A Second Chance for Murder

by Ann Lacey

  Then his face changed and his lips stopped moving. The vicar was staring at him oddly. Something was wrong. Thora could see the alarm in his eyes. Garren started to run toward her, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were locked on something or someone else. Following the line of her husband’s gaze, she saw a strange figure cloaked in black from head to toe. The stranger was weaving swiftly between the guests. She watched Garren run toward the stranger who seemed to be headed directly . . . Oh God, the cloaked figure was moving toward Nyle!

  Instinct told her whoever it was meant her brother harm.

  Her eyes darted toward Garren. He was fighting his way through the guests while the mysterious figure moved closer to Nyle. He’d never reach the figure in time. She had to do something.

  Startling the guests around him, Garren shouted for her to get down. Breaking the vow of obedience she had taken only moments before, Thora hiked up the skirts of her wedding gown and sprinted toward her brother, who stood a few yards away. Nyle looked at her with puzzlement in his eyes, oblivious to the dark figure racing toward him.

  Thora was almost within arm’s length of her brother when she saw the figure draw something from under its cloak. Something silver and shiny. A gun! Aimed directly at Nyle’s back.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Garren closing the gap between him and the figure, but would he be able to make it in time? Fearing her husband wouldn’t be able to stop the uninvited cloaked stranger, she stretched her legs further, straining her muscles to their limit. Dear God, she prayed, please let me reach Nyle. Just one more—

  Bang! At the same moment, Thora threw herself on Nyle, seizing his jacket tightly in her hands. Her momentum spun them around and they crashed to the ground. She felt a forceful breeze whiz through the puffed sleeve of her gown as she toppled onto Nyle, his hard body cushioning her fall. Around her, a flood of noise filled the air, shouts and screams and running footsteps, then an unnerving quiet.

  Thora looked into Nyle’s befuddled face. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” Nyle answered, sliding out from beneath her to stand. Reaching down, he took her hand and helped her to her feet. “Where did that shot come from?” he asked, his gaze darting around.

  Thora was too numb with fear to reply. She searched through the people gathered around them for Garren. Her heart rose to her throat when she didn’t see him. A short distance away, people had formed a circle and she could read the shock in their eyes. Following Nyle as he shouldered his way through the tight ring of onlookers, Thora gasped at seeing Garren on the ground grappling with the black-cloaked figure. With surprising ease, Garren was able to subdue the uninvited guest.

  Hauling the figure to its feet, he ripped off the dark cloak.

  The guests and Thora gave a gasp.

  Cecilia’s mother, Lady Boothwell! For a moment, no one spoke. They looked on in disbelief as the wild-eyed Lady Boothwell, dressed all in black mourning clothes, kicked and spat at the man restraining her. She was like a wild animal gone rabid.

  With a frightening shrill, she turned on Nyle, screaming, “It’s all your fault my Cecilia is dead. This wedding should have been my daughter’s. It’s all because of you my Cecilia is dead!”

  Leaving Nyle’s side, Thora ran to her husband, “Oh, Garren,” she cried and threw herself into his arms.

  “Thora, thank God you’re safe,” he said, catching her in his arms and holding her close. He kissed the top of her head and, with a protective arm around her waist, led her back to Nyle.

  Nyle’s face still showed his shock. “Why would she want to kill me? How on earth could she hold me to blame for her daughter’s death?”

  “Grief can be overwhelming,” Garren said. “When harbored too long, it can destroy a person’s mind. Sometimes the only way to escape it is to channel it into anger and then direct that anger at someone or something. I’m afraid Lady Boothwell was one of those people. From her crazed ranting, I gathered that she attributed her daughter’s death to your rejection of Cecilia, thinking that had you married Cecilia, she would have been spared her fate.”

  Nyle shook his head in disbelief. The woman had indeed lost all reason.

