Sebastian studied his wife’s catapulting device with a jaundiced eye.
“It’s not that difficult, Your Grace,” Oliver said. He knew it was Oliver. Not because Owen was standing a distance away with Rebecca, but due to the calculating glint in his eyes. Oliver was much craftier than his twin.
He shot the boy his most ducal glare. “You believe you can do better?”
Oliver snorted. “Certainly.”
Sebastian shrugged and started to hand it over but stopped from relinquishing it completely to Oliver’s possession. He covered Oliver’s hand with his, staying him momentarily. He glanced up, watching his wife kneel on the ground next to Owen and Duke—the dog—across the expanse of the flower covered meadow.
“Go ahead, Your Grace. You need the practice,” Oliver told him magnanimously.
“Listen to the boy, Ryleigh. He’s quite skilled.” Thomas was an irritant in Sebastian’s arse at the moment. “Your wife has said as much herself.”
Sebastian let out a pursed breath and reluctantly released Oliver’s hand, keeping the tosser for himself. He refused to be shown up by a cheeky child of eight.
A pigeon landed and pecked jerkily at the ground, raising its head to listen then went back to its pecking.
Sebastian lifted the sling and squinted for his aim, holding steady.
“Duke!” Rebecca yelled, startling everyone in the yard. She took off after the mangy mutt Sebastian barely recognized from his scrawny form months ago. Duke dove after the pigeon, now taking flight in light of the present danger. Rebecca’s voice startled Sebastian into losing his concentration and his hold on the stretched band. It slipped and his pellet went flying, hitting an unintended mark.
“Saints be to heaven,” Lynnwood said in a shocked whisper.
“Blimey,” Oliver breathed at the same instance.
“Your Grace. Your Grace.” Owen was screaming at the top of his lungs and running after Duke and Rebecca.
Sebastian slung the sling away and took off in a highly undignified run, reaching his wife and falling to her side. “Rebecca!”
Blood was spreading over the sleeve of her soft colored gown now covered in dirt. She struggled to sitting.
“You’re hurt,” Sebastian said through a clenched jaw, his insides a mass of coiled strain.
Rebecca held out her arm. “It’s just a scratch,” she said. She looked up at Sebastian and beamed him a smile brighter than the summer sun. “It likely won’t even leave a scar, my love. Oliver! What have I told you about making sure no one is in your line of fire?”
“It wasn’t me, Lady Rebecca,” Oliver said with a sly grin.
She looked at him, frowning. “Then, who—” Her gazed moved around the circle and stopped on Sebastian. “Oh, Sebastian. What have I said about—”
He cut her off with a sharp kiss on her lips. “Are you sure it won’t scar?”
“Does it matter?” she asked on a breathless whisper.
“No.” His tone matched hers. “It will never matter. Not as long as I have you at my side.”
Shivers skittered over Rebecca’s skin. “I’ll do my utmost to ensure that is the case.”
He touched his lips to the raised gooseflesh. “That is all I can ask, my lady warrior.” His lips slid over hers with no care of their audience at large or the whoops of laughter in the background or the sound of childish snickers.
She was his. Through and through. Forever and forever.
***
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