Amy Lake Read Online Free

the cliff and looked back at her house, knowing that even now, a man was dying inside.
    Again.
    She heard a nicker, somehow, over the sound of the wind, and turned to look at the stables. Madelaine was probably there, feeding tidbits to the stranger’s horse. The animal was so huge that Fiona had originally forbidden her daughter to go anywhere near it, but once the stallion had gotten over its initial skittishness it had shown itself to be gentle and calm, and he and Maddie now formed a society of mutual affection. Such affection, in fact, that her daughter had to be convinced to leave the stable for meals.
    The horse, on the other hand, ate like a horse, which might eventually cause a strain on Mrs. Marwick’s purse. For the first time, Fiona wondered what she would do with the stallion once his owner was . . . was dead. She had no use for such an animal.
    Fiona sighed. Madelaine was now calling the stranger’s horse ‘Bunny’. Mother and daughter had a discussion concerning this name, but the girl was adamant.
    “He’s a very large horse, you know. ‘Bunny’ doesn’t seem quite fitting.”
    “That’s his name,” insisted Madelaine. “He likes carrots.”
    Since ’twas only temporary, Fiona did not see the harm, nor did she have the energy to argue over a trifle. Madelaine had begged to be allowed to sleep in the stables and—thought Fiona, frowning—if the man was to die that night, perhaps she should allow it.
      * * * *
    Fiona Marwick’s home was a cottage near Ryhope Bay. The view of the North Sea was spectacular from nearly every window of the house, something that meant nearly nothing to the inhabitants of the area in those days. A view did not provide food for the larder or wood for the stove.
    Cottage was perhaps a misnomer. The house was in fact bigger than most in the neighboring village of Barley Mow, with a spacious, sunny parlor and several bedrooms. The kitchen boasted a beautiful stone fireplace, which made it the warmest room during the long winters, and a natural gathering place for visitors. The property extended up to Wyril Point, and was large enough to include a small stable and its croft, not to mention a substantial garden, which Hobbs tended along with everything else.
    Tern’s Rest cottage was her husband’s home. Joseph Marwick had been the only surviving child of parents now many years dead, and he had lived in the cottage all his life. Fiona was the daughter of the local rector; she and Joseph had been childhood sweethearts, and she’d never thought about marriage to anyone else.
    “We’ll be together,” she remembered him telling her, when she was fifteen or sixteen years of age, “for as long as we live.”
    The rector, albeit as poor as the church of a small village usually allowed, was one of the more educated members of the community, and Fiona’s family had occupied a respected place within it. The Marwick’s situation was a bit more complex. Joseph’s family had owned the land where the cottage stood for more generations than anyone could count, and although they were by no means gentry they had proved talented and frugal with limited resources. Savings had been set aside, and carefully protected over the years—and years.
    Enough that the Marwick family was more comfortable than most in Barley Mow, and Fiona and her husband were given the status that a bit of money allowed. Joseph had been a mild, dreamy man with a genuine talent for painting, but who had difficulty in following through with plans, of which there had been many. Fiona didn’t mind. There were just enough funds to support a small family, and just enough was fine. She had no wish to spend her life worrying and complaining about money, like her own mother. And when the baby arrived, Mrs. Marwick had felt her life complete. She and Joseph adored their daughter, and for a few months after Madelaine’s birth all was well and right with the world.
    Her husband had a lovely baritone voice, and at