Page 65 of The Scot is Hers
Fear and panic raced through her veins as she leapt from the bed, only to feel her ankle protest at the quick, harsh movement of hitting the hard floor. But there was no time to worry about the pain.
She yanked off her nightgown, her arms getting stuck in the sleeves, and she groaned, deciding she would have to rip the fabric to be freed when it finally untangled itself. She wrenched open her wardrobe and grabbed the first gown she could find, tugging on the dress she’d worn the day before and not caring that someone might notice.
After knotting her hair up quickly with a ribbon, she then pulled on her riding boots, which did not in the least match her day dress, but she didn’t care. She didn’t bother to lace them all the way. There was no time. She had to find Alec, wherever he was. Her ensemble was absurd and would cause ridicule, she was certain, but there was no time to worry. Her heart was thudding in her chest, and she felt close to fainting, having to remind herself to breathe. She needed to get to the moors. To the abbey to find out what happened. And she prayed she wasn’t too late, even though she was certain to be. Pistols at dawn was not pistols after sunrise.
Panicked voices came from the parlor, and when Giselle rounded the corner, she found Lady Errol and Jaime standing together. They both looked at Giselle with stricken eyes, faces pale.
“What’s happened?” Giselle felt dizzy, pressing her hand to her stomach. Her vision started to blur, and she swayed on her feet. She grabbed onto the back of the closest chair to keep herself from falling over.
No one spoke, only staring at her as if they’d seen a ghost. Or maybe they needed to tell her about one.
“Tell me what’s happened!”
* * *
Everything transpired in slow motion.
Alec caught Keith in his sights. Raised his arm, which felt heavy, sluggish. He pointed his pistol, taking aim for Joshua’s shoulder. A shot that would be punishing but not lethal. After all, he wasn’t a murderer.
There was a loud crack that cut through the fog of his brain, then smoke from Joshua’s gun. A spray of blood at Joshua’s face. Cursing from the men and the doctor. And then, Sir Joshua Keith was falling backward.
But Alec had not pulled the trigger. He looked down at his gun to see if he’d been mistaken, but there was no smoke from the barrel; he’d barely even touched the trigger. There was no pain in his body. No bullet had pierced his skin. Nothing made any sense.
Joshua had fired early.
“What the bloody hell?” Alec lowered his pistol and ran forward as the rest of the men knelt by Joshua’s fallen side, save for the doctor who was rummaging in his medical bag.
Joshua’s face had a gaping hole in the center where his nose used to be. Blood covered his face, making it hard to tell what was left of it.
Alec let out a curse and dropped his pistol at his feet. “I never fired my gun. What the hell happened?”
“His gun must have backfired,” Malcolm said.
Almsley knelt on the other side, staring in horror at what used to be Sir Joshua Keith’s face, now horribly disfigured by some terrible accident.
“How could it have backfired?” Alec asked incredulously, feeling quite in shock. He dropped to his knees. Not because he wanted to get closer, but because his legs couldn’t hold him up anymore.
Everyone shook their heads, just as puzzled as he was.
“Make way, make way,” the doctor huffed, shoving them aside so he could get a view.
He pressed his fingers to Joshua’s neck, feeling for a pulse. Seeming to find none, he bent his head over the mangled mess to feel for breath. Again, nothing.
“He’s dead.” The doctor pinned an accusatory stare at Alec, who raised his hands into the air.
“I never fired my gun. Look at it.”
Joshua Keith’s second took Alec’s pistol, opening the cylinder to see that it still contained all of the bullets within. “He’s telling the truth. Every bullet is accounted for. He did no’ fire. As Malcolm said, it must have backfired.”
“Neither of ye saw anything wrong when ye checked his pistol?”
Both Euan and Almsley shook their heads, and Euan said, “Everything was satisfactory. A terrible misfortune.”
“Terrible, indeed.” The doctor placed a handkerchief over what was left of Sir Joshua Keith’s face.
* * *
Alec’s limbsfelt heavy as he entered the grand foyer of his castle. The rivalry that only seemed to worsen with time was at an end, but the cost had been substantial. Though he’d not pulled the trigger, he still felt at fault. He should have tried harder. His friends, even Keith’s associate, had all told him there was nothing he could have done. He’d given Joshua plenty of chances to change his mind, and he’d not done it. He’d insulted him, threatened to murder him in his own house.
