"Go!"
The moment the command rang out across the fields, the four of us set out without the slightest hesitation, striding forward while making sure to keep sufficient distance between the two competing duos. When I passed Mr Ambrose, two whispered words reached my ears.
"Stay safe."
It was not a request. It was an order. I wanted nothing more than to throw my arms around him and hug him tight, but I couldn't. With the others watching, all I could do was give him a brief nod and walk past. My eyes, however, told a different story.
I will. And I'll come back to you and Berty.
Hopefully, I would be able to keep that promise. Straightening my shoulders, I looked ahead. Now, it was time to hunt!
Side by side, Karim and I strode through the knee-high grass. We were both holding rifles and, with his other hand, the big Mohammedan was leading a pair of dogs behind him. Sidling up to the massive man, I leaned over and lowered my voice.
"So...how exactly do you hunt pheasants?"
The bodyguard's big beard twitched. "You went on a hunt without knowing how to actually hunt?"
I cocked an eyebrow. "I live in the middle of bloody London! You might not have noticed, but pheasants are rather rare there."
"There are more than enough pigeons."
"And policemen, who for some reason seem to disapprove of people firing guns in the middle of the city. Now, how do you hunt bloody pheasants?"
"With them." Karim gestured at the dogs.
"Hm. So that's why they're here!" I glanced at the dogs curiously. They seemed rather familiar... "Oh, it's you, Barb and Wire! Who's a good boy? Who's a good bo—"
"Grrrrwl! Grrrrwl!"
"Um...adequate boy?"
"Woof! Woof!"
Good to know some things never changed.
"So..." I tapped my chin. "How does this work?"
In answer, Karim gestured at the earth-coloured fields in front of us. "We send the dogs ahead through the underbrush. When they find pheasants, the birds' flight instinct will make them want to save themselves by, well, taking flight."
"Must be unimaginative birds."
"And rather stupid ones. If they stayed on the ground, hidden in the grass, they would be perfectly fine. But by rising into the air, they present the perfect target."
I glanced at the rifle in my hand. "And that's when we strike."
"As you say, Sahiba."
"You hear?" Bending down, I patted Barb and Wire as Karim let go of the leash. "It's all up to you now. Go, run! Run and find pheasants!"
They didn't move a muscle.
"Run, I said!"
Still, they did not move. Unless you counted Barb cocking his head and giving me a "Why don't you run?" kind of look.
"My apologies for having to inform you of this, Sahiba, but dogs usually do not speak English."
"Oh? You think so?" Raising a challenging eyebrow, I stared at him. "Let's try again, shall we?" And I turned back to Barb and Wire. "If you find me some pheasants, you can have them all once you are done. In addition, I will give you some treats and shiny toys to play with."
Instantly, the two dogs' ears shot up. Whirling around, they dashed off through the tall grass, sniffing and searching.
"There, you see?" I sent the bodyguard a smug look. "Me, best hunter in the world."
He opened his mouth to respond—when suddenly, he lunged forward, spreading his arms out in front of me.
"Down!" he hissed.
At any other time, I might have demanded why. At any other time, I might have argued. But right now, there was something in Karim's voice...
Instinctively, I threw myself to the ground.
Crack!
Just a little bit to my left, the branch of a bush exploded, and what was left of it tumbled to the ground.
"Oops," the smug voice of the vicomte reached my ears. Turning my head, I saw him some distance away, smirking at us. "Je suis désolé, Messieurs. I beg your pardon. My young friend here still lacks experience with firearms, and his hand must have slipped, non?"
"Yes." Karim nodded. "That's what must have happened."
"I'm so glad you agr—"
"And I," Karim ruthlessly cut him off as he brought his rifle up in one smooth motion to aim directly at the Frenchman's smug face, "am also quite inexperienced with firearms. So let's hope no more accidents happen, lest my finger twitch at the wrong moment, yes?"
From down on the ground, I stared up at Karim's implacable face, abruptly reminded of the fact that he wasn't just a loveable, oversized teddy bear, but a man who had survived roughly half a decade at my husband's side. Not an easy feat, I can assure you.
For a long moment, Karim and DeMordaunt had a staring contest—then the Frenchman averted his gaze ever so slightly.
"Oui." He gave an abrupt nod. "We wouldn't want that."
Then he whirled around and strode off, not bothering to spare us another glance.
"Come, boy!" he barked at his servant. A moment later, they both had vanished into the undergrowth.
I smirked up at the massive Mohammedan.
"Karim, have I ever told you that you're badass?"
"My posterior is perfectly fine, thank you very much!"
My smirk widened. "Collecting slang is a hobby of mine. Blame my honeymoon in America."
"I will, Sahiba. I most certainly will," he told me, his tone making me feel quite a bit of pity for whichever American would be unfortunate enough to cross his path in the future. Extending a hand to me, he helped me up. "Now, shall we continue?"
"Yes, let's." Over my shoulder, I cast a glance at the direction the vicomte had vanished in. "But let's be careful, agreed?"
"Agreed, Sahiba."
"Woof! Woof!"
