by L. L. Muir
“Aye, I ken them well.” Brian relieved both Ian and Rory of their beards, then walked around the horses as he tucked them away with the first. He stopped in front of Mallory and looked her over from head to toe as if seeing her close for the first time.
Connor frowned at Rory. His distress said plainly that he wasn’t able to free his hands. Rory shook his head slightly then winked at Connor as Brian had winked at him.
Connor twisted the other way, to watch Brian.
“I’d suggest selling the men. Such brawny slaves would bring in enough coin to make the bother worth yer while.” Brian moved on to look Vivianne over. “And you could sell the women, too, but I suspect these birds come from thickly feathered nests.” He passed Rob and stood in front of Bridget, holding his hands out to help her to her feet.
Rory cringed when their hands met, but was relieved when Brian put himself slightly between her and the fat man. If the damned pirate would just let go of her, Rory’s heart might even resume its beating.
“What you need, Rob, is someone to convince these three to give up their names.” Brian’s voice was smooth and soothing, but was he trying to sooth Rob or the women?
Bridget appeared to be impressed enough, for she didn’t seem to mind staring at the bloody pirate, and Rory had to bite his tongue to keep from commanding her to look at him instead.
“And I suppose you think ye’re the man to do it?” Rob walked around Brian. He snatched up one of Bridget’s hands and pulled her closer to him. “I think we dinna need this lassie to tell us her name, pirate.” He turned Bridget then grabbed the back of her neck to make her face Rory. “I think Macpherson will do the tellin’.”
Rory spun away from the swords behind him and rounded his horse, only to be brought up short by another blade biting into his chest. Blood trickled onto the steel, then dripped off the side.
“No!” Bridget wrenched away from Rob and ran toward Rory. “Stop,” she screamed. “Don’t you harm him.”
Surprised, his assailant backed away and let her pass. At the last moment, Rory saw her pull a blade from her bodice and come at him, his world slowing to match the speed of that dream he’d had—the nightmare where she run toward him with a blade in hand. He was horrified to realize that this time, it was real.
But he wouldn’t step aside. He wouldn’t cause her to fall on the knife, as Matilda done. In any case, with his arms tied behind him, he could do little to hinder her. He’d stand there and take it. If she blamed him for whatever had befallen her at the hands of these men—or hated him for his own treatment of her—he’d accept her retribution.
He closed his eyes, not wanting his last memory of her to be the look on her face as she plunged the blade home. He was nearly knocked off his feet with the impact. Only it wasn’t the wee knife, but her body that smashed into him.
“Oh, Rory. I’m so sorry.” Bridget’s arms wrapped around him.
He felt the poke of a blade in his buttock, and then the handle of her knife prodded its way into his hand. With the horse now behind him, no eyes could see the exchange, but for Connor’s, perhaps.
“So sorry,” she said breathlessly. Forgive me.” Her face turned up to him.
He did one of the two things he’d been determined to do all morning. His mouth descended upon hers. Their lips joined for only a heartbeat before she was gone and the blood-tipped blade was back at his chest. He looked up to see Rob drag Bridget backward, his fingers twisted in a generous amount of red hair. “Let her go or lose yer hands, McMurtry!”
In spite of his supposed control of the situation, the fat man recoiled at the threat and released Bridget, allowing her to fall on her backside at his feet. Rory decided the second thing he’d planned to do—to put her over his knee—could wait for another day.
McMurtry’s men grew still while he wheezed, as if they waited to see if he would recover his breath. Or was it to see if he wouldn’t? They were a nervous bunch, and Rory wondered if they were motivated by fear as much as money. Perhaps, if he simply dealt with Round Rob, the rest would flee.
The seven from behind gathered before him, blades in hand. Except for the one brave soul with his blade at Rory’s neck, the others stood well out of reach. There was another, however, whose eyes never left Bridget, the man Blue Brian had eluded to. He had stepped forward when Rory had, when Rob had gotten close to her. He’d even reached out as if to stop Round Rob from dragging her. But watching the man now, Rory realized he wasn’t concerned for Bridget. He was mesmerized by her skirt. Though she sat still on the ground, his eyes were fixed on Bridget’s dress and not what lay beneath it.
