A weak groan. Marjory stirred, her bonnet askew, her riding habit muddied. One hand clutched her side while the other fumbled at the damp earth as if trying to push herself upright.
Grenville dropped to one knee beside her, his voice low and steady. “Marjory, it’s Grenville. You’re safe now.”
Bridget dropped to her knees beside her friend, helping her sit up. Marjory’s head shifted against Bridget’s shoulder as her lashes fluttered open. Her eyes were unfocused, her expression caught between confusion and grief.
Bridget smoothed the damp curls from her forehead. “Marjory, you’re safe now. Can you tell us what happened?”
Marjory’s lips moved, barely forming words. “He…he was looking for it…”
Bridget exchanged a quick look with Grenville. Whatever happened, it was more than a fall.
Marjory’s breath came in shallow bursts, her gaze darting between them as though searching for an anchor. “We were riding together. He said he needed to check something… told me to stay on the path.” Her voice wavered, her fingers trembling against Bridget’s arm. “I waited, but he didn’t come back.”
Grenville’s stance remained steady, his voice measured yet firm. “You didn’t see him after that?”
Marjory shook her head. “I called for him. I thought I heard something, but the wind, it was loud.” She swallowed hard, her brows knitting together as she fought to recall. “I didn’t think…I didn’t know…”
Grenville watched as Marjory faltered, her words thinning. It was hesitation, not from fear, but from knowing more thanshe could bring herself to say. Grenville exhaled and lowered his voice. “Marjory… we found Mark.”
The words hung in the air like a slow-falling weight. Marjory’s breath hitched. “Where?” she whispered, her fingers curling into Bridget’s sleeve.
Bridget hesitated, glancing at Grenville. He met Marjory’s gaze evenly, his expression grave. “Near the clearing. I’m sorry.”
Marjory’s lips parted, her breath stuttering as if the truth hadn’t fully taken shape. For a moment, disbelief flickered in her eyes, a desperate hope that she had misheard, that the meaning could be reshaped into something less final.
Her grip on Bridget’s arm tightened. “No—he can’t be—he was just—” Her voice cracked, a sharp sob breaking free before she clamped a hand over her mouth.
Bridget pulled her into a firm embrace, steadying her as the tremors overtook her. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Marjory clung to her, the weight of reality sinking in, though part of her still seemed to war against it. “I should have gone after him,” she rasped. “I should have—”
Grenville’s voice cut through gently, though with a firmness that brooked no blame. “You couldn’t have known.”
Marjory squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her forehead against Bridget’s shoulder as silent tears spilled down her cheeks.
Grenville glanced at Bridget, his jaw tightening. “We need to get her back to the house. She’s in no state to be out here.”
A low rustle in the underbrush snapped Grenville’s attention to the tree line. His fingers hovered near his knife. It was too slow for an animal and too quiet for an approach by chance.
Bridget stiffened beside him.
A moment later, branches swayed, and Blackwood stepped into view. His expression was composed, too composed. Hisgaze flicked over the scene, lingering a fraction too long on Marjory’s disheveled state.
“So,” Blackwood said, his voice light but measured. “She was here all along.” His gaze flicked over Marjory, assessing rather than concerned. “I heard the scream, but by the time I reached this part of the course, it had gone quiet. I’ve been looking everywhere.”
“She’ll be fine,” Grenville said shortly. His voice rang colder than he intended, but the control steadied him. It always had. Control, discipline. These were the rules he lived by. But standing in the woods with a grieving woman, a silent partner who kept pace with him, and a man he no longer trusted, he felt the fault lines shift beneath those rules.
Grenville’s gaze sharpened as he took a measured step toward Blackwood. His posture stiffened, his shoulders squared, tension radiating from him like a drawn bowstring. “Where were you, Blackwood?”
The other man raised a brow, his calm demeanor unwavering. “Following the course, like everyone else. It seems we’ve all been thrown off track.”
Bridget bristled, but Grenville silenced her with a look. “Let’s get back to the house,” he said, his voice low.
Grenville exhaled sharply. He cast a glance toward Bridget. “She’s in no state to ride alone.”
Bridget nodded, already shifting to help. “She’ll ride with me.”
Grenville didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped forward, scooped Marjory up with practiced ease. She gave a faint protest, but her limbs lacked the strength to resist. He lifted her onto Bridget’s horse, settling her carefully in the saddle. Bridget swung up behind, wrapping an arm around her friend to keep her steady.
