"If and when I kill Weldon, I intend to do it in a way that can't be traced back to me," Peregrine said, grateful for his friend's pragmatic acceptance of the situation. "But if something goes wrong, and I have to leave England—I want to know that you will look out for Sara." He stopped, then started again. "You will anyhow, but I'll feel better knowing that at least one person here understands what really happened."
Ross's dark eyes flashed. "So you intend to desert your wife?" he snapped, far more angry than he had been at the prospect of his friend's committing murder.
"I didn't marry her to abandon her, but frankly, I doubt that she would come with me if I asked," Peregrine said, his voice cold. "Her whole life is in England—all her friends, her relatives. How could I take her away from that?"
"You can let her make the choice for herself," Ross said, his voice equally cold. "If you desert her, I swear I will track you down and make you sorry that you ever set foot in England."
Peregrine chuckled, wanting to defuse the situation. "You're beginning to sound like me. Too much exposure to my amoral ways is corrupting you."
As Ross gave a reluctant smile, Peregrine continued, "Believe me, I have no desire to flee England as a criminal, just as I have no desire to force Sara to make a decision where either choice will make her miserable." He thought he knew how Sara would choose—and it wouldn't be for her husband. "I just want you to be prepared for whatever comes."
"Try not to get yourself killed," Ross suggested. "Sara wouldn't like it, and it would leave me in the regrettable position of having to hunt Weldon down myself to prevent him from injuring Sara or me." In a piece of massive British understatement, he added, "Untidy."
"Definitely untidy." Peregrine shook his head. "When I came to England, I thought revenge would be a straightforward business. Instead my life has become unbelievably complicated."
Ross's mouth quirked up. "Welcome to the real world."
* * *
When he heard the sound of approaching horses, Kane readied himself. He had found a perfect ambush spot in a patch of broken ground and was concealed in a clump of rocks. The trail was about sixty yards away, an easy shot for an expert marksman. Like many old lanes, this one was sunken about three feet below ground level, so men up on horseback would be easy targets.
He lay on his stomach, his rifle steady in his hands. Far better to do this task himself; assistants were invariably more trouble than they were worth. The dolt Kane had taken along to the lawyer's house had been too stupid to avoid getting shot in the arm. No, this was best.
The two men rode into range. Kane spent a moment confirming that they were the right ones. He was careful about such things.
Lord Ross Carlisle was on the near side, but Kane aimed at Peregrine, for the dark foreigner was more important and also had experience that should make him cooler under fire. A pampered English aristocrat like Lord Ross would probably be too surprised and confused to take cover before Kane reloaded and shot him.
Aiming for the heart, Kane began tracking Peregrine. In just a moment, another moment...
Without haste, he squeezed the trigger.
* * *
If the sun had not come from behind a cloud a few minutes earlier, there would have been no warning at all. As it was, Ross saw only a brief flicker as light slid along a rifle barrel, but that was enough. Without conscious thought, he reacted with the reflexes honed in thousands of miles of dangerous travel.
From the angle of the barrel, Peregrine was the target. And he was unaware of the danger because his attention was on a clump of trees to the left. The trail was narrow here, and the horses were so close that the two men were almost touching.
Acting from instinct, Ross shouted, "Get down!"
At the same time, he dived sideways, reaching out to shove his friend lower.
Both warning and action were a fraction too late. As Ross grabbed Peregrine's arm, a bullet slammed into his own back with paralyzing impact. As the breath was blasted from his body, he had the fleeting thought that it was ironic to have survived Bokhara and Afghanistan only to die like this among the peaceful green hills of England.
Then darkness claimed him.
* * *
Furiously Kane watched his plan go awry. The Englishman must have seen something, for he shouted and moved between Kane and his target. As thunderous echoes of the gunshot rolled across the valley, a horse screamed, and both men disappeared from view, falling between their mounts. Since the path was below ground level, Kane could not see what had happened. Both horses bolted down the path, one still screaming. Then all was silence.
As he swiftly reloaded, Kane swore under his breath. His rifle was powerful, and it was possible that the one bullet had hit both men, going through Lord Ross to strike Peregrine. In fact, that was likely, for there was no sound from where the men had fallen. But it had been sloppy shooting, and quite possibly one or both of the men were still alive. Kane would have to finish them off at close range, which would make it obvious that this was no hunting accident.