Page 64 of The Enigmatic Governess of Buford Manor
“Buford – “
“Where did they last see him?” Nicholas roared again, watching as Lord Sommersail’s face paled.
“They cannot be certain. They do not know these woods as we do.”
Nicholas ordered the men back to the manor and surged forward through the treachery, knowing that wherever his father remained, his hours were numbered.
He is strong, father. He will find a way out and make his way to safety.
The faux reassurances did nothing to ease Nicholas’ mind and soon, he was lost in the thick of the wood, trying desperately to orient himself. His own torch had failed a quarter hour earlier and he had nothing but instinct to guide him.
“Father!” he yelled into the night. “Father, can you hear me?”
There was no response but that of the unforgiving wind, howling in a mocking whistle as it whipped through the trees.
“Father! Please, answer me! I will not leave you!”
Victor whinnied and bucked as they slid over a slick patch of snowy moss. Nicholas held fast to the horse’s mane as he danced sideways, his hooves struggling to grip but the momentum down the hill was growing and Nicholas knew they were both about to land in a heap at the foot of the hill.
The marquess inhaled, bracing for impact but at the last possible second, Victor regained his footing and caught himself in an upright position, neighing with the effort.
“Good boy,” Nicholas told him soothingly, stroking his dark coat soothingly. “There you are. Good boy.”
Victor snorted and bucked slightly.
He is much too skittish for this. I must go back now before I, too, become a casualty of the storm. I will return to the manor for another horse and a torch, speak to Balfour, Peter and Preston again. I will re-orient myself and set out with any man who is willing. I will not wait until morning. By then, it might be much too late. It may already be too late.
Victor started abruptly and stared into the darkness.
“What have you?” he asked the horse, straining his own eyes to see at what the animal stared. He hoped he would not need contend with wolves on such a night, but it seemed to be the way the eve was fated.
I haven’t any fire as means to distract them,Nicholas thought worriedly. He was certain that Victor would be unable to outrun a pack of hungry dogs in the snow.
Yet Nicholas saw no gleaming eyes and Victor whinnied again, tentatively drawing closer to whatever it was he saw.
“Father?” Nicholas cried. “Father is that you?”
He jumped from the horse, even as Victor proceeded toward his master. His heart pounding inside his chest, he lurched forward, uncaring if he fell in the eerie darkness, illuminated only by the flakes of falling snow.
“Father!” he choked, noting the crumbled figure, frozen beneath a fallen tree. “Father! Can you hear me?”
The duke made no movement, his face cold, his eyes closed.
“Oh no,” Nicholas sobbed. “Good God, no!”
He reached to rock his father’s chilled body to his, looking about for a way to free him. Blood had iced into a gruesome puddle at the head wound he had endured.
“Ballocks!” he howled, his head back as if he was the wolf he had expected to encounter. “Father, no!”
Behind him, Victor made a strange sound as if he, too, was crying but Nicholas paid him no mind. He scanned the area, devising a way to free the duke’s body from the terrible grave.
Logically, he knew he could not lift the fallen coniferous without help. After all, three men had tried and failed already.
I must return to Rosecliff and seek assistance.
But the thought of leaving his father alone again aroused bile to his throat.
“No, father,” he choked grimly, rising to shift the massive, heavy tree with all his weight. “I will not leave you here.”
