The Legend of Lyon Redmond by Julie Anne Long

Author:Julie Anne Long
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-08-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

WHEN THE FIRST PEBBLE hit her window, Olivia thought perhaps it had begun to hail. The little painted porcelain clock next to her bed said it was a quarter past one in the morning.

The cold was fierce and the sky was a solid, sullen shade of slate when she’d pulled her curtains closed for the evening.

The color of dread.

Surely it could also be the color of hope? Surely good things had happened on other rainy days throughout history?

But the cold outside had leached from the room whatever heat had managed to soak into the floors, and not even her low-burning fire could penetrate it. It was merciless and thorough, as if it had a point to make.

The first little click was followed by another.

Followed by a scatter of more.

It wasn’t how hail behaved, and insects didn’t go about dashing themselves to death on windows on freezing Sussex nights.

She slipped out of bed, pushed her feet into slippers, and reached for a pelisse. Fur-lined, an elegant, much-loved birthday gift from her parents. Every time she shoved her arms into its furry embrace she was reminded of how loved and fortunate she was.

She opened her window a crack. And peered down. It was nearly black in the garden, but she could make out the glow of one of the stone benches scattered about the ground.

Her breath caught when she saw the outline of a man, his face tipped up at her window.

Lyon!

“Olivia, come down.”

“What are you doing? It’s freezing!”

“You must come down at once.”

She’d never heard that tone in his voice. Urgency and desperation and command.

She had the presence of mind to light and seize a little lamp before she bolted down the stairs, skidding a little on the way. The house was absolutely silent and dark, but every shadow and corner of it was familiar, and she likely could have done it with her eyes closed.

She darted through the kitchen and bolted out the door. She could feel the cold through her slippers.

She ran to him.

He seized her by her arms. “Liv. Run away with me, Olivia. We can go tonight and be in Scotland inside of two days, and then we can be married.”

Her breath left her in a shocked gust.

“Gretna Green,” he continued in a feverish rush. “We can leave tonight, be there in two days, and then we—”

“Lyon, have you been drinking?”

“No,” he said firmly, as he shook out of his overcoat and draped it over her, then pulled her close to him, so she could benefit from whatever heat remained in his body. But he was vibrating with a suppressed fury that frightened her. “I have never been more clear in my entire life.”

“The lamp,” she rasped.

He took it from and leaned over to place it on the bench.

And as he did it illuminated his face.

She gasped.

“Lyon, you’ve blood . . . There’s blood . . .”

He touched the corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I came straight here from . . .”

He stopped abruptly.

She thrust her hands into his coat pocket and came out with the handkerchief she knew would be there.

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