Page 28 of Death at Fournier Downs
“How far ahead is this cottage?”
“Not far. The clearing is up there. But why has her horse run off?”
Hugh didn’t answer. Instead, he instructed her to ride back to meet with the duke and the others.
“Are you certain?” She glanced behind them with trepidation. The path was dim, the rainstorm having sucked much of the light from the wood.
He patted her mount’s neck and covered her hand with his. “They won’t be far behind now. I cannot risk your safety if there is trouble at the cottage.”
Not to mention his only desire was to focus on the duchess’s safety. He could not see to that if the duke’s sister was with him.
She nodded and, soaked to the bone, her hair limp and ruined by the rain, she turned her horse and once again, began riding back the way they’d come.
Hugh mounted the dappled gray and rode onward, coming to a stop when he finally saw the unkempt dell ahead. It had probably been a quarter hour at the most since they had left the stables, but it felt like time without end. He dismounted at the stone hitching post and fed the reins through the brass ring. The rain had lightened, though a stormy breeze still swayed the tops of the trees. All was silent, and the stone cottage, wrapped in vines and blanketed by grass and weeds, looked to be slumbering.
There was no sign of Audrey. His skin prickled. He did not see a body, but the grasses were high, and it could have been hidden within. Hugh withdrew his flintlock pistol, hopeful the rain would not dampen the primer and powder. Slowly, he crept toward the cottage. The open doorway and windows gaped black and fathomless, the door and shutters having long since shed. The place had been left to rot; half of the roof had collapsed.
Dread settled into his bones as he climbed a pair of stone slab steps and set his foot on the threshold. No longer breathing, he cocked his flintlock and entered the cottage. A blur of motion to his left preceded a blow to his chin by one thousandth of a second, but Hugh didn’t lose his footing. He shoved his assailant backward just as a springtime scent of jasmine and musk shuttled into his senses. With a surge of relief, Hugh released the primer on his flintlock as he grappled with a pair of arms battering him. One hand, still in possession of a stone, repeatedly slammed into his shoulder.
“Stop!” he shouted, inhaling her familiar, heady scent again. He pinned her arms to her sides and pushed her against the stone wall. “Audrey, stop.”
She went utterly still, her wild eyes staring, shocked into comprehension. And then her arms were around him, gripping him in a desperate embrace. “Oh, thank God, Hugh,” she gasped. “Thank God, it’s you.”
The stone dropped, clattering onto the floor and her hand fisted into his jacket. She was soaked and shivering, and a dam within him fractured. Hugh gathered her closer, cupping the back of her drenched, unpinned hair. He closed his eyes, breathing her in, marveling at the firm press of her body against his.
“Are you injured?” he managed to say, his good sense slowly stirring.
“No, but there was someone out there,” she replied, still shaking. It wasn’t cold, so he imagined it was shock working its way through her.
He peeled her arms from him and stood back to look at her. “When? How long ago?”
“I…I’ve been hiding in here ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. I saw movement in the woods and heard sticks snapping. I thought you were him—oh.” She touched his jaw, and for a moment he didn’t understand why. But a throb of pain made itself known, and he remembered her striking him with the stone.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be. It was quick thinking.” He covered her hand, still at his jaw attempting to wipe away blood, and squeezed.
“Fool woman, what were you thinking staying here?” Before she could answer, he released her and stepped away. Raising his flintlock again, he narrowed his eyes on her. “Don’t move. I’m searching the clearing.”
“Where is Cassie?” she asked as he went to the doorway and peered out. The rain was misting now, but the winds were still just as strong.
“She went back to meet the duke and whoever else can come,” he answered, then glared at her again. “Stay.”
“I am not a dog,” she objected.
Hugh grimaced and stepped out. The clearing was still empty, but Audrey’s horse had calmed and was standing at the hitching post, munching on wet grass. He was nearly certain whoever she’d heard was long gone. They had been given plenty of time to enter the hut and attack Audrey. His ire stoked at the knowledge. It was what he’d feared—that he would enter the ruined cottage and find her sprawled upon the floor, dead.
The tall trunks and limbs swayed and tossed, but no one was hiding within the trees. Hugh lowered his pistol and tucked it away. The body Cassandra spoke of was in a patch of tall grass. It was indeed a woman, and by the look of her clothing, she was of the working class.
“It is the woman from my vision. The one the button showed me.”
Hugh spun around and swore under his breath. Audrey had, as expected, not stayed put in the cottage. He swallowed a reprimand and instead, removed his jacket. “Hold it over your head.”
She did, though he wasn’t sure what use it would do. They were both drenched.
“Are you certain?” he asked. She nodded.
“I recognize her. She was a maid at Haverfield.”