She had coins in her gown! Damn you, Bridget! What could she possibly have been thinking, to entice a man to take her very clothes?
No matter. He’d deal with this man. No others seemed to be as interested in her. Perhaps only this man had felt something beneath the cloth...
The bastard would die, as soon as Rory could get Bridget’s wee blade through his bindings.
“Get them off their horses,” McMurtry gasped, pointing to Rory and his friends. “Tie them to separate trees. We’ll make camp here.” He paused to take half a dozen measured breaths. “Since the men we were fleeing have caught us, no need to make haste.” He grabbed Bridget’s hair and jerked down, forcing her to look up at him. “By nightfall,” he panted down at her, “I’ll have three names...or you lasses...may bed doon...with their dead bodies.”
With a snap, Rory’s hands were free. He didn’t take the time to think, he simply loosed his instincts.
He reached out behind him for his horse’s leads, then swung the beast around between himself and his would-be guards. He stretched up to slice the bindings from Connor’s hands, then moved to do the same for Ian. As he made his way around Ian’s horse a big man blocked his way, but not for long. When that one hit the ground from one strike to the jaw, the next backed away, smart man.
McMurtry pulled Bridget to her feet and cowered behind her, though not much of him was hidden. Rory watched in horror as the other doomed one, unconcerned with the fat man’s blade at her throat, batted the weapon away and plucked her to his own side instead.
McMurtry scurried to the right, putting two of his men between himself and Rory. He reached for Mallory, but she was quick enough to elude him. Connor was suddenly there to intercept her. He swung her behind him without missing a step. Barreling toward the rotund coward, he didn’t seem to notice the men fleeing from his path, but McMurtry did. His face grew redder with each desertion.
A bulky man swung his sword at Ian, only to watch his weapon ripped from his own hand before the big blond shoved him onto his arse. That one also proved wise by remaining where he was put.
Two men held Vivianne as if she might somehow be their salvation, but as Ian’s blade whirred through the air over his head, the man on her right ran away. By the time the blade descended on her left side, the space all around her was quite deserted.
Intent upon Bridget’s rescue, Rory spared no attention to the pleas of Round Rob. In a fit of wheezing, the blackheart couldn’t speak clearly enough, or convincingly enough, to stay Connor’s blade. The rest of the company fell silent when the man was relieved of his burden to breathe.
The doomed one backed away. A wicked, long dagger he pointed at Bridget’s side. His other arm held tight across the front of her, pulling her shoulders back against him.
He shook her when she tripped. “Mind your step, lassie.”
“Bowen! Over here!” Blue Brian held the leads of two horses, motioning the doomed man to him.
Those who were not moaning or cowering on the ground had fled into the trees. The pirate and Bowen were the only villains still on their feet.
“You mount and I will lift her to you.” Blue Brian held out the reins of one horse, which Bowen could not take without either releasing the woman or removing the dagger from her side.
Bowen looked at the pirate, then back at Rory, who was coming at him regardless. He pushed the
woman and the weapon into the pirate’s hands, then grabbed the leads and leapt onto the closest horse. When he reached for Bridget, a sober Blue Brian backed her away, out of his reach. Bowen’s eyes narrowed briefly before he glanced at Rory, then buried his heels in his horse’s side. But the beast only reared back, tied as it was, to the other horse.
Rory reached Bowen just as the man realized the pirate’s trick. “Bloody Irish!”
Rory almost sympathized, but sympathy would be wasted on the doomed. He pulled the man off the complaining beast and motioned for Brian to give the man back his blade, even though Rory was bare-handed. He should feel guilty for giving the man false hope, but that was dispensed with as soon as the man charged him.
Instead of knocking the blade down, or to one side or the other, Rory took off the silly blue hat, swung his arm full circle, and deflected the blade, and the impetus behind it, toward the sky. Bowen’s lower jaw happened to impede its flight, however, and the point sliced up into his skull. The blow knocked his feet from under him and he landed, unmoving, on the ground between Rory’s spread feet.
