Authors: t
Stuart winced. “Ouch, that was downright fiendish of you, but I can’t say I feel sorry for the man.”
As Stuart had predicted, the two guards posted at the North entrance to the estate were busily playing cards, smoking pipes and nipping some kind of liquor they had brought along to ward off the evening chill.
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André and Stuart dismounted some distance away, signaling to each other as they approached their quarry on silent feet. The only sounds penetrating the night were the startled grunts of the guards as pistol butts made contacts with their skulls. André and Stuart made short shrift of tying them together with their backs to each other, then blindfolded and gagged them.
Without looking back they wordlessly set off toward the main house.
Once again André blessed the foresight of his ancestors, when he approached the house.
How fortunate that the estate lived up to its name. Greenbriar lay nestled among copses of trees and thick underbrush.
“I don’t know how long I’ll need. Hopefully, Aunt Victoria hid the document I am looking for behind the loose brick in the fireplace. If that holds true, I shouldn’t be gone more than twenty minutes. Check your timepiece.”
“It’s hell to see in this darkness, but maybe the moon takes pity on us. Get going already.
I’ll hoot like an owl, if someone approaches or Snowden returns unexpectedly.”
André slipped off Noir and disappeared among the shadows like a seasoned thief. And in truth, he had learned from a pickpocket in Paris how to blend in with people, how to pretend nonchalance, even though your heart is beating a staccato tattoo.
He dragged his focus back to the mission before him. It would not do to dwell on the fate of some orphaned urchin. Well, he was no longer penniless. He worked the stable at André’s town house in the Rue St. Honoré and had no reason to steal anymore to survive.
Using his knife, André pried the doors to the study open, then closed them noiselessly behind him. He knew the room by heart, having spent time here as recently as last year.
Keeping to the carpet to muffle his footsteps, he went unerringly to the fireplace. Bending low, he stepped one foot inside the opening and felt for the loose brick. He cursed the need to do it in the dark, lest he call attention to his presence.
His body thrummed with tension as he ran his fingertips along row after row of bricks.
Nothing. What had happened to the brick? What if Aunt Victoria felt the need to move the document to another place? But where, if she had?
Just then his hand encountered a rough edge and he gently pulled. The brick came away into his palm and André’s heart thudded with relief. Still, he had to make sure it was the document he’d been looking for.
He stepped to the window and was about to unroll the parchment to scan its contents, when he thought he heard the hoot of an owl. He stilled and listened–there is was again. At the same instant he heard footsteps in the hallway. He hesitated, his fist closing about the papers.
Exhaling on a troubled breath, he concealed them in the front of his shirt.
There was no time to slip through the door. The moon lit up the back terrace like daylight. He would never make it to the tree line. In desperation he pulled the latch to hide behind the bookcase.
Snowden could have sworn he’d heard the scrape of boots in his study. He held the candelabra high above his head and slowly turned on his heel to look around the room.
Everything seemed in order, though a frisson of unease raised the short hairs on his nape. His lip etched upward in disgust. He would not feel at peace until he had Despard in his grasp and could dispose of him.
He set the candelabra down and took a step toward the sideboard. If anyone deserved a dram of brandy it was him. His hand stopped in mid-air, the decanter of French brandy within easy reach, when he spied a series of dust smudges on the gleaming parquet floor; partial, fresh footprints, leading directly to the bookshelf.
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He chuckled under his breath. Well, what do you know? It could be no one but Despard.
And wouldn’t the bastard be surprised, when he would confront him with the barrel of his rifle?
A shame he had not thought to replace the pitchfork for Despard to slide into. But no matter. He would shoot him like the dog he was and let him rot behind the wall partition until he could transport him during a moonless night into the woods.
His mouth curved into an evil grin. Wouldn’t it be poetic justice, if he dug a grave next to the solicitor’s? He almost laughed out loud at his own cleverness. Once he disposed of Despard, he could start all over. He would leave Greenbriar behind. Sell it and move to another part of the country.
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André saw the flicker of candlelight through the air holes that were strategically placed in the corners of the bookcase shelves. Unless you knew where they were, you would have a hard time finding them. He held his breath, listening to Snowden muttering to himself, while he walked around the study.
Then suddenly there was nothing, no movement, no muttering, nor the scraping of soles across the floor. The abrupt silence set André hackles on edge. Whatever the man had in mind, he wasn’t about to stick around to find out. He knew Snowden had found the slide to the cellar, so he turned to his right and pressed another latch, knowing that the narrow steps would lead him to a hidden door and the master bedroom on the upper floor.
It meant he would be trapped upstairs, but he had to risk it. It was his only chance to escape, though he’d still have to figure out how to manage that.
The minute he spied the dusty footsteps, Snowden forgot that he came in for a drink. He snatched up the rifle he kept in the corner of the study and cocked it. He wasn’t about to let Despard escape again. He sneered.
Taking a deep, triumphant breath, Snowden unlatched the bookcase and jerked it open.
His eyes glittered with hatred, when he rushed into the narrow space, his finger on the trigger of the gun. “Got you,” he crowed, before he stopped in his tracks, stunned.
He’d been so sure André would stand behind the secret panel. He spat on the floor as he cast an ambivalent glare down the dark slide to the cellar. Just the memory of how the pitchfork had penetrated his thigh and grazed his groin made him shudder. Bloody hell and damnation, he would not let the bastard get away again. Apprehension knotted his stomach, but his hatred for André was bigger than his fear of the slide. Keeping his booted feet together, he slid into the yawning maw to the cellar.
He stood up in one easy motion once he reached the bottom and set out on a run, hoping to catch André before he could get very far.
