Free Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 1) by Nanette Kinslow Page B

watched the girl ride down the path. When she turned back once or twice he waved openly to her. She looked very different than the day he had found her all beaten up in the abandoned shack. The sun drenched autumn days had put color in her cheeks and regular meals had filled her out some. Her help with the chores around the cabin had made her stronger and built her confidence. Mark wondered how he ever thought she was a boy like himself. Even dressed in the boy’s clothing she was definitely a woman and she carried herself on the back of the horse in a very ladylike manner. The boy thought again of his mother and how she sat upright so similarly whenever she was nervous.
          Despite his assurances to Rebecca he’d become unusually concerned about his father, and now he had grown attached to this woman and she had taken the horse. When the animal returned he thought it might be long enough to think about heading back to the main house. He wasn’t too worried about the woman, she did have some curious ways and there were many things the boy knew she needed to learn to live easily in his world, but he felt confident she’d find her way alright if she didn’t run into those folks who had waylaid her.
          He knew if he did go down in a few days there’d be some things he have to take care of and with Rebecca there he had never picked up those blasted traps. He set out into the woods to find the snares and get rid of them.

 
     
    Chapter Eleven
     
     
           T imothy Elgerson awoke with a stiff neck and an aching back, his pistol still beside him and his head pounding like thundering horses.
          He cursed himself and staggered downstairs to the study where he pulled a bottle of brandy from the immense desk. He sloshed a generous amount into the snifter and took a hard pull at the rich liquor.
          “To another blasted day!” he toasted to himself and dropped into the chair behind the desk.
          After several hours of sleeping off his stunning hangover, he took to roaming the house moodily. Every board, each piece of furniture and ornament bore the thumbprint of the man. He loved the house immensely and with every project to refine the home he’d stood beside Corissa enthusiastically displaying his latest creation.
          “Do you like it?” he’d ask his wife, wanting nothing more than her approval. “I want it to be built perfectly, and I hope the woodwork is to your liking.” Her smile faded in his memory.
          The huge Victorian style home boasted the finest design from the deeply polished floors to the delicate crystal chandeliers. Its grand expanse opened at the entry with a wide central staircase and solid oak doors that fit perfectly into pocket enclosures leading into the grand parlor to the left, a cozy study situated to the right.
          Timothy had once thrived within the walls of the vast home and the spectacular landscape surrounded by stands of strapping white pines. He had loved the excitement of friends at gatherings and often filled the home with bustling visitors, the sounds of a lively band filling the evening air.
          He cringed at the thought of allowing Octavia the opportunity of bringing guests into the house once again. A party was one of the things he had avoided with determination since his wife’s death and he planned to make himself as scarce as possible.
          His musings were interrupted by the sound of a commotion in the back kitchen and he passed the staircase towards the rear of the house to investigate the disturbance. A limited staff did oversee the residence but the uproar sounded like a larger group than the few lingering employees.
          “Ah, sir!” Simmons, the butler ushered Timothy into the kitchen as soon as Elgerson had stepped towards the door. “It’s good you’re here sir, we didn’t hear you come up the drive,” the butler carried on in a rushed tone. “There’s been some trouble