Page 57 of Duke It Out
“It is?”
“I hear the ice penis was a big hit.”
He shoots me a mock-disapproving look, and I snort.
“I’m very glad this little terror is safe,” he says as we pass through the gate again. “Janey would have me shot if anything had happened to him.”
“Not just Janey.” I pull my hands inside the sleeves of Rory’s hoody. “He’s part of the furniture, like those terrible oil paintings in the dining room.”
“I like those paintings.” I can’t tell if he’s teasing me.
“That’s a red flag,”
“Add it to the list,” says Rory drily, as we step out of the woods and the castle comes into view. The spaniels hurtle towards the door as we make our way home.
“Thank you,” he says as we approach the door. “I appreciate your help.”
“All part of the service,” I say brightly. I feel a weird sense of regret that this tiny interlude is about to come to an end. Maybe now he’ll thaw a bit.
“You kept your head. Most people would have panicked.”
I don’t say anything, but I feel my cheeks going pink at the praise.
We pause for a moment and turn to look back at the path that weaves into the darkness of the pine forest that surrounds the castle.
“When I was a child,” Rory says, “I used to think I could run away into the woods and never come back.”
“And now,” I say softly.
“Now I own the bloody woods.”
“And you still want to run away?”
Muffin wriggles impatiently.
“Just a moment, little one, and then I’m afraid we’re going to have to go on a trip to the vet.”
Janey appears at the huge studded castle door, pulling it back with a look of delighted relief on her face.
“You got him.” She rushes down to meet us, and Muffin gives a little yelp of happiness and licks her on the nose as she leans in to give him a kiss.
“I’m not even going to complain about your terrible breath,” she says, laughing. And then she looks the two of us up and down. “You two look like something the cat dragged in. Or the dog, even.”
I leave Rory and Janey in the doorway and kick off my mud-covered boots. Upstairs, I peel off my muddy things, my hands still tingling from the nettle stings and bramble scratches. I check my face in the mirror – I’m smeared with mud, with a bloody smear across my forehead where I must have wiped my scratched hands across my face. My cheeks are pink from the exertion and my eyes are sparkling and hectic. I need to get myself together, get showered, and get back to work.
I wash the mud away, trying not to think about the way he’d sounded when he said thank you, or the way he’d looked at me in that moment. Like – just for once – he wasn’t suspicious that somehow I was a threat, or an unexploded grenade. I close my eyes, willing it to be enough – just one moment where he saw me and didn’t flinch.
24
EDIE
I’m halfwaythrough typing up the details of a land purchase from 1987 when movement outside the library window catches my eye. Another Defender pulls up – this one dark green, with a logo printed on the side. A moment later, a tall man climbs out, he must be six foot five, with a beard and a muss of thick, dark hair. He’s wearing a plaid shirt and jeans.
For a second, I assume he’s something to do with the estate’s forestry business. But then Janey appears, and the man’s thunderous expression softens into a grin that lights up his otherwise scowling face.
Five minutes later, I hear footsteps in the hallway, voices too. I hesitate, and then – for reasons I can’t explain – I slip through the door into the late Duke’s study. Something in my gut says the last place I want to be right now is sitting in the library.
Besides, there’s still one journal missing.
