Daphne began to feel better. Her father was right, fresh air cleared the head. Blowing the cobwebs away was a grand idea, she decided, and settled into her saddle, handling her horse with her usual skill and finesse.
Once they came to the end of the fields, exhilarated by the race, they slowed down, and wheeled their horses to the left. They headed along one of the wide bridle paths which ran along the right side of the bluebell woods, slowly progressing back to Cavendon.
It was a beautiful day, sunny and mild, with a blue sky, and no hint of rain for once. Daphne blocked out the image of her assault in the woods last week. These were their woods, and she would not avoid them, even if she had to grit her teeth to forget her ordeal. But she would put it behind her. It wouldn’t happen again, she was certain of that. Their land would now be patrolled regularly by their own men, thanks to the Swanns.
As she trotted along the path behind DeLacy, enjoying the shade created by the overhanging branches of the trees, Daphne noticed that her lovely heron was back. It was standing in the pool of water in the middle of the woods, and it brought a brief smile to her face. It had found a home, she decided.
Unexpectedly, she caught sight of Walter’s brother, Percy, who was head gamekeeper at Cavendon. She saw her father beckoning him over, and Percy started to run toward them. Then he stood talking to the earl for a few moments, before he hurried off.
Suddenly, in the distance, there was the sound of gunfire. Shots rang out, startling them all, especially the horses. Greensleeves snorted and reared up on her hind legs, tossed her head, frightened by the sudden noise. Daphne tightened the reins, endeavored to calm her, to gain control of her. Somehow she managed it. And then she saw, much to her horror, that Julian’s horse had not only panicked but bolted.
It was galloping down the bridle path hell for leather, obviously totally spooked by the rifle fire. And then she was filled with fear when Julian was thrown off his horse. He landed heavily, hit a large boulder, rolled over onto his back, and lay still.
Daphne noticed that the other horses were in the same state of great agitation, pawing, tossing their heads, and rearing up. DeLacy was still struggling with Dreamer, trying to calm her. But finally her father had his stallion Blackstar under his control, much to Daphne’s relief.
Julian’s horse ran on, galloping down the bridle path, still a terrified animal.
DeLacy and Daphne galloped forward. As they drew closer to Julian they reined in their horses and jumped to the ground. Their father was running toward Julian, where he lay on the ground not moving. He was obviously badly hurt.
Only Madge remained on her horse, frozen by shock and fear, and unable to move a muscle. She had lost all color, her eyes wide with horror.
Glancing around, DeLacy asked no one in particular, “Where did those shots come from?” And then she went to join her father, who was kneeling next to Julian.
The earl shook his head. “I’ve no idea, DeLacy. But we never have guns out at this time of year.” He felt Julian’s pulse. It was faint but it was there. The young man was deathly white, and Charles noticed that the gash on his forehead was deep, bloody. His eyes were closed; blood was splattered on his fair hair. He was still, very still indeed, hardly breathing. Charles was filled with sudden fear for the young man. The fall had been bad, awkward, and his legs were skewed, looked as if they were broken.
Percy Swann was suddenly back with them, panting from running hard. “Our lads weren’t shooting, m’lord. None of our men have guns out here. I’m not sure where those shots came from, m’lord.”
“Torbett land,” Daphne interjected, certainty ringing in her voice. Half turning, she pointed behind her. “Definitely back there.” She couldn’t help thinking it was Richard Torbett up to his tricks. Then she looked down at
Once they came to the end of the fields, exhilarated by the race, they slowed down, and wheeled their horses to the left. They headed along one of the wide bridle paths which ran along the right side of the bluebell woods, slowly progressing back to Cavendon.
It was a beautiful day, sunny and mild, with a blue sky, and no hint of rain for once. Daphne blocked out the image of her assault in the woods last week. These were their woods, and she would not avoid them, even if she had to grit her teeth to forget her ordeal. But she would put it behind her. It wouldn’t happen again, she was certain of that. Their land would now be patrolled regularly by their own men, thanks to the Swanns.
As she trotted along the path behind DeLacy, enjoying the shade created by the overhanging branches of the trees, Daphne noticed that her lovely heron was back. It was standing in the pool of water in the middle of the woods, and it brought a brief smile to her face. It had found a home, she decided.
Unexpectedly, she caught sight of Walter’s brother, Percy, who was head gamekeeper at Cavendon. She saw her father beckoning him over, and Percy started to run toward them. Then he stood talking to the earl for a few moments, before he hurried off.
Suddenly, in the distance, there was the sound of gunfire. Shots rang out, startling them all, especially the horses. Greensleeves snorted and reared up on her hind legs, tossed her head, frightened by the sudden noise. Daphne tightened the reins, endeavored to calm her, to gain control of her. Somehow she managed it. And then she saw, much to her horror, that Julian’s horse had not only panicked but bolted.
It was galloping down the bridle path hell for leather, obviously totally spooked by the rifle fire. And then she was filled with fear when Julian was thrown off his horse. He landed heavily, hit a large boulder, rolled over onto his back, and lay still.
Daphne noticed that the other horses were in the same state of great agitation, pawing, tossing their heads, and rearing up. DeLacy was still struggling with Dreamer, trying to calm her. But finally her father had his stallion Blackstar under his control, much to Daphne’s relief.
Julian’s horse ran on, galloping down the bridle path, still a terrified animal.
DeLacy and Daphne galloped forward. As they drew closer to Julian they reined in their horses and jumped to the ground. Their father was running toward Julian, where he lay on the ground not moving. He was obviously badly hurt.
Only Madge remained on her horse, frozen by shock and fear, and unable to move a muscle. She had lost all color, her eyes wide with horror.
Glancing around, DeLacy asked no one in particular, “Where did those shots come from?” And then she went to join her father, who was kneeling next to Julian.
The earl shook his head. “I’ve no idea, DeLacy. But we never have guns out at this time of year.” He felt Julian’s pulse. It was faint but it was there. The young man was deathly white, and Charles noticed that the gash on his forehead was deep, bloody. His eyes were closed; blood was splattered on his fair hair. He was still, very still indeed, hardly breathing. Charles was filled with sudden fear for the young man. The fall had been bad, awkward, and his legs were skewed, looked as if they were broken.
Percy Swann was suddenly back with them, panting from running hard. “Our lads weren’t shooting, m’lord. None of our men have guns out here. I’m not sure where those shots came from, m’lord.”
“Torbett land,” Daphne interjected, certainty ringing in her voice. Half turning, she pointed behind her. “Definitely back there.” She couldn’t help thinking it was Richard Torbett up to his tricks. Then she looked down at
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