The Shooting Season by Isobel Starling

Author:Isobel Starling [Starling, Isobel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Decent Fellows Press
Published: 2019-11-22T00:00:00+00:00

The Marauder

After Euan left my chamber I lay in my bed, far too awake and alert at this late hour. My whole body was humming with satisfaction from attaining completion at the hands of my lover. And on waking from sleep I knew the wave of shame would come next. I needed to atone for my slip-up, attend confession, and repent for my sin.

I listened to the fierce gale buffet the old stone house and violently rattle the shutters on my window. My thoughts focused on the ritual that Euan spoke of—using the Staff of Asklepios to attempt to heal him of his lost virility. I worried that we might conjure unholy forces that neither of us could deal with. What if we summoned a Greek God from tales of old? What if we doomed our immortal souls by partaking in such a ritual? Had my need for the Staff led to me making a dreadful decision?

I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of a loud bang in the hall outside my room. The sound was followed by a pained whisper of “Damn it”. I remained silent and still in my bed but my hearing became distinctly attuned to the sounds in the hall, and whoever was wandering around the house after midnight. It could not be Euan returning to my bed—as the Lord of Dunecht Hall he had no need to creep around in the wee small hours.

“OUCH!” another curse came from outside my door this time. If this was Euan coming back for some more entertainment he was sorely mistaken. I rose from my warm bed, groped for my nightgown, stepped into my slippers, and moved silently to the door. I waited for a beat before dragging my door open. I saw a silhouetted figure take off down the hall. I was correct after all, it was not Euan. Who the hell was it behaving so suspiciously? My hackles rose at the man’s behavior. What the devil was he doing skulking around Dunecht Hall? With such treasures present in the house, and each guest having the money to pay for them on their person, it was clear to me that this man was up to no good.

We had a thief among us!

Without thinking, I stepped soundly out of my room and on light slippered feet I followed the intruder. Earlier, the Late Lord Ardmillan’s private collection had been displayed in the attic rooms above us. Euan and the family solicitor Mr. Buchanan were the only key holders.

The scoundrel held a small lantern and kept the light shuttered so only a thin beam shone to light his footfalls. The figure crept to the stone steps that led to the attic. I deduced that he must be residing at the house, for how else would he gain access to the remote hall in such frightful weather. To say this scenario was disquieting would be an understatement. Who would dare steal from the Late Lord Ardmillan’s private collection?

I moved

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