The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie
Page 64
He shoved the pistol at the gardener and took the second one. “Reload that,” he said, and sighted down the fresh weapon.
Ian shot six more times, blowing both rocks to pieces. He took the first gun and centered it on another rock, while the young man loaded the second one again.
Dimly Ian heard Curry shouting at him, then at the gardener, but he couldn’t make sense of the words. He heard others behind him. Cam. Hart.
His world narrowed to the blue steel of the pistol’s barrel, the tiny explosions of rock downrange, the burst of noise as he squeezed the trigger. He felt the solid butt of the gun against his palm, screwed up his eyes at the acrid scent of burned powder, shifted his weight to take the kick. He shot, handed off the pistol, shot again, over and over.
His hands ached, his eyes watered, and he kept shooting.
“Guv,” Curry yelled. “Stop, for the love of God.” Ian sighted, squeezed the trigger. His arm bucked, and he straightened it, shooting again.
Heavy hands grabbed his shoulder. Hart’s voice, roaring in rage. Ian shook him off and kept firing. Fire, hand over pistol, grab second pistol, aim, fire.
“Ian.”
Beth’s warm tone floated to him, and her cool hand rested on his. The world came rushing back.
It was dimmer now, twilight having taken the place of bright afternoon. The undergardener sobbed at his side, dropping the empty pistol and pressing his hands to his face.
Ian’s arms ached. He slowly unclenched the pistol that Curry eased out of his hand and found his palms blistered and raw.
Beth touched his face. “Ian.”
He loved how she said his name. She spoke the syllables gently, her voice always soft, caressing.
Hart loomed up behind her, but Ian dissolved into Beth. He slid his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck.
“When he comes back and finds you gone, ‘oo will he strangle?”
Curry bleated. “Me, that’s ‘oo.”
Beth handed Katie her valise and adjusted her gloves. “You told me that when he disappears like this, it’s often for days and days. I’ll be back before then.”
Curry’s mulish look said he didn’t believe that. Ian had slept with Beth, made love to her last night after Curry had bandaged his hurt hands. But when Beth had awakened, Ian had been gone, not only from their bedroom, but from the house and park around it. None of the horses was missing; no one had seen him go.
Hart was livid and demanded a search. Cameron and Curry had persuaded him to let Ian alone. Ian would come back when he was ready. Didn’t he always? Hart, his look told her, blamed Beth.
“You’re doing right, m’lady,” Katie whispered to her as they climbed into the carriage. “I always thought he was a nutter.”
“I’m not leaving him,” Beth said sharply, loud enough for the coachman to hear. “I’m simply taking care of business in London.”
Katie glanced at the coachman and winked at Beth.
“Right you are, m’lady.”
Beth snapped her mouth shut as the coachman started the horses. She felt a pang. She’d miss Kilmorgan. The ride to the railway station proved uneventful. As the coachman lifted out the valises, Cameron’s son, Daniel, suddenly rolled off the backboard, where he’d been crouching. “Take me with you,” he blurted.
Beth hadn’t yet made up her mind about Daniel. He was definitely a Mackenzie, with his brown-red hair and golden eyes, but the shape of his face was different. His chin and eyes were softer, making him handsome rather than hard. His mother had been a famous beauty, according to Curry, celebrated in her day.
Just like our Lord Cameron to marry a wild one like her, Curry had said. Anything to get under his father’s skin.
Daniel’s attempt to mimic Cameron in all ways touched Beth’s heart. He wanted Cameron’s attention and approval, Beth could see, and Cameron didn’t always respond. “I’m not certain your father would be happy,” Beth tried. Daniel’s face fell. “Please? It’ll be dismal up here with Ian going to ground and Hart biting everyone’s head off and Dad growling like a thunderstorm. With you gone, they’ll be even worse.”
Daniel would be in the middle, Beth sensed. He’d chafe and rebel, which would make Hart and Cameron harder on him.
“Very well,” Beth said. “You didn’t happen to pack a bag, did you?”
“Naw, but I’ve got clothes in Dad’s house in London.” Daniel ran a few steps and did a cartwheel. “I’ll be good, I promise.”
“Are you mad?” Katie hissed as Beth turned to the ticket window. “Why d’ya want to saddle yourself with that hellion?”
“He’ll be useful, and I feel sorry for him.”
Katie rolled her eyes. “He’s a right nuisance, that one. His pa needs to tan his hide.”
“Being a parent is complicated.”
“Oh, is it? You ever been one?”
Beth hid the swift pain in her heart. “No, but I’ve known plenty of them.” She smiled at the stadonmaster as he came to the counter.
The stadonmaster put Daniel’s ticket on the Kilmorgan account, looking slightly surprised that Beth asked for the tickets instead of sending a servant. The idea of her ladyship purchasing anything for herself seemed to fill everyone with horror.
