The Dowager Countess (The Saga of Wolfbridge Manor Book 2), Sahara Kelly [best thriller novels to read txt] 📗

“Good idea.” The older woman nodded. “I’ll let ‘em know.” She took her tankards and made her way back to her tent.

Royce and Gabriel made their way up, shiny with sweat and panting a little. “Ahhh, ale. Yes.” Royce grabbed an empty tankard and held it out to Giles. “Fill it. Please. Have pity on a dying man.”

Giles did so, handing it back with a grin. “You surprised me. Both of you.” His glance took in Gabriel as well. “I was impressed with your juggling skills.” A tankard for Gabriel followed his statement.

Neither man answered for a moment or two while they slaked their thirsts. Then Royce wiped his mouth on his sleeve, sighed with pleasure and grinned. “Neither of us knew the other one could do it,” he said. “So when I saw Gabriel juggling, and took the chance to see whether I could still do it…well, the show was born.”

“You’re damn good at it,” complimented Gabriel, belching slightly. “God, that’s good, Giles. Thank you.”

A rumble in the distance made a lot of people pause and turn to look over their shoulders.

“Damn,” said Royce. “Those are not friendly clouds.”

Giles had to agree. On the far horizon, behind the hills surrounding Wolfbridge, lurked a massive gathering of darkness, black and grey clouds tipped with white where the sunlight could hit them. They were not, as Royce so aptly put it, friendly clouds.

“Couple of hours yet, I’d say,” offered Gabriel.

“I agree. Let’s hope the winds change and blow it in another direction.”

Gwyneth’s voice brought all their heads around. She’d walked up, unseen, as they were focussing on the storm brewing to the west.

“My Lady,” bowed Giles. “Magnificent as always.”

She shook her head. “Nonsense. But I do feel quite Medieval, thanks to this garb and my flowers.” She touched her hand to her head. “And it seems as though everyone is enjoying themselves.”

“I’ve heard nothing but praise,” said Jeremy, coming up to her with a deep ladle filled with water. “Here. You might not want an ale, but you should drink plenty of water in this weather.”

She gave him a warm smile. “Thank you, Mama.”

He sighed. “I try. But really. Children, these days.” He looked at Giles and shrugged. “There’s no accounting for them.”

The laughter echoed around them, and everyone nearby smiled.

Two hours later, Giles realised that the predictions of bad weather would indeed come to pass. The heat was oppressive, the air barely moved, and Jeremy had long since left his post at the water barrel and joined Giles handing out tankards of ale.

Even the children seemed to have slowed, although the fact that Evan’s food was being devoured at a rapid rate might have contributed to the general sense of lassitude that spread over the fête.

Gwyneth was wandering around, stopping here and there, chatting with everyone, laughing with the wives, charming the husbands and going down on one knee to speak with the little ones.

She had come a long way, Giles thought to himself as he saw her accept a baby and cradle it for a little while before handing it back. In good health, she was a pleasure to look at. In sound mind, she was a force to be reckoned with.

The rumbles of thunder grew louder, and she turned to Giles, waving and pointing at the Manor.

He nodded. “It’s time, Jeremy. Let’s see if we can get people indoors before that breaks…”

“Easy,” grinned Jeremy, turning to the crowd. “I need some lads…the ale’s got to be moved indoors…”

That was enough. Silently blessing Jeremy, Giles stood back as four strong young men ferried both tankards and ale barrels across the lawns to the open doors and inside.

Where the ale went, the revellers followed, bringing what they could with them, and many helping secure the tents as best they could before joining the rest in the Wolfbridge ballroom.

Evan’s foodstuffs were carefully transported, along with the remains of the roast on the spit, although there was some delay as dishes had to be found to hold the leftover pork.

Lightning flashed, thunder cracked and growled, and yet still there was no rain. The sun had vanished, the gloom grew deeper and darker, and children fetched up against their parents, huddling against skirts and trousers, staring wide-eyed at the tumbling mass of grey and black covering the sky. Their timing had been excellent. Everyone was now indoors, awaiting the storm that now loomed from horizon to horizon.

Giles, Gwyneth and Evan stood by the windows, as Jeremy and Gabriel reassured a group of youngsters and helped them find their parents.

Savage bursts of lightning lit the room brighter than daylight, scarce a second between flashes. It was truly a storm of unusual strength, but Giles had no worries that Wolfbridge could handle it. He was somewhat concerned about the tents outside should the wind rise to gale force…

There was a sharp crack, a mighty flash…Evan shouted something and slid forward…another sharp bang mingling with the crash of thunder…

The window shattered into an explosion of flying glass and Gwyneth cried out as she and Evan collapsed to the floor.

There was blood…

Chapter Twenty-Eight

It was chaos. Utter and complete chaos.

Gwyneth felt Evan’s body slumped on hers, the warmth of what she knew must be blood soaking into her. For a brief moment she was dazed, caught unaware, trying to comprehend what had happened, and exploring her body to see if she was injured.

Then hands moved Evan and she wriggled away. “I’m all right, I’m all right,” she said, lungs heaving, heart pounding now as she saw Evan. “What is it? Evan…”

“He’s been shot.” Royce was there. “Through the window. Be careful of the broken glass…”

Giles nodded. “Yes. Yes, you’re right.” He seemed as shaken as