Your Darkest Dream (Blackwood & Friends #2)

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

"What could they possibly have left to discuss?" Nate asked once Jason had lowered the arm he had extended, the pistol clasped loosely now at his side. The crack still echoed dimly, the sound carrying far to the edges of the field the four of them were occupying, the same from the previous day.

The Marquis of Northwick squinted against a flicker of sunlight that was peeking over the rim of a darkly grey cloud before swivelling to regard his companion. Following Nate's gaze, he found himself studying Blanche and Nicola congregating by the ruined stone fence, their animated voices drifting over the breeze. "How the devil would I know?" Jason grunted, aborting his stance and setting about loading another round. "Womanly things, I imagine."

"She should be practising her aim," Nate remarked, eyeing the tiny brunette who was currently hopping around ridiculously atop the ruined wall, brandishing a stick she had found from the ground like a rapier. It cleaved the air before her, almost clipping Nicola's nose while she sat before Blanche on the wall and giggled.

"She was," Jason pointed out, "until our egos got the better of us."

"You owe me twenty pounds," Nate muttered distractedly, noting how she now crossed one foot over the other and positioned the stick down like a cane, leaning against it with a congenial air.

"I should have known better really," Jason grumbled, standing once more with a groan and a stretch. "My aim is pathetic."

"True."

"Your targets are not helpful either."

Nate looked at him wryly. The targets were several different sized wine bottles he had pilfered from the remnants of the ball that had been held a few days ago, now stationed atop a wooden trestle table some twenty yards away. Only one of them had been shattered. "Would you like me to bring them up to your nose? Perhaps then you won't miss."

"Don't be an ass, Nate." Jason took aim once more, his brown hair tousled by the rough draft of wind that billowed across the field suddenly. With it came the taint of rain.

"The woman should practise," he mumbled, once more drawn to Blanche who was using the stick as an awkward waltz partner now as she twirled tightly atop the stones. "Before it starts to rain, I want Blanche to practise her jabs at least."

Jason fired his pistol... and predictably missed. He cursed miserably. "Is she taking to your instruction?" he asked curiously.

"With a tenacity."

"Certainly sounds like Blanche," Jason snorted.

"Show your wife how to load a pistol, Blackwood. I'll corral your sister."

"Yes, sir."

As Nate approached, Nicola was looking up at Blanche, both women enraptured by their own conversation- one still and poised, the other vehemently twirling a stick about.

"It was confounding, Bee. Why would it even be there?" Nicola was saying with a sense of intrigued indignation. "A thick black hair, right on my chin. I don't even have black hair!"

"Perhaps it was Jason's," Blanche offered sympathetically.

"I had to pluck it out with a pair of tweezers," Nicola bemoaned.

"Clearly nothing is sacred between the two of you," Nate added drolly.

Nicola jumped with a squeak, clapping her hand to her mouth in horror. Blanche barked out a laugh. "Oh, you horrid, friend," Nicola reprimanded her. "You saw him approach yet you let me continue."