Wishes in the Wind (Kingsleys in Love 2)

The urgency of his tone convinced her. Jumping to her feet, Nicole rushed back to Blanket. An instant later, rider and horse tore off through the woods, not slowing until they’d reached the manor.

Dismounting, Nicole dashed up the steps and pounded on the door.

“Stoddard.” Poole greeted her with a disapproving frown. “You needn’t hammer. What can I do for you?”

“Get Saxon,” she said, remembering the name Dustin had said. “Now, Poole. Lord Tyreham’s been hurt. Hurry, please.”

Poole went sheet white. Without another word, he stalked to the foot of the stairway and did the unthinkable: “Thorne!” he shouted.

Seconds later, a tall, formidably built man shot down the steps.

“You’re Saxon?” Nicole demanded.

“I am.”

“Two men just attacked Lord Tyreham. He sent me to get you. He wants you to follow—”

“Where was this?” Saxon interrupted. “Show me the direction. I’ll find them.”

“In the woods just east of the tenants’ section.” She pointed. “They’re hurt and moving slowly. They were fleeing by foot to the main road. Take my horse.”

Saxon was down the steps and mounting before she’d finished, blasting across the grounds like a storm wind.

“Where the hell did Saxon go?” A thunderous voice from the second floor landing brought Nicole’s head around. “He was ordered not to leave my son.”

Poole reacted at once, retreating to the foot of the stairs and angling his gaze upward. “It’s Lord Tyreham, sir,” he informed the powerful, dark-haired man whose uncanny physical resemblance to Dustin left no doubt as to who he was. “Stoddard says he’s been hurt.”

The duke took the steps three at a time, descending on Nicole like an avenging angel. “Where is he?”

“In the woods, Your Grace. He’s been beaten, badly I think. I wasn’t with him long enough to judge. He sent me to fetch Saxon—to pursue the assailants, which he just rode off to do.”

Alarm slashed across Trenton Kingsley’s face, and he turned to Poole. “Stay with my wife and son. I’ll go with Stoddard.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Nicole led Trenton across the grounds at a dead run.

“He’s through those trees.” She pointed.

Trenton lunged forward until he’d reached his brother’s side. “Dustin?”

One eye cracked open. “Did Saxon … ?”

“Stoddard delivered your message,” Trenton supplied. “Saxon went after those filthy bastards. He’ll find them. In the meantime, let’s put you back together.”

“Good.” Dustin seemed to relax, then tensed again. “Stoddard—where is he?”

“Right here, my lord.” Nicole walked forward, stifling a cry as she saw the small pool of blood that had gathered alongside Dustin’s head. Her hands balled into fists of impotent rage, and she struggled to repress her anger and her fear. If ever she needed to display the control one expected of a man, it was now, and not because she felt compelled to shield her identity from Trenton, for he’d know soon enough who she was, but because she wanted to offer Dustin the strength he needed.

Puffy eyes didn’t seem to dull Dustin’s insight, at least not when it came to her. “It’s not as bad … as it looks,” he managed. “They got mostly my head and my mouth … those areas bleed a lot.” A semblance of that devastating smile. “Besides, if you think I look bad … you should see them.”

Relief surged through her, mirrored simultaneously on Trenton’s face.

“Stoddard, can you help me carry him?” Trenton asked, turning to Nicole.

“Of course.”

“No, Trent.” Dustin inched his head from side to side. “Derby’s too … slight.”