From his vantage point atop Rebel, Stuart spotted Snowden exploding from the cellar doors, his head swiveling from right to left, his rifle gripped with both hands. Stuart cursed under his breath. If Snowden ran around brandishing a rifle, it could only mean that he knew that André had infiltrated the premises. He hesitated only a moment, before he hooted like an owl. But would André recognize it as a warning that Snowden was prowling outside?
André stood in the shadows of the balcony that led out of the master bedroom. He followed Snowden’s every move as he crept about the gardens and outlying sheds looking for him. Biting his lip, he wondered how Snowden could have gotten wind of his presence. And there was no doubt in his mind that he was looking for him. The gleeful “Got you” had reverberated all the way up the secret passage to the master bedroom.
Merde, if Snowden continued to search the premises he would be trapped up here for an unspecified time.
He cast a worried look toward the trees at the North end. Would Stuart stay put? And then he heard the hooting and knew that Stuart was aware of the situation. He leaned over the balustrade to gauge the distance to the ground. If he had Noir waiting below, he could scale over STORMY HEIDE KATROS
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the side and then drop down into the saddle. A risky stunt, but at this point his life depended on a great deal of luck.
Taking a chance he stepped away from the shadows and waved his arms in hopes that Stuart would see him and get the message.
Just as André leaned against the balustrade, Snowden turned and looked up. Bracing his rifle he took careful aim and fired. Sheer luck, a second sense, André would never know and he surely didn’t have time to think on it, but he twisted the very moment the bullet whistled past him to lodge in the frame of the door behind him. André ducked and took refuge inside the master bedroom as Snowden fired several more shots.
He decided against trading shots with Snowden. He had only a pistol and he wanted to be sure he would fire it only if he had no other choice, because it would be one shot, one kill or he would die himself.
Snowden probably figured he had André neatly trapped in the master bedroom. In three quick steps he hurried across the room and locked the door. It took some effort and several more moments before he was able to barricade it with the help of a dresser. Sweat poured down his face and his shirt clung damply to his back.
He’d barely finished, when Snowden pounded against the door, cursing loudly, when it didn’t give. Seconds later, bullets splintered the wood, where once the lock was. André didn’t hesitate any longer. He raced for the secret door next to the tester bed. Breathing heavily, his heart thumping in his chest, he had a fleeting glimpse of Snowden battering down the top of the door.
André clattered down the narrow staircase, uncaring that he might be heard. It didn’t surprise him to find the bookcase gaping, so he didn’t bother to close it behind him, but ran to the library door, yanked it open and continued to run toward the woods.
Stuart saw him coming and rode forward, urging Noir along. André vaulted into the saddle. They didn’t exchange any words, knowing they had to get out of range.
They’d barely made it to the tree line, when shots rang out after them. André twisted in his saddle to check. “Snowden is shooting at us from the balcony. But since he saw us, he’ll give chase in no time. The man has murder on his mind.”
He chanced a look at Stuart as they both leaned low to urge their mounts to a faster pace.
“I am glad we managed this without Thomas and Trevor. We are in tune with each other and knew how to become one with the night. I would have never been able to forgive myself if either of the men had come along and gotten hurt.”
They rode several miles through wooded terrain without slowing the horses. “We need to stop and remove the rags from their hooves,” André whispered in deference to the fact that night carried sound and he wasn’t about to risk giving away their location.
“Let’s do it up ahead. There is a small stream. We’ll dismount and lead the horses across. That way Snowden might lose our trail, if he has picked it up yet.”
“I am sure he is hot on our tails, but I am counting on his hatred to cloud his mind. We’d be in trouble if he thought to set his hounds on us.”
They dismounted, stripped the rags off the horses’ hooves and started to lead them across the shallow stream. Icy water seeped through the seams of their boots, but neither of them was about to complain.
“So, did you find what you were looking for?”
He patted his chest. “I’ve got the documents right here, but before I could scan them I heard Snowden’s footsteps in the hallway and I had no choice but to slip behind the bookcase.”
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“What were you doing upstairs?”
André snorted. “It was either that or down the slide into the cellar and Snowden already knew that route.” He chuckled softly. “Luckily, he only knows that passage, though I am sure once he returns to Greenbriar he will tear the place apart and look for the rest of the secret corridors. I doubt he’ll ever find them all, because there are quite a few and not all of them are connected. I closed the tapestry in the master bedroom carefully behind me and took the extra time to secure the latch on the door going up.”
Stuart turned to him. “Since we didn’t expect Snowden to discover your presence, we haven’t made any plans, where we will go.”
“Let’s just get out of the county to where Snowden’s power can’t touch us. I need to peruse the documents before I can decide what to do next.”
They’d crossed the stream and mounted back up. Guided by the stars they rode steadily in a southeasterly direction, each lost to his own thoughts.
“We should be out of Snowden’s region by now,” André said softly after another hour’s ride. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his timepiece. “It’s almost four in the morning. I think we should take a short rest. Maybe there is an inn up ahead or a farm, where we can sleep a few hours.”
“Do you think that is wise? I doubt that man stops short of anything, especially, since he is obsessed with getting rid of you.”
“Well, I don’t want to ride Noir into the ground and surely he has some respect for the welfare of his own mount. Besides, it’s past time that I read Aunt Victoria’s documents.”
For a while they rode parallel to the road until they spied a small farm up ahead. Lantern light in the barn was a sure sign that the farmer was up and about with his animals.
André reined Noir in front of the barn and dismounted. He stayed gone several long minutes, but returned with a cheeky grin on his face.
“So, what did you bargain for?” Stuart knew André could be persuasive.
“We’ll have a hearty breakfast and we will be able to sleep up in the hayloft for as long as we desire.” He chuckled. “The farmer is an old sourpuss. He didn’t trust me. I guess I do look rather down-at-heel after the long night we’ve spent in the saddle. He held me in check with a pitchfork, expecting me to attack him despite my assurance that I meant him no harm.