Page 56 of The Widow Wore Plaid

The shadowy trees across the yard brightened every moment as day approached. Peeking around the corner of the well, she still detected no movement. Perhaps the man had succumbed to his wound during the night. Or had left to have it tended. Not that either of those things was terribly likely, but she entertained them briefly while summoning her courage. The bucket that went down into the water rested on the stone lip of the well, just out of reach. If she could tip it over . . . She rose until her head was level with the rim of the well, stretched out her arm, and pushed the bucket into the gaping hole. It swung free, then hung suspended over the opening.

Drat. She’d thought it would fall of its own accord, but no, she’d have to lower it with the crank handle. Shooting another glance into the woods, and seeing no movement still, she rose so her body was directly behind the crank. Carefully, she grasped the handle and, heart in her throat, turned it rapidly, lowering the bucket until she heard a gentle splash. Jane dropped back down behind the well and waited, allowing the bucket to fill. That had been the easy part. It would be harder to turn the crank with the weight of the water. Therefore it would take longer to bring the bucket up, making her a perfect target for the gunman.

There was nothing else to be done. She needed that water for Kinellan’s tea. With the daylight brightening the yard every moment, she had to act now. She shot one more quick look into the woods, then popped up and began cranking as fast as she could. Gazing into the forest, she could make out the trees farther back, thanks to the sunlight now shining brightly. Nothing moved, save her frantic turning of the handle. The bucket rose almost to the edge of the well and she grasped it and dragged it onto the rim. Panting with the effort, Jane stooped to grab the empty bucket when the crackle of underbrush to her left stopped her cold. She dropped onto the ground, then peeped around the side, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

A tall, lanky dark-haired man walked out of the woods, bold as could be. His face, with a day’s growth of beard, seemed oddly familiar to Jane. He was dressed much as Kinellan had been, for riding, although there was no horse in sight. Did she know him?

The stranger seemed not to have seen her, for he walked calmly up to the back porch and knocked on the door. Was this the gunman? He had no weapon that she could see. Or was it the rescue they had so longed for? And how on earth was she to know the difference?

* * *

Knocking on the back door brought Gareth up with a start from a dead sleep. The jolt made his whole body ache, his left shoulder a fiery agony. A couple of deep breaths and the pain subsided to a dull ache. The knocking continued and he glanced at the empty covers beside him. Had Jane gone outside? He looked from the pallet to the door, nothing making sense. If it was Jane, why didn’t she just come in? Who else would there be to knock? Surely not the gunman. Lathbury and a rescue party? Lathbury would simply bust in, break down the door if he had to. So who was knocking at the door?

Slowly he got to his feet, picked up the pistol that had been by his side all night, checked that it was still loaded, and eased over to the window. Moving the curtain slightly to see out Gareth was surprised there was no one at the door. He moved quickly to the far side and peeked out again. A tall, dark-haired man stood in the yard.

His heart leaped inside Gareth’s chest, pounding so hard it seemed ready to burst out. He waited a moment, willing himself to calm. Was this the man who’d been trying to kill them? If so, why come knock on the door? Unless they were dealing with a true lunatic, it made no sense. And where was Jane? He scanned the kitchen, beneath the stairs, as much of the bedroom as he could see through the open door, but she was nowhere to be found.

“Jane.” The sharp whisper carried throughout the room. If she was here, she should have heard him. Had she indeed gone outside? Had this madman dispatched her before knocking on his door? An icy blanket of clarity fell over Gareth. If this man, whoever he was, had harmed Jane in any way, he’d be food for the crows by lunchtime.

Lifting the curtain away again, Gareth stared at the man still standing in the yard and blinked in surprise. His first glance had been so quick he’d not made out the man’s features. Now he recognized him and a sigh of thanksgiving escaped his lips. He slipped the pistol into the band of his breeches and opened the door. “Rory?”

The man jerked back at the sound, but then a smile broke out over his face. “Kinellan, thank God. Everyone’s been mad with worry, man. What happened to you?”

