James was laughing when he turned to his father. Suddenly the la
ugh died in his throat. He saw a flash of silver glinting off a spear of early morning sun that had broken through the clouds.
He threw himself at his father, hurtling both of them to the ground as a shot rang out, obscenely loud in the quiet morning air.
James flattened himself over his father even as he tried to pull his gun from his jacket pocket. Another shot-a clod of earth flew up, not six inches from Douglas’s head.
“Dammit, James, get off me!” Douglas managed to twist and wrap his arms around his son’s waist. He literally lifted him off and rolled him onto his back, flattening himself on top of him.
Another shot, then another, and Douglas wrapped his arms around his son’s head to protect him. But these shots weren’t close, probably because Bad Boy and Garth were rearing and whinnying, breaking the assassin’s line of sight. “Father, please, let me up.”
Douglas grunted and rolled over onto his back, then came up to his feet and offered James a hand. They fanned the area with their guns, but saw no one. Suddenly, Garth, maddened, started to run. Douglas calmly whistled, bringing him back, Bad Boy was long gone. He stopped close, head down, blowing hard, lipping at Douglas’s hand.
“James, it’s all right now.”
James slowly turned to face his father. “You must teach me how to call Bad Boy.”
Douglas had tried to teach James to whistle for his horse, but James simply never got the hang of a nice ear-splitting whistle, which is what was needed to get any horse’s attention. “I’ll teach you,” he said.
“Father, they were after you, not me. You tried to protect me.”
“Of course I’d protect you,” Douglas said simply. “You’re my son.”
“And you’re my father, dammit.” He fiddled with his gun a moment. “I think I’ll go check those bushes where I saw that glint of silver.”
“The damned fellow’s long gone,” Douglas said as he brushed himself off. His shoulder hurt where James had landed on him. He held his derringer loosely in his hand and walked with his son, who was also carrying a gun, this one big and ugly, a dueling pistol out of Douglas’s library, over to the thick bushes beside the riding trail.
“Nothing,” James said, and cursed. Douglas smiled. “Damnation, the bastard is gone. You can see where he was waiting-the smashed bushes. This isn’t what-”
Douglas suddenly raised his derringer and fired. They heard a yell, then nothing. Douglas was off, James running after him. They came out of the narrow band of trees in time to see a man riding a horse out of the south gate of the park, blood streaming down his arm.
“Too bad,” Douglas said. “I’d hoped to get him through the head.”
“A small target,” James said, so relieved, so surprised, that his heart was near to pounding out of his chest. His father was gently rubbing his thumb over the shiny silver derringer. “Actually, I’m surprised I even hit him. A bullet from six feet is a good range for this derringer and this was a good twenty feet.”
“Oh, God, that was too close, far too close. Father, do you swear you’re all right?”
“Oh yes,” Douglas said absently, staring after the man who’d tried to kill him. He turned to his son, punched his arm. “Thank you for saving my life.”
James swallowed, then swallowed again. His heart was finally slowing. Now the fear was seeping in, making his hands shake. So close, it had been so close. “If I hadn’t seen that glitter of silver-” He swallowed again. “It was you who saved my life and-”
Douglas saw the fear in his son’s eyes, and he wrapped his arms around him and held him. “We will get through this, James. You’ll see.”
James said, “I can’t stand this, sir, I really can’t.”
“You’re right. It grows tedious, James, I’ll agree with you there. Perhaps it’s time I did something about this myself. There’s been no more word about Cadoudal’s death or any children. I’m off to France in the morning.”
“But that’s where-”
“No, the enemy is here, James, not in France. I have friends there. It’s time I met with them, tried to get the facts of this insane plot.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, you and Jason are my eyes and ears here in England.”
“Mother won’t be pleased.”
“I’ve a mind to take her with me,” Douglas said. “It’s sure to be safer in France. When I think of how she wanted to come riding with us this morning, it makes my innards cramp. We’ll leave discreetly, before dawn tomorrow morning. I don’t want our enemy to know that we’re no longer here in England. Let the bugger continue to make his plans.” He smiled as he stared toward the south gate. “The bastard will have to tend his arm. That will keep him away for several days, at least. Then he’ll believe he scared me so badly I’m hiding in the house.” Douglas walked to Garth, who was eating some grass beside the path, and said over his shoulder, “Come along, James. We have a lot to do.”