The Rightful Lord (The Saga Of Wolfbridge Manor Book 3) by Sahara Kelly (13 ebook reader .TXT) 📕

“Damn you,” she screamed as she realised she’d failed to kill him. “Damn you all.”

Backing away onto the front steps, she lifted her other hand—clutching a second pistol. But this one she held to her head. “I’m coming, Susanna. I’m coming…”

It was all over in less than a second, leaving both men speechless and staring at the woman, now a horrid mess lying in blood-spattered snow.

Then Jeremy looked down at his arm and paled. “Oh fuck. She shot me.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Jesus.”

The shocked sound of Royce’s voice rang out over the front hall of Wolfbridge. He and another man were nearing the top steps as Evan looked up from Jeremy’s arm.

“Royce. Oh God, Giles…” Evan’s eyes widened as he saw the two of them trying to pick their way around the remains of the dead woman on the doorstep.

“Jeremy’s been shot,” he yelled.

“How bad?” Royce managed to get inside and slithered to a stop next to Jeremy, who was staring at his arm.

“There’s a hole,” he said. “In my arm.” He blinked.

“I’d say yes there is, but you’re alive.” Giles joined them. “Evan, can you get us hot water and linens? I think this is easily treated. And perhaps the brandy, because Jeremy may be in shock.”

“I think we both are,” muttered Evan, relinquishing his place to Giles.

“Hallo, little one.” Darcy frisked around Royce’s shoes. “Not now. Later.” He rubbed his knuckles over the dog’s head.

“He saved me,” Jeremy managed. “I tripped over him. She shot at me, but only caught my arm. If he hadn’t been there…if I hadn’t fallen…” He gulped.

Giles was busy tearing away Jeremy’s shirt. “Who was she?”

“I think she may have been Susanna’s sister,” he answered. “Evan opened the door, and I came upstairs and she looked at me then…then…”

“Whoa.” Royce sighed and caught him as his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

“It’s not bad,” Giles commented. “But I’m sure it came as a bit of a shock.”

Evan reappeared. “Oh God, is he…”

“He fainted, that’s all.” Royce muttered. “Can you hold together, Evan? We could use your hand here.”

“Of course.” White as a ghost, Evan took the used cloths from Giles.

Between them, they managed to bandage Jeremy’s arm, confirming that the shot had indeed gone straight through flesh and muscle. Royce was happy to see that it had missed the bone, so other than a scar, he’d have no permanent damage.

Evan’s hands shook as he passed bandages to Giles. “If I’d known,” he kept repeating. “If I’d known, I’d never have opened the door.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Giles said sympathetically.

“I must clean up,” said Evan hesitantly, looking outside. “She’s…I have to…”

Royce glanced at Giles. “Shock. Both of ‘em.”

Giles nodded back. “Get them into the parlour. The wound’s stopped bleeding and they need to be away from this.”

An hour later, when Jeremy had recovered, Evan was no longer pale as a sheet, and the ghastly remains had been dealt with, the four men finally sat together.

“You both arrived in the nick of time,” said Evan thankfully. “I’m not sure what I would have done without you.”

Royce snorted. “The nick of time would have been five minutes before that woman shot Jeremy. But still, I take your point.”

“And you say the others are at Fivetrees?” Giles asked.

Jeremy glanced at the clock. “Yes. They’ve been there a couple of hours now. In fact, I’d think they’d be on their way soon.”

Edgy, Royce stood. He wanted to see Gwyneth, and soon. Violence had arrived at Wolfbridge again, in all its bloody horror. He’d seen more than enough of that on the battlefields of Europe. He wanted to know Gwyneth was safe.

His gaze wandered over the wintry landscape—then stilled. “Giles.” His voice was sharp. “I need your eyes.”

Giles came to his side, looked out the window, and sucked in a breath. “Fuck.” He turned and fled the room.

“What? What?” Jeremy tried to rise.

“Stay there. Both of you. We may need you soon. Fivetrees is on fire.” He ran out after Giles.

“The horses,” Giles yelled.

“They’re tired, but they’ll make it that far.” Royce caught up with him, both men grabbing their jackets on the way.

“The smoke will be seen all around here,” Giles buttoned himself with one hand and untied the reins of his mount with the other.

“The men will come,” agreed Royce, foot already in the stirrup.

“They may be on their way home, you know.”

“I pray that’s the case.”

Royce gritted his teeth as the two of them set off as fast as they could for Fivetrees. The roads were poor but their mounts managed, splashing up mud in the wild ride down the lanes toward the plume of smoke that grew and darkened as they rode.

“Dear God, please don’t let her be in there.”

“Amen to that, lad.”

Royce realised he’d spoken aloud. “We can’t lose her, Giles. I can’t lose her. Not now, not when we’re almost free…”

“We won’t.” Giles’s voice was resolute. “Gwyneth has the backbone of ten of her contemporaries. She’s survived worse and come through it with bravery and courage.”

“She’s one hell of a woman.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

The conversation faded away as both men bent over their saddles, urging their tired horses into giving just a little more.

As they approached the turn into the driveway, the smoke became a threatening cloud.

The Wolfbridge gig was still there, tied to the post, the horse neighing in fear.

A crash made them both jump, and Royce’s heart thundered more loudly than the hoofbeats pounding on the snowy gravel.

“Roof’s caught,” Giles looked upward. “God in heaven.”

Royce nearly threw himself to the ground, leaped up the front steps two at a time and wrestled with the door,