Gareth stepped out onto the porch, relief washing through him—until the sight of Jane cowering beside the well brought him back on guard again. Impossible to know if she’d seen anything suspicious in Rory’s manner, but best to err on the side of caution, so he gave no indication he’d seen her. Better discover the true lay of the land before letting down his guard.

“We’re awfully glad to see you, Rory.” He smiled, waiting to assess his cousin’s reaction. “I brought Jane, my intended, up here to see the lodge yesterday, and out of nowhere some madman starts shooting at us. I managed to fend him off, but we’ve been stranded here all night, praying for rescue.”

His cousin shook his head. “Good Lord, Kinellan. Who would want to harm you?”

An appropriate enough response, but Rory didn’t look particularly shocked at the news as he should have been. “I’ve no idea. Been speculating about that with Jane all night. I don’t have a single enemy I can think of.”

At that Rory smiled and Gareth’s heart sank in despair. His cousin, now smiling broadly into his face, was the one who had followed him here to kill him. Apparently not having any luck from a distance, he had gambled he could get close enough to do the deed by pretending to be their rescuer. A plan that might work still, for Gareth was exposed and vulnerable here on the porch. What should be his next strategy? Try to disarm him by inviting him into the lodge? Would Gareth have any advantage over him by doing go? And what of Jane? Had Rory seen her hiding behind the well? If he took Rory inside would she follow them or do something even more foolish?

In the split second it took him to evaluate the situation, Gareth made up his mind. He turned to call over his shoulder, “Jane, our rescue is here. You can come out.” As he turned back toward Rory, he neatly slid his pistol from his breeches and twisted back around, bringing up his arm to meet Rory’s weapon pointing directly at his heart. “Not exactly the rescue we were hoping for, cousin.”

“I’m surely not, cousin.” The snarl darkening Rory’s face seemed more natural than his earlier smile.

Gareth had never been close to this cousin, not from any animus toward Rory, but more from a lack of any shared interests. Ten years Gareth’s junior, Rory had been too young to be a companion growing up. Once they’d both become adults, Gareth saw the man seldom as Rory had married young and ran in very different circles than Gareth. As a family member, he was, of course, invited to the annual gathering, but that was the extent of the contact and had been for years. Still, this neglect should not have grown into the hatred that now shone on his cousin’s face. Something else was behind this bent for murder, and Gareth suspected he knew the reason. “You’ve taken some pains to try to dispatch me, cousin. Pray tell why?”

“I would have thought you’d have figured it out by now, Kinellan.” Rory sneered and gripped the pistol tighter. “I’ve never believed you to be stupid.”

“Could it have something to do with you being my heir?” The only reason that made sense now.

“As I said, not stupid after all. Just unfortunate for you that my father died when he did.”

Gareth frowned. “Why would Uncle Ian’s death bring you to this?”

“Because while he was your heir, you were safe. If I’d tried to kill you while he lived he’d have known who was responsible and stopped me. Or worse, turned me over to the authorities.” Rory clenched his jaw, the pistol shaking in his hand. “Anyway, I’d have had to settle for being his heir for God knows how long. But when he died, I became your heir and that’s when I began to make plans.”

So this murderous assault had begun about six months before, just before Gareth had returned to Castle Kinellan from London. “Why now? Why not earlier, before there were so many people at the castle to stop you?”

He chuckled and waved his arm. “Do you see anyone stopping me now, cousin?”

Wouldn’t Gareth love to see the look on Rory’s face if Lathbury rode into the clearing at this moment?

“No, I’d planned all along to kill you at the gathering. Accidents often happen when people celebrate. Shots go astray, people fall into fires, horses bolt and drag people to their deaths.” Rory stared straight into Gareth’s face. “And sometimes people simply disappear and are never heard from again.” He smiled sickeningly, showing teeth like a crocodile. “So there would be plenty of opportunity. In fact, I wasn’t even in a huge hurry because you seemed a confirmed bachelor. But then”—his eyes narrowed—“I came upon you and that wench you’d brought with you from London.”

The insulting word made Gareth itch to pull the trigger, but he dared not do so in a fit of anger. He had one shot and it had to count if he and Jane were to survive this.