Prologue
It was a fine September morning when, dressed in full hunting gear, Marcus St. Clair ran enthusiastically down the main staircase of Sirenwood Manor and across the wainscoted vestibule, to the door of his brother’s study.
As he strode past the ornate grandfather clock, he was so intent on the hunt ahead, he was oblivious to the deep, rhythmic tock-tock of its heavy brass pendulum. It startled him somewhat when the aged timepiece suddenly chimed two, but then he smiled to himself.
I am actually on time. That should please Trevor.
“You don’t run this place and all our other properties and business ventures at a profit without keeping on top of things, Marcus,” Trevor was fond of telling his younger brother. “Remember that just in case you have to take over from me one day.”
“That will never happen,” Marcus would reply fervently.
“You’re in the prime of life and as strong as an ox.
Besides, it behoves you to take care of yourself, Brother.
You know I could never manage all the responsibilities you do so successfully.
You seem to thrive on all the endless work being the duke entails, whereas I cheerfully admit I think it would kill me. ”
Trevor would chuckle, and although Marcus often noticed a note of wistfulness in his brother’s voice, he did not dwell upon it. He was merely thankful to be the second son and, therefore, free of all the laborious ducal duties Trevor dealt with daily with apparent ease.
He arrived outside the study door to see it was ajar, so he tapped on it with his knuckles and then pushed it open.
His brother, tall and dark-haired like himself, was standing by the enormous mahogany desk that had faithfully served several generations of the Dukes of Sirenwood. Also dressed for the hunt, he looked up from the papers he was perusing and smiled at Marcus.
“Ah, there you are. On time, I see. Very good,” Trevor said jovially in his deep voice as he placed the papers on the desk.
“I do try to take heed of your lessons on timekeeping, Brother,” Marcus replied with a small laugh as he entered the study. “Even if I don’t always manage to stick to them.”
“Hmm, I think you manage to be on time when it suits you. You wish to go deer hunting this afternoon, hence you are on time,” Trevor said teasingly.
“Well, be that as it may, I see you are ready to ride out. Have you finished your business for the day? Can we go?”
“Of course. I am the lord of efficiency as you know. I have the day planned down to the minute, and the rest of it stretches before me unencumbered. I hope you realise how honoured you are that I cleared my diary to spend time with you.”
“Your magnanimity is laudable,” Marcus replied with a wry smile. “However, I suspect it also has something to do with you wishing to go hunting so you can serve venison to the Archbishop when he comes for dinner next week.”
Trevor chuckled and nodded. “That is true, but it is simply an added bonus. I have truly been looking forward to spending some time with you, Brother, before you disappear off to London again on one of your merry jaunts. And some good hunting is just the ticket. It is a long, long time since we have done this together.” He picked up his whip from the desk.
“Aye, since before Father died and you became submerged in overseeing the dukedom,” Marcus agreed with a sigh, thinking back to their younger days when they were almost inseparable. “I miss those days.”
“So do I, and seeing as you are so keen, let’s waste no more time. To the armoury.” Trevor said laughing.
Marcus grinned and tapped his thigh with his whip. “To the armoury it is!”
Half an hour later, equipped with hunting rifles, the brothers rode out of the stable yard, each seated atop a sleek and powerful horse.
“Why, the beasts are fairly champing at the bit to get out there,” Trevor remarked, bringing his skittish horse under control with a quick flick of this reins. “We should put them to work more often.”
“I do my best to exercise them daily while I’m here, and the stable lads take them out regularly as well. But they are somewhat high-strung to be sure. Yours seems particularly lively,” Marcus replied as they trotted across the pastures surrounding the manor.
“Yes, he does, doesn’t he? Evidently, he has a lot of pent-up energy, but I’m certain that a few hours of hard hunting will deal with that.”
“Shall we start with a race then? Shall we say, first to the gates of Home Farm?”
“All right, I’ll be waiting for you,” Trevor said laughing mischievously, without warning he kicked up his horse into a canter and raced away across the paddock in the direction of Home Farm, around a mile distant.
Marcus laughed too as he urged his horse to follow, shouting, “I could call that cheating, but I suppose, since I’m the better rider and will undoubtedly beat you, you need the head start!”
They arrived at the gates of the farm at around the same time and decided there was nothing in it.
They then spent the next few hours cheerfully tracking deer though the estate’s extensive fields and woods, bagging a couple of fat pheasants on the way.
But they had no luck with bigger game until they approached the lake.
“Wait,” Trevor said suddenly, bringing his horse to a halt by the shore of the lake and signalling to Marcus to do the same. “Look there, across the water, in among the trees, can you see them?” He pointed across the water.
