Oh dear, could this situation be worse than that one? It felt like it.
As much as she didn’t want anyone to see her in this worked up state, she wished she wasn’t alone. Kostya and Serena had stayed up the better part of the night trying to reassure her but it was clear they weren’t believing their own lines. Sick of it, she’d promised she would go to bed if they did. She had paced in her room until the sun came up then moved to Ashford’s study. It had a nice, calming view and was sunny in the mornings and smelled of leather and ink with an undertone of roses wafting in from outside. It did the opposite of calming her, only made her question her sanity in sending off Ariana and Owen.
She oscillated between such rage at Ashford that she thought he should be left to rot in the past or make his way back and deal with the consequences of his actions on his own and breaking down into tears that he might be lying dead from the spell going wrong. Or having Nick get the drop on him. Or meeting his younger self and falling into madness like she’d witnessed happen to Emma Saito so many years ago.
Or so many years in the future. God, she hated magic.
Thinking about Dexter and Emma distracted her enough that she could sit down. She wished she could see them again and hoped they were all right. She was soon calm enough that she was about to ring for tea when she heard a frantic shout far out in the garden. She propelled herself out of the chair and to the window, but of course she couldn’t see anything but a curious servant making his way toward the noise.
“Can you see anything?” she asked, trying to act a normal amount of concerned, not the heart shattering level that she felt.
“Not yet, ma’am.”
“Bugger.” She nodded to him to keep going, wanting to shout at him to run, damn it!
Her heart couldn’t take another second of waiting and the door to the study seemed a mile away, let alone having to get down the hall, through the kitchen and out the back. She hoisted her skirts and climbed out the window, jetting past the stunned servant and looking in every direction for the source of the noise.
“Owen?” she yelled. It had been a man who shouted, but not definitely Ashford.
“Here,” came a reply. Yes, it was Owen. “Help, hurry!”
His agonized plea had come from behind the olive trees near the stables and she jumped a small fence, heading that way. The servant had caught up with her, having heard the cry for help.
In the field behind the barn, Owen knelt over Ariana, with Ashford in an alarming heap beside them. All she could see of Ariana was the green dress, now crumpled and soaked with red. She skidded to her knees beside Owen, who had his jacket pressed against Ariana’s side. His jacket was also stained with blood and her daughter’s face was pale, her lips almost blue.
It had been nearly twenty years since she’d lived in her own time and still her hand went to her side where a phone should have been nestled conveniently in her pocket. Where qualified medical help would be minutes away. She sobbed as she felt for a pulse in Ariana’s neck. She couldn’t tell! Her own heart beat too fast and her fingers trembled too badly.
She shrieked at the servant to run and get more help. She pushed Owen aside and pressed against the sodden jacket herself. Forcing her mouth to work properly, she turned to him and said, “Follow him. Make sure someone goes for the physician. Get your mother and father and tell the housekeeper to bring her cleanest linens.” She had to pause for a gasping breath. “Uh, something like a stretcher to bring her up to the house and—”
Ariana moaned softly, the barest sound. But she hadn’t imagined it because Owen jumped and leaned over her again, trying to get her to answer him. It was then that Tilly really took in the fact that her husband lay unmoving as well, only a few feet away.
“What happened?” she asked, quickly shaking her head to negate that question. There was no time. “Is he injured too?”
Owen blanched and bit his lip. “Yes, but only because I knocked him out to get him back more easily. He wasn’t acting right. He wasn’t himself.”
She nodded, already concentrating on Ariana again. “Go,” she urged. Owen ran toward the house like his own life depended on it.
“Mum?” Ariana rasped. Her eyes fluttered open, but she didn’t seem to be focusing on anything.
Tilly leaned low so she could hear. “I’m here, darling. Don’t wear yourself out. We’re getting help for you. You’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry, mum. I don’t think I was in time.” She closed her eyes and sighed, her body going limp.
Tilly screamed for someone, anyone to hurry. Still pressing the jacket against Ariana’s wound, she promised her daughter over and over that everything would be all right. She prayed this wasn’t yet another lie to add to all the other ones that had helped get them to this point.
***
Tilly was beyond pacing. She sat huddled in a deep armchair directly outside the ballroom doors. The ballroom, of all places, had been deemed the best spot for the village physician to set up his operating room. He was someone Tilly didn’t recognize. Younger than the old, crotchety man who usually treated people’s gout and coughs, but not so young he seemed like he wouldn’t have any experience.
“Gunshot,” he said almost immediately after