"Oy!" My head whipped around. "Looks like Barb and Wire have found something! Maybe—"
Just then, with a screech and a flutter of wings, a feathery fiend exploded from the grass, surging up into the sky. It was already ten yards high up in the sky, then twenty, just about to make its escape, when—
Bang!
A small cloud of smoke rose, just as the bird's flight reached its peak, and it abruptly plummeted to the ground.
"Yay!" Smirking, I punched the air and, with the other hand, waved my smoking rifle in the air. "Who's the best shot in England?"
"Presumably the winner of the British rifleman competition."
"Spoilsport."
"Woof! Woof, woof!"
"Hey!" Reloading the rifle, I fixed my eyes on the dog in the distance. "Let's get moving! Barb has found another one!"
Things proceeded rather quickly from there. Barb and Wire chased down a second bird, and then a third one. We were just passing between two clumps of bushes, when...
Bang! Bang!
I froze, my head whipping around towards the distant noise.
That wasn't my rifle.
"Was that...?"
Karim nodded grimly. "Yes."
"Is DeMordaunt just a bad shot, or did he actually just manage to shoot down two of those birds in a ro—"
Thud! Thud!
Two dull impacts sounded, as if from dead bodies hitting the ground.
"Yes," the bodyguard stated. "He did."
"Crap! Let's go! Go, go, go!"
But we had hardly gone ten yards or so when the sound of a third shot reached our ears, followed swiftly by another thud.
Karim and I exchanged a look.
Now we're even.
The thought, though it went unspoken, was clearly there.
"Woof!" A familiar bark attracted my attention. "Woof! Woof!"
Without wasting another word, I started to run.
During the next half hour or so, the two of us raced after the dogs, taking every shot we could and bringing down three more birds in total. But no matter how hard we worked, no matter how fast we moved...
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
...that darn bastard was always one step ahead of us.
Bang! Bang!
Or rather, several.
"Come, Sahiba!" Gesturing for me to follow, Karim started towards a small patch of forest in the distance. "Let's search in there."
My brow creased. "Wouldn't it be more difficult to hit prey in there?"
"Maybe. But by now, we've made such a racket that the remaining birds most likely have sought out some hiding place. That forest would be just the kind of spot they would use to hide."
"Woof!" a familiar bark came from between the trees ahead. "Woof! Woof!"
"Looks like you're correct. Ha! We'll beat that bastard yet!" Both of us dashed forward, hot on Barb and Wire's heels. After only a few moments, I had reached a small clearing in the middle of the forest—just in time to catch sight of a pheasant shooting up out of the grass. Bringing up my rifle, I took aim and—
Bam!
—froze before I could fire.
The bird plummeted to the ground with a thump, and a smiling Vicomte de Saint-Celeste strode out of the forest.
"Why, Monsieur Linton. Fancy meeting you here."
I stiffened, suddenly very glad that I could hear Karim coming up right behind me. "Monsieur Vicomte. What a coincidence meeting you here."
"C'est vrai, Monsieur." Striding forward, he picked up the dead pheasant and threw it to his servant boy, who was already swaying under a heavy load. "Now that I have collected my prize, please excusez-moi. I still have prey to hunt."
And with those words, he was gone, his attendant staggering after him. It was only a minute or so before I heard the next gunshot. My fists clenched. In my mind's eye, I couldn't help seeing the massive pile of pheasants the vicomte had already accumulated.
A pile he was going to use to bury Adaira.
"Dammit!" I punched a nearby tree. "How did he manage to catch this many birds?"
Karim appeared beside me, stroking his beard. Something which looked a lot more impressive on him than it would on most people. "If he did manage to catch them, you mean."
I frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"Didn't you notice, Sahiba? Every time you shot a bird, the gunshot was preceded by the bird screeching, or followed by the sound of the bird hitting the ground. But after most of his shots? Not a single sound."
My eyes widened. "So that means..."
"That means they are fake prey. Dead animals he must have hidden around here beforehand."
I punched the tree again. "Bloody cheating frog! How are we supposed to compete with something like that?"
But, unlike me, Karim didn't seem angry at all. Not even upset. In fact, it seemed to be the opposite. Was that...was that a flash of resplendent, white teeth between his beard? As in an actual smile? "The Sahib taught me that there is only one way to compete with a cheater."
"And that is?"
"Cheat better."
"Huh?"
"The Sahib informed you he had made preparations, did he not?"
"Yes, but he didn't exactly have time to let me know what kind." My eyes narrowed instinctively. "He was a bit too busy shooing me out of my bedroom window. Do you know what he was talking about?"
In answer, Karim simply clapped his hands. For a moment, I felt puzzled—then I nearly jumped out of my skin as, from behind the tree right bloody next to me, stepped out a nondescript man in a grey tailcoat, with three dead pheasants slung over his shoulder.
"Here you go, Mr Karim." Under my incredulous gaze, the man handed the birds to the bodyguard and, with a bow, retreated behind the tree again.
"Um..." I lowered my voice so only Karim could hear me. Hopefully. "Is one of those behind every tree?"
