Lord Kingsford's Quest [antikvár]

Prologue 1801, Kingsford, England Wdolfe Bumham moved quickly back into the shadows of the lilac hedge separating Kingsford Hall from the stables. With eyes far too old for a boy barely twelve, he watched Claudia Chastain hurry across the courtyard toward the open stable door. Raising her elaborate evening gown above the dusty stones, she picked her way on white-sUppered toes, the essence of her anger swirling around her like an acrid perfume. She stopped abruptly as her husband, Oliver, strode from the stable, her brows lifted inquiringly toward him. Oliver smiled briefly, then turned back to watch the door. Claudia's attention followed, eyes lit with anticipation. Woolfe, alerted to deathly silence, joined the^vigil. Oliver's henchman, Quinn, lumbered out of the stable, dragging a small child behind him, his full lips moving soundlessly as his fragile captive struggled against his powerful hold. A dirty lantern suspended from a tall, weathered pole cast elongated shadows onto the cobbled courtyard, dark reflections pirouetting in a sinister dance. At a wave of Oliver's ruffled sleeve, the hulking Quinn released the child onto the stones and moved back into the darkened perimeter of the stable yard. Taryn, Woolfe thought, Claudia's newly orphaned niece, a noisy, cheerful child whose presence in the Hall had endeared her to the servants since her arrival last week. Indeed, the village was buzzing with the news. What was she doing out here? Taryn scrabbled to her feet, the hem of her nightgown falling to her ankles as she looked around defiantly, a diminutive warrior bedecked in white lace and dirty feet. At the sight of Oliver's wife, the child's face crumpled, and tears followed