Boris followed the line of blood leading through the trees, his grim expression revealing he echoed Stefan’s fear.
Barely aware he was moving, Stefan trailed behind his servant, his hands clenched at his sides. He would not believe the blood belonged to Leonida. Could not believe it.
Fate would not be so cruel as to allow him to come so close only to fail.
“Here.”
Coming to a halt, Boris bent down and began to brush aside the branches that had been piled among the tangled undergrowth. Stefan struggled to breathe as a rough blanket came into view. It obviously covered two bodies.
Even Boris faltered for a moment before he could reach forward and yank aside the covering. This time Stefan’s knees refused to hold as he sank to the ground, a shattering relief searing through him as he took in the strangers lying in the shallow grave.
“God,” he breathed on a shaky breath.
“Both men,” Boris muttered, his brow furrowed. “And neither one is Miss Karkoff’s groom.”
With his numbing fear fading, Stefan was able to take stock of the dead men.
Both were large and attired in simple peasant garb. He judged them to be younger than himself, but with weathered features that suggested a life of hard work and hard drinking.
His attention shifted to the gory bullet wounds that marred each of their temples. They had both been shot at close range. Which meant they recognized and trusted their killer. Or the assassin managed to catch them unawares.
“Do you suppose these are locals who were foolish enough to approach the cottage? Or did our kidnappers have a disagreement among themselves?” He murmured his thoughts aloud.
Boris pondered a long moment. “If the kidnappers quarreled, that would explain the lack of guards.”
Stefan rose to his feet and headed back to the clearing. “Let us hope there are a few more bodies littered about the property.”
With a grunt, Boris fell into step beside him. “You intend to enter the cottage?”
A cold, ruthless smile curved Stefan’s lips.
He had just endured sheer hell while he waited to see if it was Leonida lying in that grave. He was done with stealth.
“I not only intend to enter, but I swear I will kill any bastard who stands between me and Leonida.”
LEONIDA STUDIED THE BULKY outline of the knife that she had slipped beneath the long sleeve of her gown. It would easily be noticed by anyone who studied her closely, but if she kept her arm pressed to her side, it might go undetected.
“You are going to do something foolish, I just know you are,” Sophy muttered, nervously pacing from one end of the cramped attic to the other.
“At the moment I intend to do nothing more than find a means to hide this damnable knife,” Leonida muttered.
“Pyotr, would you tell her not to be an idiot?” the maid demanded, glaring at the groom who stood beside the window, polishing off the last of
the duck that Leonida had brought from downstairs. “She’s going to get herself killed.” Sophy frowned as Pyotr kept his attention trained on the side window. “What are you peering at?”
The groom set aside his plate, his profile tense. “There was someone moving near the stables.”
Leonida’s heart sank. So much for her hope that Sir Charles’s servants had grown tired of waiting for their share of the ransom and had taken off.
“No doubt the missing guards are returning from their morning adventures,” she muttered.
Pyotr shook his head. “These were no guards.”
“How can you be certain?”
The groom turned to meet her puzzled frown with a wry grin. “None of them would know how to tie a cravat.”
A combination of hope and dread surged through Leonida. “Dear God.”