A moment of expectant silence passed. Then the earl dropped to his knees, blood seeping through his fingers. Pandemonium broke out and Erroll allowed the arm gripping the pistol to drop to his side. He crossed to Halifax, scooped up his pistol, then stood aside for the doctor, who followed two paces behind, along with half a dozen other men. Duncan knelt beside the earl and felt for a pulse at Halifax’s neck. He removed Halifax’s limp hand from his belly and unbuttoned his shirt to examine the wound. “John, Angus, come on,” he called, then pushed to his knees. “You too, lads,” he addressed two others. “Carry him inside and put him on the table.” Duncan looked at Erroll. “He isna’ dead, but he may yet meet his maker.” “You will keep me apprised,” Erroll said. “You may not know for some time, but if he dies in the next few minutes…” Duncan shrugged. “I will await your word.” Erroll turned and scanned the crowd for the owner of the Scottish pistol. He spotted him talking with another man and strode to his side.
