Page 63 of The Widow Wore Plaid

Chapter Twenty-Six

Rory’s comical look of surprise almost kept Gareth from firing.

Almost.

In one liquid motion, Gareth fired the flintlock, simultaneously pushing Jane to the left and throwing himself to the right. He landed hard on his shoulder, the gun bouncing out of his hand as he heard a faint splash. Then he was scrambling up and running toward the man screaming on the ground in front of him.

Rory clutched his leg, writhing in pain. Seeing Gareth approaching he looked frantically from side to side, then spotted his discarded gun several feet to his right and made a dive for it.

Yelling with pent-up outrage, Gareth reached the weapon a moment ahead of his cousin and gave it a vicious kick. It sailed into the air and landed at the edge of the tree line. Turning to Rory, who scooted backward furiously across the dusty ground, Gareth grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him up off the ground.

“After what you’ve put us through, you deserve to die, Rory Seton.” Everything within Gareth screamed to kill the man and have done with it. Nothing good would come from letting him live. He’d either go publicly to the gallows, bringing a stain to the family name, or be transported to Australia for life. From the reports Gareth had heard of life in those penal colonies, death might be the kinder sentence. But not one for he himself to render.

He dropped Rory to the ground, then drew back his fist and planted his cousin a facer.

Rory’s eyes rolled back up in his head and he lay still and quiet at last.

That punch seemed to have been Gareth’s swan song. He dropped to the ground next to his cousin, then eased onto his back and closed his eyes. Every muscle in his body, every bone seemed to ache. He was getting too old for this kind of excitement.

A steady squishing sound approached then stopped next to him. He opened his eyes to the vision of Jane, soaking wet, her filthy red riding habit clinging tightly to her body standing over him, glaring at him from under a pair of deeply frowning brows. Never had she looked so magnificent.

“Were you expecting me to swim for help, Kinellan?”

“Ah, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” Slowly he got to his feet, still feeling every ache and pain. “I wanted only to make sure his bullet came nowhere near you.”

“And you got your wish.” She took her skirt and wrung it out, a small rivulet cascading onto the dusty ground. Suddenly a smile as brilliant as the sun lit her face and she put her arms around him. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you, too.” He reveled in the feel of her body against his, cold and wet though it was. Still whole and unharmed. He couldn’t ask for anything more. He kissed her lips, though briefly because the world began to spin again.

Gareth sat down hard, his head whirling, going dark . . . Foul odor . . . he gasped and sat up as Jane put the stopper back on her vial of smelling salts.

“I told you never to use that on me again,” he growled as he lay down. He’d had enough of that particular remedy but didn’t trust that he wouldn’t faint again. His head still spun.

“And I told you I wouldn’t if you didn’t faint.” She looked at the vial and smiled. “I had no idea that it would still work. It was in my pocket when I went into the loch, so it got soaked along with everything else.”

“I can vouch for it. It still works.”

She looked over at Rory, still unconscious, and sighed. “What are we going to do with him? If he wakes up I suppose you can hit him again, but we need to get you home and to a doctor. Do we just leave him here?”

“A good question without a good answer. But since we will be lucky to get ourselves back to the castle, I suppose we will have to leave him here.” Gareth sat up slowly. “I’ll send a message to the sheriff in Fodderty with an accounting of Rory’s crimes and let them bring him to justice.”

Jane eyed him suspiciously. “Will you be able to float across the loch with me on the tree? You look all in, Kinellan.”

“I passed all in a couple of hours ago.” He shook his head. His clothing was partially wet from his embrace with Jane and that was cold and damp enough by far. “And no, I have no desire to get into that freezing water. We’ll have to walk around the loch. If we take it slowly enough I may be able to make it by dawn.”

“Kinellan!”

The call from the familiar voice brought Gareth’s head up. He grasped Jane’s hand and she helped him up as Lord Lathbury burst through the trees and onto the greensward.

“Kinellan, my God.” He pulled his horse to a stop so quickly the animal reared. Lathbury leaped from the saddle, ran up to him, and stopped, his face alight with joy.

Gareth had the distinct impression his friend had been close to throwing his arms around him. An embarrassing action, but one that warmed the heart.

“By God, Kinellan, Jane, we thought you were dead.”

“I have been close to it several times in the past two days.” Gareth looked from Lathbury to his horse. “You were searching for me alone?”

“No, the whole company is with me, plus MacKenna. They are coming along just now.” Lathbury seemed to see Rory for the first time, still laid out on the grass. “So Rory Seton is the culprit?”