Karim cocked a bushy eyebrow. "You are the Sahib's wife, who just gave birth to his son, and ventured into the wilderness with a heavily armed enemy of his. What do you think?"
Rikkard. Bloody. Ambrose.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and, just to be sure, reached behind a random tree. Where I found an ear. Attached to a man.
"Ow!"
My eyes snapped open, and I sent a glare at the tree. "Get out from behind there!"
"Yes, Ma'am!"
With a slightly sheepish expression on his face, another man with four pheasants under his arm emerged from behind the tree.
"Give that here!" Grabbing the pheasants, I shoved them at Karim, who dutifully added them to the other three. "And go hide before somebody sees you!"
"Yes, Ma'am!"
The man bowed and disappeared behind his tree again.
Inwardly, I swore I would make Mr Ambrose pay for this. Probably not in pounds sterling—some things were too difficult to achieve even for me—but, somehow, I would make him pay. I would...
...jump him the moment you get back?
Despite myself, I couldn't keep a small smile from tugging at the corners of my mouth. He had promised to keep me safe, and he had done it.
Whatever anyone thinks of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, one can't say he isn't a man of his word.
Well—then let's take advantage of the opportunity he so kindly provided, shall we?
"Come on, Karim." Lifting my rifle, I sent a grin at the bodyguard, giving a little wiggle with my eyebrows. "Let's...'hunt'. Somehow, I feel lucky today."
For some reason, the bodyguard wore a very put-upon expression as he started trudging after me with seven heavy pheasants slung over his shoulder.
"Yes, Sahiba."
"Oh, and do remember to fire your gun now and again. We've got to keep things authentic don't we?"
"Yes, Sahiba."
***
"So...how are things going?"
Everyone waiting at the edge of the hunting grounds turned around to see Adaira and her mother slowly approaching. Except for her brother, that is. He didn't take his eyes off the distant forest for one instant. Adaira understood just how he felt. If the servants had bothered to inform her of the start of the hunt, she would have been here, staring into the distance just like him.
You have to be all right, Lilly. You have to be.
"I asked," she repeated, more insistently this time, "how are things going?"
A stern fatherly look was the marquess's only answer to her question.
With a deep breath, Adaira suppressed the urge to strangle him. In the hope for something more substantial, she turned to her brother—who kept staring at the forest and simply gave a one-shouldered half-shrug.
With an "I should have known better" kind of expression on her face, Adaira turned towards one of the servants.
The man cleared his throat and gave a shallow bow. "They have been out there for approximately forty minutes, Your Ladyship. So far, there is no indication of who might emerge victorious."
Inconspicuously, Adaira once more glanced at her brother, who, despite his intense stare, showed no sign of anxiety whatsoever. Granted, this was her granite-faced brother they were talking about, but still...
This was his wife. This was Lilly.
If he didn't show the slightest concern, then...
One corner of her mouth lifted. "Oh, I have a feeling I know how things are going to go."
"Aww! Confident in your beau, are you?" Sliding an arm around Adaira's shoulders, her mother hugged her close, despite Adaira's best attempts to escape. "Young love! Isn't it adorable, everyone?"
The only answer she received in response to that were two icy stares by two men with equally stony faces.
"Oh, come now, really! Surely you can see how sweet this is?"
More stony faces. Enough to fill a quarry.
With a sigh, Lady Samantha turned away from the men, luckily distracted long enough for Adaira to escape her clutches. But before she could celebrate...
Bam!
Bam!
Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam!
The marchioness cocked her head. "Um...is it just me, or do there seem to be an awful lot of pheasants out there today?"
Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam!
"Either that," Adaira commented, "or those four are the worst shots in the history of firearms."
Bam! The shots started up again. Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam—!
And then they suddenly stopped.
Silence hung above the land like a chilly blanket.
"Um...is it over?"
"No." At the sound of the familiar, icy voice, Adaira glanced over at her brother, who had a pocket watch in his hand and was staring down at it as if it were his arch-enemy. "No, it is not. There are still ten minutes left."
"Then..." Adaira swallowed. "Why did the gun shots stop?"
Nothing but ominous silence answered.
------------------------------------
My dear Readers,
Thank you for your great feedback last time! I'm delighted to hear that you're enjoying Lilly's and Mr Ambrose's married life.
By the way, the title of this chapter comes from a British song from 1777 called "A-Hunting We Will Go". It goes like this:
A-hunting we will go,
A-hunting we will go
Heigh-ho, the derry-o,
A-hunting we will go.
A-hunting we will go,
A-hunting we will go
We'll catch a fox and put him in a box
And never let him go.
Considering that this was, at one time, a popular nursery rhyme taught to children, you can probably guess that thoughts on animal cruelty in 1777 were quite different from today.
Yours Truly
Sir Rob
P.S.:
The term "badass" used in this chapter actually appeared roughly a century after this book takes place. However, unfortunately, I was unable to find a synonym that was actually used during the time. It seems Victorian gentlemen were not overly fond of mentioning asses, bad or otherwise.