For the Love of a Soldier (22 page)

Garrett cursed and urged Champion to follow, leaning low over his neck as he cut the distance between them. “You all right?” he called out to Alexandra as she gained control over Autumn, patting the mare’s neck and murmuring calming words to her as they slowed their pace.

A shot rang out. Loud and explosive.

What the bloody hell?

Searing pain singed his arm, triggering his defensive instincts. He reached over and swept Alexandra from her sidesaddle to sit before him. He curled his arm around her waist and leaned low, digging his heels into Champion’s sides and urging him into a gallop.

With one hand on the reins and the other clutching Alexandra close, he was unable to retrieve the revolver in his pocket. He cursed his defenseless position, but protecting Alexandra took precedence over killing the bastard who had fired the shots.

A whistle rent the air, and the baying dogs quieted.

“Good boys, that’s fine fellas. What have you got?”

Keyes. The bastard.
Garrett gritted his teeth and drew back on Champion’s reins. Alexandra gasped and clung to his arm as Garrett whirled them around. The horse was cavalry trained
and war honed, quick to obey his command and would not shy from gunshots and cannon fire, let alone a pack of hunting dogs.

“Keyes?” he bellowed, rage vibrating in his voice.

“Hello there! Kendall? That you?”

Garrett reined Champion to a stop, his eyes narrowed on the path in front of him.

A barrel-chested man astride a magnificent bay ambled into view. His riding jacket strained across a bulging gut and thighs the size of tree trunks hugged his mount. Windblown wisps of gray hair failed to cover his balding dome.

He held a hunting rifle, its gleaming barrel pointed to the ground, the stench of powder reaching Garrett. Circling him were four English Pointers, sleek-coated, tautly muscled, and panting with anticipation.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Are you mad?” Garrett barked, barely refraining from planting his fist in the bastard’s florid face.

“Hang on a minute, there. My boys smelled something. I didn’t think—”

“You sure as hell didn’t! You fired your rifle blind. I ought to report you to the constable. You can’t—”

“Excuse me, but the last I heard, hunting is not illegal.” Keyes raked him with a contemptuous look. “And this isn’t your land, or have you robbed Wharton as well?”

“Christ, if you’re still crying robbery, fire your solicitor. He’s the one who obtained your signature on the deed of sale. Be grateful the property you’re left with is more spacious than a debtor’s gaol.” At Keyes’s sputter of rage, Alexandra’s hand squeezed Garrett’s and he leashed his temper. “What the hell were you hunting around here? Riders?”

Keyes’s expression moved from beet red to pulsing purple. “Are you accusing me of attempted murder?”

“You’re holding the smoking gun, and I’ve got a bullet hole in my jacket. My tailor will send you his bill.” Alexandra gasped, twisting to tug at his sleeve and assess the damage. He tightened his arm around her waist to still her movements.

Keyes’s eyes narrowed on Alexandra, but his expression held no remorse. “My finger must have jerked on the trigger. My mistake.” He shrugged. “My apologies to your tailor.
However, you look none the worse from your mishap, and you appear to be in good hands now.” His eyes dipped meaningfully to Alexandra. His smile was slow and insinuating. “I don’t believe I’ve been introduced to your…ah, friend?”

Alexandra stiffened and Garrett surmised her expression shot daggers, for he had the satisfaction of watching Keyes squirm under her regard. “Lady Daniels, Lord Keyes,” he spoke curtly. “The lady is a guest of Charlton Manor, along with Lord and Lady Warren.” It was a partial truth, for they should arrive by week’s end.

“The pleasure is mine,” Keyes drawled. “Or perhaps all yours.”

Alexandra’s sharp intake of breath filled the silence. Garrett nearly launched himself at the lout but refrained. The ass wasn’t worth it. “I might not be able to hang you for murder, Keyes—at least not yet—but I can drag you in for trespassing and poaching. This is Wharton’s land and under my estate manager’s care while Wharton resides in town. I suggest you get the hell off it.” He withdrew his revolver from his jacket pocket. “I’d hate for
my
finger to jerk on the trigger.”

