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“Vangie,” Ian called.

Vangie smiled and waved at him striding across the meadow, a basket dangling on his arm. Jasper must’ve told him where she’d gone off to. She eyed the sky doubtfully. Mayhap if they hurried, they could squeeze a picnic in before the clouds burst.

She’d left Lancelot at the house so as to enjoy her romantic picnic.

“Look, Ian.” She hurried to the other side of the rickety bridge and pointed to the black swans circling below. She’d been tossing bread crumbs to the ducks and geese for the past half hour. A strong gust of wind blew across the pond creating small frothy peaks. “A baby is riding on its mother’s back. Isn’t it cute?”

“Careful, sweeting. That rail is still in need of repair.” Ian set down the basket. He grasped her elbow as she peered over the edge. “Do you know how to swim? The water is deep at this end.”

A nearby oak tree groaned and crackled as it wrestled with the wind. Another flurry ruffled her skirt and teased the curls around her face. She smiled and nodded. “Like a fish. Puri Daj insisted I learn after my parents drowned.”

She raised her eyes to the churning, pewter sky. It had been a day much like today when a fierce summer storm had orphaned her. Her parents’ carriage had been swept downriver after a bridge gave way. A chill washed over her as she scanned the tree tops. Dark gunmetal gray clouds swirled above them, and the trees swayed and dipped, their branches waving wildly. Damp earth, pine, and lily of the valley scented the air.

She tossed another crust of bread to the birds. Apprehension squeezed her ribs, but her head didn’t ache. Not yet, anyway. The megrims had started after the death of her parents, and storms—like stress—almost always brought on an episode. She bathed Ian with a loving gaze. Perhaps this time would be different, for she wasn’t lonely and afraid anymore.

“You shouldn’t come here unaccompanied.” Hands on his lean hips, he surveyed the area, obviously looking for the men he’d assigned to guard her. “Where are Beau and Bryce? And your new maid? What’s her name?”

Vangie almost giggled. She wasn’t the only one who couldn’t always remember names. “Ayva. She’s helping Mrs. Tanssen with Ailsa’s wedding preparations. They are twins after all.”

“What was the good Lord thinking, molding two of them?” He shook his head in disbelief. “What about the men assigned to guard you?”

“Gerard sent a message. He needed them in the stables to help move something.” Throwing the last piece of bread in the water, Vangie sent Ian a sideways glance. Worry hardened his features. He had been edgy and troubled since they’d arrived home.

Well, not the first day. He’d been quite content that afternoon. She smiled to herself at the fond memory. “I’m sorry, Ian. I thought it would be all right. There’s been no sign of your stepmother since Jasper reported her disappearance.” She heartily hoped the woman had left for good.

“It’s of no consequence, sweeting. I’ll speak with Gerard and remind him the two have other duties until further notice.” He smiled, the tension easing from his face as the wind whipped through his chestnut hair.

She rather liked the unkempt look. Securing her shawl tighter, she shivered. The weather had turned foul fast, and it appeared as if the promised picnic would have to wait—again. She searched the pond, rather startled to find it deserted and the water now a mass of seething foam. “Where are the birds?”

Ian wrapped his arm around her waist and pointed with his other hand. “Look across the water there. They’ve taken sanctuary in the marshland.” He eyed the turbulent sky. “We’d best return to the mansion ourselves.”

Even as he spoke the heavens opened with a torrent of frigid rain. A raging gust of wind pummeled them, and Vangie caught her breath at its intensity. Icy pellets buffeted her, making it difficult to see. He gripped her hand, and they turned for the manor house, only to pull up short.

Sir Doyle and the Dowager Viscountess Warrick blocked the bridge. Each wielded a pistol.

The storm had allowed the pair to sneak up on her and Ian unawares. She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you.”

Shouldn’t Beau and Bryce have returned by now? Likely they’d assumed she’d already returned to the manor because of the weather.

She peered past the dowager and magistrate to the trail that ended at the stable. A subtle movement caught her eye. Did someone lurk in the woods? She squinted against the driving rain. No, it was only the wind twisting the trees’ shadows.

“You’ve made it so very easy. Out here, away from the manor and your henchmen otherwise engaged.” A warped smile contorted the dowager’s mouth. “You must be commended, on your dutiful staff, Ian. Why, those two nincompoops arrived at the stables less than ten minutes after your wife gave them the note I sent.”

He speared Vangie a rueful glance, a crooked grimace twisting his mouth. “I should’ve known. Gerard cannot write.”

“How could I have been so gullible?” Vangie fumed.

“This storm is most providential.” The dowager waved her pistol toward Ian. “Alas a tragic accident might occur.” She giggled, an eerie demented cackle. “It’s not quite fair, I suppose, as only we have weapons.”

That was what she thought. Vangie slipped her hand from Ian’s. “Miri tshurii,” she whispered through stiff lips, sliding her hand to her thigh.

Had he heard her? Did he understand?

Ian turned his sopping head, his acute gaze tangling with hers. “Scran pushka tshurri,” he murmured.

Thank God above, he understood.

Sir Doyle stepped onto the bridge. It swayed and groaned, protesting beneath his weight. “Speak English, not that filthy gypsy gibberish.”