  Suddenly, Nyle became aware of the silence surrounding them. A quick survey of the guests found stunned faces staring back at him. The wedding guests, servants, even the musicians stood motionless like figures in a painting. All caught by the same awkward uncertainty, should they leave or stay, yet no one willing to be the first to ask. Dragging a chair into the center of the garden, Nyle hopped upon it. “Everyone, listen to me,” he commanded. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to let a crazed woman ruin my sister’s wedding!” Stooping, he snatched a glass of champagne off tray held by one of the idle servants put it to his lips and drank it down. Finished, he threw the glass down, shattering it on the ground, startling a few of the female guest, then, quickly picked up another. “I ask you to join me for I have two reasons to celebrate today. First, my sister’s marriage to my good friend Lord Huntscliff,” he paused briefly to give Thora and Garren a grateful glance, “and, secondly, thanks to their swift actions, my life.” As he raised his glass anew a cheer rose up from within the gathering breaking the somber mood. Nyle drained his glass then, smiling, he said, “This is a celebration, so stack your plates, drink your fill but most important enjoy yourselves. I for one, intend to do my share!” Harmony restored, the earl signaled the musicians and they immediately began playing a lively tune. Nyle jumped from his post directing one of the servant to remove the chair to make way for couples, who encouraged by his words began to dance. He, then, joined Thora and Garren.

  Lord Flemington with a protective and guiding hand on Lauryn’s arm steered the way through the twirling dancers over to the trio. “Lady Thora, I mean, Lady Huntscliff, thank goodness you’re unharmed,” Lord Flemington said.

  Hearing her title said aloud for the first time warmed Thora’s heart.

  “She may be unscathed but her gown wasn’t as fortunate,” Lady Lauryn said, pointing to the bullet hole that ripped through the sleeve of her gown.

  Studying the round, powder-burned hole in the sleeve of her dress, Thora gave a quaint smile. “This will make quite a story to tell my grandchildren. And should they think it’s only a fairy tale, all I’ll have to do is show them my gown!”

  In a flash, it came to Thora that her future with Garren would be different from other married couples. Her husband may have resigned from the Royal Guardians, but the instincts of an investigator would always live in him. Only now there was a difference. He had her, and just like in the legend of amethyst, she would be at his side ready to assist him.

  Lady Lauryn turned to Thora. “You certainly had excitement on your wedding day! My wedding will pale in comparison.”

  Thora took Lauryn’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before leaning over to assure her. “It will be wonderful.”

  Mason Greenstreet who had been on the other side of the garden, too far to have lent his aid to Garren and Thora, approached carrying a tray bearing a number of brandy-filled glasses. “Anyone in need of a drink? Something a bit stronger than champagne?”

  While Lauryn and Lord Flemington declined, Garren, Thora and Nyle joined Mason in taking a glass.

  Wearing a grin, Garren turned to Mason. “You carried that tray quite well, Mason. Seems you learned a few things from your last assignment.”

  “Because it’s your wedding day, Huntscliff, I’m going to ignore that comment,” Mason snapped, giving Garren a sneer, but seeing a smile tugging at Thora’s lips he soon found himself chuckling.

  “Where are you going for your honeymoon?” Lady Lauryn questioned.

  “We haven’t really discussed it,” Thora returned.

  “Where would you like to go, dear wife? Paris, Italy, Spain?” Garren asked.

  Thora thought for a mome
nt before replying. “I’ve never taken a sea voyage. I think I’d like to take a take a long, quiet, leisurely trip aboard a ship.”

  Garren’s eyes lit and he slowly rubbed his jaw before saying, “An excellent idea, Thora. Perhaps we can take in some fishing.” Gazing down into sea-colored eyes sparkling up at him, he said, “Now about that Nottingham Reel . . .”

  Before he finished, Thora gave him a sly glance. “You might have won me, my lord, but you’ll still have to compete for the reel.”

  “What do you have in mind, darling?” Garren queried, holding her close while the others around them snickered.

  Thora’s face heated, then, as she looked deep into her husband’s eyes, everything and everyone melted away. She gave him a seductive smile and whispered, “You once told me that you’re very good at catching what you go after. Tonight I think I’ll let you prove it.”

  Thora saw a smile dance on Garren’s lips, a smile that left her with little doubt that the Nottingham Reel would soon be his.