Här är fortsättningen. Återigen -- scenen är kanske inte helt klar, men så här ska den se ut på ett ungefär. God läsning!
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Utdrag ur Legacy
Copyright Linda Govik, 2007
Jacob led the way. Silently and doggedly he trampled the ground, anxious to reach the grove hardly visible a short distance before them: its trees and shrubberies not more than black, sinister shadows against a scarcely paler sky – however sprinkled with stars, and lit by a pale, sallow moon. He held a lantern in his hand to chase the night away on their path – but the light, waving and flickering like an eerie will o’ the wisp, was bound to allure creatures of the night, rather than scare them away.
Léan gripped her cross, and held it tight, sending a silent pray to the Madonna to keep Samil safe. Or was he already lost? Everything around them was so silent – terrifyingly, chillingly quiet. If Samil still had felt the need to fight, if he’d known there was a chance for him to survive – surely he would have made himself heard. Wouldn’t they have heard his attempts to move, the scraping of hoofs as he was trying to get up, the neighing or snorting, evoced by his efforts? But there was nothing – only a faint rustle of the trees, as a midnight breeze shook them on its way past. Samil... The tears stung; welling up in her eyes, they blurred her sight and made her stumble on the uneven ground.
Quickly, a hand gripped her elbow, and straightened her up. The earl. She’d felt his presence behind her back for quite some time, a swift, unnerving shadow, walking on the uneven ground with a certainty she’d never thought of a drunk man. Without her noticing, he’d closed up right behind her, and now, he was right beside her, giving her a slanted smile, eyes gleaming, the same color as the moonlight above their heads.
“Careful, elf. We don’t want you to trip and break a leg too, now do we?”
“No. I’m sorry, milord. I lost my balance.”
“Yes. The dratted dark.” He let go of her arm, but remained close to her side, so close she could feel the movement of his coat against her own clothes, and the faint smell of alcohol, moss and sweat. “What’s your name again, elf?”
“Léan.”
“That’s nice. I like that. Say...”
“Léan, come here.” Looking up from the dark ground, she saw Jacob. He’d turned around, and was walking backwards, facing them. He swung the lantern in his one hand, and waved to her with the other. “Walk with me.”
“No need.” The earl pressed her back, and paced up, leaving her. “The horse would be right in front of us now. Be careful, don’t scare it. A panicky horse can get nasty.”
* * *
Samil lay flat on his side on the cold, damp ground just beside the fence: a dark, still, shapeless mass, sides glistening with every strained heaving. When he heard their footsteps and voices, his ears turned slightly in their direction – but he didn’t move, merely snorted, sending out a cloud of smoke into the air.
Holding up the lantern, Jacob lit the small glade around him, turning the opening in the shrubbery into some sort of grotesquely framed scene, where the fence snaked its way right through, stabile and black. She heard him curse, and understood why, too. The fence reached Léan almost to the chest. Horrifyingly well built, and melting in with the dark surroundings, there was no wonder the horse had fallen.
What kind of man forced an animal to jump something like that? She crossed herself, then drew a ragged, deep breath.
“Samil doesn’t like jumping. It scares him.”
“I know, Léan. I know.” Jacob reached for her. She pressed her face against his chest, wanting his strength, sucking it to her, using it to steel herself. Hands on her forearms, he gently moved her to the side. “I must take a look at him.”
He remained squatted by the horse for a while, talking gently to it, examining the injury with careful hands. When he rose, his movements were so slow, so very definite, that Léan instantly knew. If she hadn’t felt the raw chill against her face, and felt the tingling of her toes and fingers, numbed with the icy air, she’d have thought she died right then and there. Samil. Mrs Grant’s beloved horse...
“No.” The word was a mere moan, and Jacob bent his head.
“I think we have to, Léan. I’m sorry.”
“Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“You heard him.” The earl’s voice cut through the serenity, as effectively as a burning sword. “Let’s not prolong the animal’s suffering. Do what you must, foreman. A clean shot to the head would be sufficient.”
“Yes." Jacob sent him a dark look. "I rather think it would.”
She felt the earl move beside her, his coat brushing at her arm as he passed her. He placed himself in front of Jacob, measuring him with his eyes.
“Are you trying to be funny, foreman?”
“I fail to see the humour in this, so I guess not, milord.”
“Then it’s a threat? You want to shoot me, is that what you’re implying?”
Jacob reached for the gun, and loaded it with short, decisive movements. “I don’t know if I’m implying anything," he said, voice tense, and so low, it was barely audible. "But since you bring it up... You tell me, milord, who is worth the bullet more: the damn fool that tries to make a horse jump a fence in complete darkness on a slippery ground, or the horse that suffers for his idiocy?”
The earl’s movements were so swift, the attack so sudden, that Léan didn’t have time to react, or even cry out a warning. And Jacob wasn’t expecting it either – the sudden slap across his face, that made him stagger backwards, and almost loose his balance. Only seconds later, the earl was holding the gun. Pointing it to Jacob’s head he nodded, a slight smile on his lips. In the light of the lantern, he was both fire and ice – his hair gleaming gold, his eyes burning frost; transluscent and pale.
“I can only take so many insults before my patience runs out. And normally, I’d kill you for speaking to me like that.” Indolently, he lowered the gun. He put the gun in Jacob’s hand, and pressed into his palm. “But I guess you’re lucky, aren’t you?” The smile faded, and was replaced by a piercing look. “Never underestimate me, foreman. Everyone who ever has, is dead now."
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