Through Gypsy Eyes by Killarney Sheffield Read Free Book Online Page A

moldy hay and dust tickled her nose, confirming her suspicion. She sneezed.
    “Bless you.”
    She was about to thank him when she realized there were no sounds of animals snuffling in their stalls or munching feed. “Where are the animals?”
    “I asked myself the same thing.” He paused to kick something out from under foot. The object rolled up against the wall with a hollow clunk. They continued on. “There is not an animal in any of the barns, and everything is covered in dust as if none have been here in a long time.”
    “I can smell that.” She scowled, irritated he believed she needed his sighted observations.
    “Oh, yes, I suppose you can.”
    They stepped out into the courtyard and she raised her face to the sun. The fresh air was welcome after the abandoned odor of the stable. After walking through all four barns she was satisfied he told the truth. Deep in thought, she allowed him to escort her back to the house.
Why are not at least a few stock in the barns? Could the earl be right about the servants stealing from me?
A thought came to her and she decided to voice it. “Perhaps the stock is out to pasture.”
    “No, nor are there any un-harvested crops in the fields.” He paused at the foot of the back steps. “What happened to your father?”
    She puzzled his question. What did her father have to do with the missing livestock? “He rode out one day in a storm. The stable lad said he fell from his horse down into a steep ravine. By the time he was found it was too late.” She shivered, trying not to think of the hours her poor father must have suffered, lying there in the midst of the storm, broken and bleeding, hoping for help to come. “Why?”
    His hand covered hers in a comforting gesture. “Did it ever occur to you perhaps his death was no accident?”
    Though the idea was voiced with soft inquiry, the words startled a gasp of shock from her. Was it safe to admit to him she wondered the same thing? No, it was better to keep the idea to herself; she wasn’t sure she could trust the earl. “Who would want to do such a terrible thing and why?”
    Fierce resolution stiffened his answer. “I do not know, but if it is the case I mean to find out.”
    Was he truly interested in what happened to her father or was he only trying to divert any suspicions she had as to his involvement in her attack the evening before? If he too found her father’s death suspicious then had her gut feelings been right all along?

Chapter Eight
    Delilah seated herself at the piano, resting her right hand on the familiar keys. She allowed her fingers skip along the keyboard and then back in a simple warm-up scale. She repeated the gesture with her left hand before striking a few major chords. Fingers ready, she began the intro to one of her favorite pieces, humming and swaying in tempo with the light-hearted melody. Soon she was lost in the world of the piano notes dancing behind her sightless eyes. Images from long ago mingled with the tune. The memory of color was a small joy in her dark world. A bird with a fiery red breast, sunny daffodils bending in the summer breeze, and Jester as a tawny color colt, wobbling toward her on laughably long legs. A six-year-old’s vague, rusty memories were all she retained, but they were something at least.
How old would Jester be now? Sixteen? Yes, he turned sixteen this spring. He has many years yet. What will I do when he is gone?
She pushed the thought from her mind. It was morbid to think of such things now; she chastised herself, returning her attention to the last few bars of the music. When the final note faded away she smiled and dropped her hands to her lap.
    “That was beautiful.”
    Startled, she pivoted on the bench to face the door. “How long have you been standing there, my lord?”
    “Since the first few bars.” Lord Frost’s footsteps crossed the carpet. “You play very well.”
    “Thank you.” Disgruntled at his encroachment into her solitude, she turned