“I’d also like to send a telegram,” she said crisply, then waited while the obliging stadonmaster fetched his pencil and paper.
Ian shot six more times, blowing both rocks to pieces. He took the first gun and centered it on another rock, while the young man loaded the second one again.
Dimly Ian heard Curry shouting at him, then at the gardener, but he couldn’t make sense of the words. He heard others behind him. Cam. Hart.
His world narrowed to the blue steel of the pistol’s barrel, the tiny explosions of rock downrange, the burst of noise as he squeezed the trigger. He felt the solid butt of the gun against his palm, screwed up his eyes at the acrid scent of burned powder, shifted his weight to take the kick. He shot, handed off the pistol, shot again, over and over.
His hands ached, his eyes watered, and he kept shooting.
“Guv,” Curry yelled. “Stop, for the love of God.” Ian sighted, squeezed the trigger. His arm bucked, and he straightened it, shooting again.
Heavy hands grabbed his shoulder. Hart’s voice, roaring in rage. Ian shook him off and kept firing. Fire, hand over pistol, grab second pistol, aim, fire.
“Ian.”
Beth’s warm tone floated to him, and her cool hand rested on his. The world came rushing back.
It was dimmer now, twilight having taken the place of bright afternoon. The undergardener sobbed at his side, dropping the empty pistol and pressing his hands to his face.
Ian’s arms ached. He slowly unclenched the pistol that Curry eased out of his hand and found his palms blistered and raw.
Beth touched his face. “Ian.”
He loved how she said his name. She spoke the syllables gently, her voice always soft, caressing.
Hart loomed up behind her, but Ian dissolved into Beth. He slid his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck.
“When he comes back and finds you gone, ‘oo will he strangle?”
Curry bleated. “Me, that’s ‘oo.”
Beth handed Katie her valise and adjusted her gloves. “You told me that when he disappears like this, it’s often for days and days. I’ll be back before then.”
Curry’s mulish look said he didn’t believe that. Ian had slept with Beth, made love to her last night after Curry had bandaged his hurt hands. But when Beth had awakened, Ian had been gone, not only from their bedroom, but from the house and park around it. None of the horses was missing; no one had seen him go.
Hart was livid and demanded a search. Cameron and Curry had persuaded him to let Ian alone. Ian would come back when he was ready. Didn’t he always? Hart, his look told her, blamed Beth.
“You’re doing right, m’lady,” Katie whispered to her as they climbed into the carriage. “I always thought he was a nutter.”
“I’m not leaving him,” Beth said sharply, loud enough for the coachman to hear. “I’m simply taking care of business in London.”
Katie glanced at the coachman and winked at Beth.
“Right you are, m’lady.”
Beth snapped her mouth shut as the coachman started the horses. She felt a pang. She’d miss Kilmorgan. The ride to the railway station proved uneventful. As the coachman lifted out the valises, Cameron’s son, Daniel, suddenly rolled off the backboard, where he’d been crouching. “Take me with you,” he blurted.
Beth hadn’t yet made up her mind about Daniel. He was definitely a Mackenzie, with his brown-red hair and golden eyes, but the shape of his face was different. His chin and eyes were softer, making him handsome rather than hard. His mother had been a famous beauty, according to Curry, celebrated in her day.
Just like our Lord Cameron to marry a wild one like her, Curry had said. Anything to get under his father’s skin.
Daniel’s attempt to mimic Cameron in all ways touched Beth’s heart. He wanted Cameron’s attention and approval, Beth could see, and Cameron didn’t always respond. “I’m not certain your father would be happy,” Beth tried. Daniel’s face fell. “Please? It’ll be dismal up here with Ian going to ground and Hart biting everyone’s head off and Dad growling like a thunderstorm. With you gone, they’ll be even worse.”
Daniel would be in the middle, Beth sensed. He’d chafe and rebel, which would make Hart and Cameron harder on him.
“Very well,” Beth said. “You didn’t happen to pack a bag, did you?”
“Naw, but I’ve got clothes in Dad’s house in London.” Daniel ran a few steps and did a cartwheel. “I’ll be good, I promise.”
“Are you mad?” Katie hissed as Beth turned to the ticket window. “Why d’ya want to saddle yourself with that hellion?”
“He’ll be useful, and I feel sorry for him.”
Katie rolled her eyes. “He’s a right nuisance, that one. His pa needs to tan his hide.”
“Being a parent is complicated.”
“Oh, is it? You ever been one?”
Beth hid the swift pain in her heart. “No, but I’ve known plenty of them.” She smiled at the stadonmaster as he came to the counter.
The stadonmaster put Daniel’s ticket on the Kilmorgan account, looking slightly surprised that Beth asked for the tickets instead of sending a servant. The idea of her ladyship purchasing anything for herself seemed to fill everyone with horror.
“I’d also like to send a telegram,” she said crisply, then waited while the obliging stadonmaster fetched his pencil and paper.
