The edge of the woods was cool, shadowed by the oaks of the Hamilton estate. But as Rowan and Delaney stepped out from the tree line and onto the manicured lawn, the bright midday sun hit them like a physical blow.
Ines and Celine were waiting on the terrace.
Ines was shielding her eyes with her hand. She watched her brother approach.
He was walking fast. Too fast. His stride was long and jerky, lacking his usual effortless grace. His rifle swung loosely in one hand, looking forgotten. His cravat, usually tied with careful precision, was askew. His hair looked as though he had run his hands through it a dozen times.
And his face was red. Not just a healthy, outdoor glow, but a deep, burning flush that extended from his collar to his hairline.
Delaney walked a few paces behind him. She looked equally disheveled. Her beige dress had a smudge of green moss on the hem. Her hair was loose, tendrils escaping the pins to curl wildly around her face.