Marcus shaded his eyes from the sun with his hand and squinted at the spot his brother was indicating.
It was almost impossible to see the small herd of deer, for they were well camouflaged among the undergrowth and tree trunks along the tree line of the copse on the opposite bank.
But then he glimpsed the flicking white tail of a fawn, and suddenly they all came into focus, and he was able to make out their red coats against the sun-stippled background.
“Yes, I see them. About thirty, would you say?”
“Yes, and a few nice healthy-looking bucks among them. Take one or two of those, and it will help keep the numbers down.”
“We should take it slowly so as not to startle them,” Marcus supplied.
“Come on then, let’s take a nice, leisurely walk around the lake and see how close we can get before they run.”
They set off, following the path around the edge of the water, making as little noise as possible.
Marcus thought it remarkable when they made it to the opposite shore without spooking the creatures, which were now about a few hundred yards from them.
They stopped and loaded their guns, ready for the kill.
“You dismount and advance from the front, Marcus. There’s plenty of cover for you, so you should be able to get in quite close. I’ll ride around the back. When they see you and run, I should be able to get a couple of shots off. If I don’t hit anything, maybe you will.”
“All right.” Marcus slid down from his saddle, shouldering his gun, before finding cover behind a patch of scrubby bush as instructed.
He watched as his brother walked his horse around the copse, giving the deer a wide berth as he advanced, intent on not startling them before he got into a shooting position.
Soon, he was out of sight. Marcus, his rifle in his hands, began creeping forward in a crouch, moving stealthily from bush to bush as he approached the tree line and the feeding animals, which were still oblivious to the threat.
But he reached a point where there was open ground, and as he had to break cover, they spotted him and swiftly took off, dashing away gracefully in the opposite direction until they vanished among the thickening trees.
Marcus ran after them then, waiting to hear the report from his brother’s rifle as, hopefully, Trevor got a good shot at the fleeing deer as they ran from the rear of the copse.
But instead of gunshots, he suddenly heard the frantic scream of a horse in fear, and then a loud shout of alarm.
His blood went cold, for the sound could only have come from his brother.
Fearing Trevor was in trouble, he raced through the trees in the wake of the deer.
When he came out on the other side, he gasped in horror.
“Oh, no! Trevor!” he shouted in alarm, for all he could see was his brother’s horse racing away across the adjoining field, with Trevor being dragged along behind it, his booted foot apparently caught in the stirrup.
“I’m coming!” Marcus shouted again, knowing he did not have time to go back and retrieve his own horse.
His only option was to chase them on foot, so he shouldered his rifle and flung himself after them, running across the field as far as he could.
“Trevor! Are you all right?” he panted, finally managing to catch up when the spooked horse eventually stopped running several minutes later. It was now unconcernedly cropping the grass at the edge of the copse, its fear forgotten.
Marcus dared not spook it again, for his brother’s boot was still stuck in the stirrup.
If the beast decided to take off again, it would take Trevor with it.
So, he went slowly. “It’s all right, boy, nothing to be scared of, take it easy,” he told it in soothing tones as he gradually approached.
Thankfully, the horse now seemed more interested in eating and allowed him to reach his brother without it running again.
Marcus knelt next to the fallen man and hurriedly released his trapped leg from the stirrup, breathing a sigh of partial relief when it was done.
“Trevor, are you all right? Can you speak to me?” he asked, looking down in appalled shock at the state of his brother’s face. It was bruised, swollen, and bloody, almost unrecognisable, and his clothes were shredded and filthy.
Trevor let out a groan as Marcus gently turned him over.
“Thank God, you’re alive. Trevor, say something!
” The sign of life filled him with hope, but when he gently lifted Trevor by the shoulders and tried to see into his eyes, they were dull, as if the light was draining out of them, and he was clearly in a great deal of pain.
Marcus’s hopes diminished when despite his pleas, Trevor did not seem able to speak.
He only continued to let out a series of groans and harsh, broken breaths, as if he could not get enough air into his lungs.
The hope in Marcus’s heart turned to terror, and his whole body began shaking. He forced himself to think rationally.
“Trevor, don’t worry, it’s going to be all right. I’m going to get help. Just don’t try to move and hang on until I get back. I’ll be as fast as I can.”
Marcus hated to leave him, but he knew he had no choice.
He ran back as fast as he could through the copse, to where he had left his own horse.
It was tranquilly nibbling on the long grass.
Without taking the basic safety precaution of emptying the gun, he slung it over his shoulder and swung himself into the saddle.
“Git up!” he cried, kicking the beast up to a fast gallop as he made his way back across the fields, heading to the stables for help.
As he rode, gripped by a sense of dread, the same words revolved in his head like a prayer: “Please, just let him live!”