Page 69 of Gambling with the Earl
Decades later, Guy could still hear Angus’s last words as his horse bolted towards the edge of the cliffs, chased by the angry boar.
“Guy, help me,” he’d screamed.
The squeal of terror as the horse plunged to its death, taking Angus with it, was a sound that punctuated his nightmares.
His mother blamed him, absolutely, for the death of her youngest son. And his father hadn’t wasted any time in laying his own guilt and responsibility firmly at Guy’s feet.
“You were in charge,” he roared, full of the black rage that tainted their lives.
Then he took aim at Guy with a dagger of his own, to show him how it should be done. The dagger landed squarely above his clavicle. Not threatening his life, but leaving a permanent knot of memory too painful to bear.
Standing by his horse in the stables of Rossfarne Castle, Guy drew on his steely reserves of strength, barricading his defences against the onslaught of feelings which he’d spent most of his life holding in check.
He wouldn’t crumble. Not today. Not ever.
Any regret he harboured over Kitty, paled into insignificance given the burden he already carried.
He cleared his throat and issued a command to the groom.
“Prepare my horse. We leave tomorrow.”
Chapter Nineteen
Alfred came intothe kitchen, staggering under the weight of the wood he carried. He nodded to Kitty and Lizzie, who were busily rolling out pastry on the scrubbed pine table, and tipped the chopped logs into the basket by the fire.
“You’ll never guess what I’ve heard,” he declared, putting his hands to the small of his back and stretching.
“The king himself is coming for tea?” quipped Lizzie. “I could believe almost anything after the time we’ve had.”
Alfred guffawed. “Not quite, but not far off.”
“Mercy on us.” Lizzie put a floury hand to her bosom. “He’s jesting, surely?” she appealed to Kitty.
Kitty longed only for peace and quiet, but she turned a practised smile onto Alfred. “Tell us, please.”
“His lordship is returning to the king’s service.” Alfred nodded in the direction of Rossfarne Castle. “Our Earl of Rossfarne happens to be a knight of the realm. Not a scoundrel, like his uncle before him. And that’s not all.”
Kitty lowered her face until her hair hung forwards and obscured the blush that rose to her cheeks at the mention of Guy. Her heart pounded as if he was standing in the room beside her.
“Alfred, finish your tale before we grow weary of it.” Lizzie flapped her hands at her fellow servant.
“He’s shutting up the castle.” Alfred helped himself to a slice of fruit pie, newly brought from the oven. “He’ll be gone for months, years perhaps.”
His words reached Kitty as if through a haze of fog. She half rose from her chair, panic sending pinpricks of heat to her arms and legs.
“Years?” she repeated.
Alfred shrugged, oblivious to her turmoil. “He’s leaving the marshal in charge,” he said, through a mouthful of pie.
Kitty stood up and her chair clattered to the stone floor behind her.
“Mercy, what is it now?” demanded Lizzie. “The good Lord knows my nerves can’t stand any more surprises.”
Kitty couldn’t find any words to explain herself. She stood in the sun-filled kitchen and gawped like a deer caught in a huntsman’s gaze.
“I must go,” she muttered, abandoning her newly rolled pastry.
“Kitty, what ails you?” Lizzie called out after her, but Kitty was deaf to her pleading. She gathered her skirts and swept out of the room, her pulse racing.
