not enough?”
He put his hand on her shoulder. “We have to see that you can handle this. Otherwise, I will suggest you abandon your revenge.”
“I’m just tired, my lord. And hungry.”
“Oh, I have treats, but let’s do more practice.”
Her stomach gurgled, and he dipped his hand to her abdomen. The pressure moved his hand and he thought back to his first wife and how their son moved in the earliest days.
Another mission had taken him away, so he’d missed much of her excitement. He’d returned for her lying-in, but Felton would never know if things would’ve been different if he’d been with Elizabeth every day.
“My lord, now you’ve gone quiet.”