Keyes drew himself up. “Are you threatening me?”

“I am. Do you wish to call me out? Name the time and place.” He ignored Alexandra’s fingers digging into his forearm. There would be no duel. The man was a coward, preferring to shoot at unsuspecting targets.

Keyes paled. “And have you kill me? I’m not an idiot, Kendall, contrary to your belief otherwise. I’ll leave. But you don’t control all the land in this region, and hunting
is
legal. You’d be wise to remember that.” He nodded to Alexandra. “
Lady
Daniels.” He sneered her title, the derision in his tone conveying his opinion of her dubious status.

“Are
you
threatening
me
?” Garrett demanded.

“Consider it words of advice as you’re new to the area and unfamiliar with our ways.” Keyes steered his bay around and whistled to his dogs. With a brusque hand gesture, he brought them in line as he kicked his horse and trotted off.

The silence stretched as they watched him depart. Garrett blew out a breath and slipped his revolver back into his jacket pocket. “The man is an ass.”

Alexandra spun around to scowl at him. “You still need to
speak to the constable and report this incident. He could have killed you. Who’s to say he didn’t attempt it?”

He snorted. “He couldn’t hit a target if he tripped over it. He’s a coward.”

“Cowards kill, too.”

“They do,” he conceded. “But this one didn’t receive an invitation to the Duke of Hammond’s ball.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Unless something about Keyes has sparked your memory, he wasn’t at Hammond’s plotting my demise but here whining about his lost land, loose daughter, and growing debts. Stewart confirmed his whereabouts, which does eliminate one suspect. The man’s an idiot, not a cold-blooded killer.”

“It must be nice to be confident of your immunity from idiots, but blind arrogance can’t stop bullets.” She yanked at his sleeve. “Let me see to your arm. There is blood on your jacket. He grazed you, and I should bandage the wound before we continue.” She ducked her head and tugged on his arm, leaning over to assess the damage.

He shrugged off her efforts. “It’s just a scratch. You can check on it after we round up Autumn.” He settled Alexandra back in front of him and pressed his knees into Champion’s side, urging him forward.

His tension eased at the feel of Alexandra’s slim body close to his, the warmth of her back against his chest, her thighs flush against his. She smelled good, too. Honeysuckle and something else he couldn’t put his finger on.

Perhaps the day was not a total loss.

The first drops of rain fell and he gritted his teeth. His thought was premature. The day was starting to get on his nerves. Where the hell was the mare?

“Would Autumn return home on her own?” Alexandra said, hunching her shoulders against the wind, which had picked up along with the spitting rain.

He drew her closer, leaning low to shield her body with his. No hardship there. “Probably. She’s no fool. There’s food there, and it’s dry.”

“Smart horse. Let’s follow her lead.”

“Right,” he muttered, his mood souring as the rain pelted his back. He started to urge Champion faster, but instead drew
back on the reins. It was a long ride back to the house while the old hunting lodge was much closer. They could wait out the storm there. And he had food. They needn’t rush home immediately.

He circled Champion around, feeling his dark mood lighten.

He might salvage the day along with his plans—or drown in the process.

A
LEX
wrapped her arms around her waist in an effort to get warm. Unlike Garrett, she wasn’t soaked through. His body curled over hers had taken the brunt of the deluge. Other than her skirts, she had stayed relatively dry.

She stood in an old weather-beaten hunting lodge, the rain pounding the roof like a herd of thundering elephants. She glanced at the ceiling, half expecting the water to leak through any minute.

Garrett was seeing to Champion, hitching him to the posts under the eaves in the back. He said they could wait out the storm here, convinced it was a passing front. Alex believed otherwise, but was too cold and hungry to argue.

Her eyes drifted over the room. There was a sofa, a scarred table, a few scattered chairs, and blankets draped here and there. The hearth held kindling and half-burned wood stacked in the fireplace. Evidence suggested the place wasn’t as abandoned as she had first surmised. It clearly was still used as a rustic refuge, perhaps providing succor for other riders caught in a storm. Eyeing the cozy throw blankets, she refused
to consider the trysts the lodge may have hosted. She swallowed. This was a bad idea. She needed to leave before it got worse.

