Wreck And Ruin by Amy Corwin

Author:Amy Corwin
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Scarsdale Publishing, Ltd
Published: 2017-07-24T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Out riding, Blackwold brought his horse to a halt and watched the trap heading toward Blackrock. Even at this distance, he could make out the slender figure of Hannah, topped by a ridiculous old black bonnet of his grandmother’s. He grinned and his hands tightened on the reins as a desire to join the group filled him.

His horse, sensing the quickening of his interest, moved in the direction of the road, and he had to bring the mare, Hera, to a stop. Hera snorted and danced sideways, wanting to continue forward to join the old chestnut horse pulling the trap.

“You’re as bad as I am—wanting all the wrong things, eh girl?” He patted her neck and turned her around to gallop over the pasture sloping away from the cliffs behind them and the road bordering the other side.

The devil of it was, that despite everything else on his mind, his thoughts continued to stray to Hannah’s smiling face.

He rode for another hour, tiring Hera, before easing her down the trail to the beach. Searching along the beach for more debris from the Orion and any clues left behind by the wreckers, he reviewed what little Hannah had told him. A broken mast and huge pieces of the hull had washed up, along with bits of rope, a few bottles, and even a waterlogged bible that was too far gone to salvage. He studied the wreckage before climbing back up on Hera and guiding her up one of the steep paths leading to the cliffs from the small, secluded beach.

His early morning interview with Hannah had confirmed his concern that she’d been a witness to the bloody activities that night. His brow wrinkled in deep thought as he rode back to the house. The distinct impression that she hadn’t told him everything about the sinking of the Orion plagued him.

She didn’t trust him, that much was obvious. And really, why should she? She didn’t know any of them very well, and the Hodges were not known for being sensible or comfortably commonplace.

By the time he’d returned to the house and ensured that Hera was properly taken care of, the female members of the small party he’d seen on the road had disappeared indoors. Henry, however, had set out again almost immediately to drive the trap back to the inn.

Aware that the odor of horses and barnyards lingered around him, Blackwold ambled upstairs to wash and don a less fragrant set of clothes. His valet informed him that the dowager and the young ladies were in the Rose Drawing Room on the first floor, and Blackwold didn’t bother to resist his desire to join them.

“Where have you been?” his grandmother greeted him in a querulous, shaky voice.

He glanced at her, his brows raised in mild surprise before his incipient grin turned into a frown. Her brown eyes appeared sunken into deep hollows, and her normally ruddy complexion had turned gray, emphasizing the deep wrinkles around her mouth and eyes.

If her voice hadn’t alerted him, her appearance certainly did.

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