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The Duke rose and approached the maid. His short, soft stature tended to fill people with a sense of calm, and he did so now.

“Say, Molly, did your son see which saddle he cut?”

She shook her head, her curls bouncing.

“He didn’t. Couldn’t be sure. But cut he did.”

Kenneth shook his head. “This cannot be… We must know which one he cut.”

“And we will. We will look at them all and determine which one if there is only one. There might be several. This is why I told you we must delay our ride because –”

“We cannot delay, Father. They are riding out already!”

His father’s eyes grew wide. “Now?”

“Yes. It is why I came back, to fetch you. I thought you were asleep.”

The Duke shook his head, all color had drained his face. “No, not at all. I simply thought we were riding out later in the day. I must have mixed up the time.”

The two men looked at one another, ignoring the maid whose head swished back and forth between the two as she followed their conversation.

“Kenneth, you rode here, yes? Check your saddle, then ride back to the stable. If they are still there, stop them. If they have gone, stop them as soon as you can. We must examine each saddle.”

Kenneth nodded, his heart beating in his chest at the idea that something terrible might befall Ruth, for it surely was Ruth’s saddle that was cut. Each member of the household had a saddle of their own, even Lawrence. In addition, there was always a select number set aside for house guests. He was sure it was the one set aside for Ruth that was cut, it was the only thing that made any sense.

“As long as they only trot, the saddle should not come loose, but if they were to gallop, there may well be an accident,” Kenneth said. “I must go before I am too late.”

His father nodded. “Go, then. I will take Rimbault and my valet and we will confront Lawrence and demand to search his chamber for a knife.”

Kenneth wanted to protest, surely not even his cousin would be as dim-witted as to leave a carving knife in his room after cutting a saddle strap. But then again, Lawrence wasexceptionallydim-witted. Besides, there was no time to waste.

He raced outside, examined his saddle, and upon finding it in perfect condition, mounted Artemis and they dashed through the garden, past the stable, and onto the path the party was to take.

I must make it in time. Ahead is a beautiful trail, perfect for galloping, and Ruth is not secure enough in the saddle to hold on should something happen, should it be her saddle strap that is cut. Why, why did I leave? Why did I not stay with the party and send His Grace, the Duke to fetch Father?

Artemis galloped as fast as he could, almost as if he sensed Kenneth’s urgency. They jumped over a hedge, bypassed the riding path, and made a shortcut through the forest until, up ahead, the small gathering of horses came into view.

“Ruth! Jack! Wait up! Stop!”

They did not hear him. The party proceeded along the riding path and a clearing came into view. To his horror, he heard Lord Caster call out to his horse intending to break into a gallop down the path.

“Stop!” Kenneth yelled once more. This time, to his relief, the Duke of Twilightfare heard him and turned. Seeing the urgency in Kenneth’s face, he ordered the party to stop. Lord Caster turned around and rejoined them just as Kenneth and Artemis arrived, out of breath.

“What is it, Kenneth?” Ruth asked, her voice so full of concern for him he wanted nothing more than to dismount his horse and wrap her in his arms.

“Do not gallop. We must check the saddles. One of them has been cut.”

“Cut?” Jack called out, his eyes wide. He was off Lottie in a second and at once assisted his mother off her horse while Kenneth jumped off Artemis and rushed to Ruth. He reached his arms up to her, lifting her light body off the horse and setting her gently onto the ground.

“What happened? You only left to find His Grace.”

“I did.” He turned around. “It would be one of our saddles. Likely Ruth’s.” At once, Jack, Ruth’s father and Lord Caster examined the saddles, taking care to check each one, even the ones belonging to Lord Caster’s party.

“It is Ruth’s!” Her father cried within a moment. “The saddle strap is cut so severely it would have snapped, had we gone much further, or faster.” He rose to his full height, his face red. “Your cousin’s handiwork, I presume?” His nostrils flared and a vein popped up in the middle of his forehead, pulsing with rage.

“It is.” He could not help himself, he looked down at Ruth, cupped her face, and shook his head. “I could not believe it when I found out you might be in danger once more. I feared the worst.”

“Faith, Kenneth. Is this why you were in such haste? To reach us?”