Picking up her damp skirts, she hurried to the door, but a crack of thunder stopped her short. Leaving was not an option. Balefully, she scowled at the buck head mounted above the front door. Beneath an impressive array of antlers, coal black eyes stared straight ahead. As if amused at her predicament, a sparkling gleam lit the dark orbs. At least
she
hadn’t been stalked, stuffed, and mounted…she paused. That hadn’t come out right. Cheeks burning, she closed her eyes. This was ridiculous. Her nerves were running rampant, and she was not a hysterical female.

If she were such a female, she would have panicked earlier. The dogs, the gunshots, and Garrett’s self-proclaimed “scratch” were enough to send most women into hysterics. While those incidents had her heart pounding like an orchestra in full concert, she had remained levelheaded enough to control Autumn. After that, Garrett had taken charge. She bit her lip as she recalled him whisking her onto his saddle, his arm curled around her as they raced along the wooded path. Her heart had played a different tune then, and opening her eyes, she sighed.

He certainly had a commanding way about him. She didn’t mind his take-charge, protective manner. After her father’s lackadaisical care, she found she rather liked it. It was his arrogance that worried her. His dismissal of Keyes as an incompetent idiot, incapable of engineering Garrett’s murder, was ludicrous. Did the man truly believe the mastermind behind this deadly plot to be an intelligent man? Or a sane one? Contrary to Garrett, she believed the man behind these attacks to be a coward and an idiot.

A man like Keyes.

She jumped, barely stifling her cry when the front door banged open. Garrett staggered in, his hair dripping wet, his arms loaded with a stack of wood, a saddlebag dangling from one arm. “Thought we could build a fire. I found a dry cord of wood stacked out back under cover of the porch.”

She rushed to shut the door behind him, securing the bolt. She was glad for his interruption, not ready to further contemplate that a neighboring estate might harbor a cold-blooded killer.

Garrett unloaded the wood before the fireplace. “Storm moved in fast. We made it here just in time.” Straightening, he shoved his wet hair from his forehead as he looked around. “Looks like we aren’t the only guests who’ve sought refuge here. And they left some towels.” He grinned at her as he crossed to the sofa.

Alex bit her lip as his thoughts echoed hers.

He dumped the saddlebag on the nearby table, and then snatched up one of the smaller blankets from the sofa to dry his face. When he lowered the blanket, his hair was askew, his jacket soaked and plastered to his tall frame, and his eyes were alight with humor. “Not the view I planned to show you, but it’s dry, and we have food.” He nodded to the saddlebag. “Same plans, different venue.”

Alex sighed as she approached him. “Here, you need to take off your jacket before you catch a chill. It’s soaked through.”

“Just the jacket?” he teased. “My shirt is also wet. And my trousers.”

Alex quirked a brow, not deigning to respond.

He laughed. “Fine, but I thought you wanted to tend to my arm.”

“Your scratch, that is?” She met his eyes. “I believe I can do that with your trousers on. Wet or not.”

“Pity that,” he murmured.

“The fire will dry them. Why don’t you light it?”

His eyes darkened. “Why don’t I?” When she stepped back from him, he chuckled and shrugged out of his jacket.

Before she could voice a protest, he dispensed with his cravat as well. He undid the top two buttons of his linen shirt, revealing a teasing triangle of skin. She exhaled. Why bother with the fire? One sultry look from the man, and she was burning up.

Garrett turned to the hearth, collected matches from a metal box on the mantel, and bent to gather some wood.

She caught her breath. He needn’t be worried about her missing the view. No scenic vista could rival the sight of Garrett bent over, his wet shirt stretched taut across his broad shoulders, its damp patches plastered to his golden skin. Her eyes drifted lower, sliding over his fitted trousers to his buttocks, and she sighed again.