Page 31 of The Scarred Lyon

Augusta removed it from the back of his chair and, after removing the sling, guided his arms into the sleeves. He reached into his pocket and drew the pistol. “I loaded it early this morning. There is enough black powder for one shot. Hopefully, I will not have to use it. Gather the quilt and hide in the root cellar. The hatch is there, by the cupboard. Go quickly.”

She did as he asked. “Oh, do be careful!” Augusta called over her shoulder.

Duncan stepped outside, then looked to the sky. It was still overcast, as if it might snow again. He followed the shoveled path to the barn, then quickly opened the door and crossed the threshold. The chickens gave a low cluck, which Duncan had been told by a tenant farmer meant a warning of a ground predator. He swung about, pistol raised. Something moved in the shadows. “Reveal yourself! I am armed!”

Chapter Fourteen

Augusta wished she had brought a candle into the root cellar, because it was as dark as pitch. With the quilt wrapped tightly around her, she crouched, trying not to put too much pressure on her sprained ankle, since there was no room to stand upright. The cellar smelled of damp earth and mold, but it was certainly cool enough to store the food. Where was the hamper?

She moved forward slowly, and her foot made contact with something. Augusta froze. Could it be a rat? Whatever it was, it rolled. She followed the sound and found the hamper. Feeling in the dark, she located the object on the ground. It was a jar. Exhaling with relief, she picked it up. Something Duncan had missed during his inspection?

Where was Duncan?

At least she hadn’t heard a pistol shot, but she was beginning to become worried. The minutes ticked by as her concern grew.

“Augusta! Everything is fine.”

Duncan. Thank heavens.

Clutching the jar, she carefully climbed the few stairs and exited the cellar. “What was it?”

Duncan pulled his coat open, revealing a trembling ball of fur. “A dog, maybe an older puppy. It is hard to know.”

She came closer. “What breed is he?”

“Her. I believe a springer spaniel, at least partly.”

The dog lifted her head and gave Augusta such a sorrowful look, her heart melted. “What a perfect little lady. She must be starving. Look at her paws!”

“Yes, she is quite dirty. I assume that when the storm started in earnest, she dug her way under the barn and squeezed through. She must have hidden in the shadows, but come daybreak, she was discovered by the hens. They had her cornered.”

“Did she attack you?”

“No. I think she was relieved to be rescued.”

Augusta showed Duncan the jar before setting it on the trunk. “Another jar of carrots. Even though they are pickled, perhaps Dawn will eat them.” She put her hand out for the dog to smell, by way of a greeting. “She’s probably freezing. Let’s put her by the fire.”

Duncan lowered the dog to the floor, and she immediately tucked her tail and cowered.

Augusta tossed the quilt onto the chair, then sat on the floor in front of the shivering puppy.

“Be careful,” Duncan warned. “She’s frightened and may lash out. Being cornered by a flock of hens can be quite alarming.”

Augusta held out her hand again, and the dog took a tentative sniff. Then she sniffed again. The dog huddled near the fire, casting wary glances between Augusta and Duncan.

“We should wash her paws,” Augusta mused.

“Not now. Leave her be. Let her become acclimated to the situation.”

“She’s so thin. I’ll cut up two sausages with a little cheese.”

Duncan chuckled. “So, we will be sharing our rations with a dog, will we?”

“She won’t eat much.” Augusta tried to stand, and Duncan rushed forward to assist her. “I would like to keep her as a pet.”

“We should see if she accepts us first.”

“Of course. I am getting ahead of myself. You see, I always wanted a dog.”