Before blood had time to mingle with dirt, Rory was moving toward the Irishman.
“Peace, ye barmy Scot. Peace!” Blue Brian held his hands high and pointedly created as much distance between himself and the woman as possible without actually running away. “I owed ye a boon, if ye’ll recall yerself.” He stopped moving.
He should have run.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Rory landed a satisfying, but restrained blow to Blue Brian’s jaw. “You touched her.” He helped Brian up, just to knock him down again.
“And what, pray, was that one for?” Brian eyed Rory’s proffered hand and batted it away.
“That was for alerting the English. For who else could have told you that Phinny’s Boon’s been paid?” He looked to the trees, wondering when McMurtry’s men, or Kennison’s wee army would be crashing in around them.
Bridget stood off to the right, alone. The dust on her gown, her knees, and her hands suggested she’d been dragged behind the cart. Her hair was still mussed from Round Rob’s handling, and he wondered how much longer he’d be allowed to look into those eyes.
Not long.
She looked down, and then away. Her arms wrapped around her middle. Why didn’t she come to him?
“I didn’t alert the Englishman,” said Brian. “He alerted me.”
Loathe as Rory was to take his eyes from Bridget, he looked back to the pirate on the ground—the pirate he should never trust, the pirate attempting to stand.
“You can explain on yer backside, Irish.”
Brian braced his hands on the ground behind him. “It was only moments after I left you, Macpherson. I turned North at the crossroads and ran into them. They were poking around the camp where we’d...they’d... They were poking around your cold camp. Three blocked the road. I was stopped and asked if I’d seen you, or the three Englishwomen.” Brian grinned.
Rory realized his anticipation must be showing and schooled his features, but the Irish smile didn’t fade, damn the man.
“I told him...nothin’, but I volunteered m’ services to help find them.” Brian laughed.
“And yer price?”
The pirate took a leisurely look over his shoulder at Bridget then turned back. “You can no’ afford her, Scotsman.”
Rory watched the other women flurry to Bridget’s side, assessing damage, hugging her, comforting her as he longed to be doing. Why wouldn’t she look at him? She’d said she was sorry, but since there was nothing for her to apologize for, it must have been part of her ruse, an excuse to hold him while she got the weapon into his hand.
No matter. He’d still be finishing that kiss.
“Rory!” Connor stood over the body of Round Rob McMurtry, less round now as it lay against the hard ground. His friend tossed him a modest but heavy sack.
Coins.
“They cut those from our cloaks,” Mallory announced, though she was the only female with any attention to spare; Vivianne was occupied with cleaning the dust from Bridget’s face. “Thank you for saving my friend, sir.” Mallory stooped to give the Irishman her hand.
Oh, that was fine. Just fine. Blue Bloody Brian was the hero, was he?
Ignoring Rory’s glower that clearly warned him to keep his seat, Brian bounded to his feet, took her hand again and kissed it while bowing prettily to her.
That did it. Rory smiled and stepped aside so that Connor would not miss the exchange.
Let the pirate try to survive the day now.
Connor moved to join them, but was not nearly quick enough.
“That’s a wonderful necklace, m’dear. Is there anything a poor pirate might do to convince you to part with it?”
Mallory smiled. Then giggled. Then laughed, but that was cut short when the man holding her hand disappeared, into the air, then into a bush. Before she could close her mouth, Connor tossed her over his shoulder and stalked away to the far side of the clearing—a spot relatively free of unmoving bodies.
“You, there.” Rory barked at the two enemies still cowering on the ground, one of whom worked his jaw back and forth while glaring at Rory. “Take the cart. Take your dead and go.”
“Macpherson.” Brian picked himself out of the shrubbery. “That humble sack of coins will go far to keep me silent. I could continue West—”
“A quick blade would go far to keep you silent, Irish.” He handed Mallory the sack. Bridget would still not look his way. Vivianne narrowed her eyes at him briefly, then turned her attention back to Bridget.
Had he said something wrong? If the women wanted to pay a thief to hold his tongue, then they could bloody well pay him. The man would go fishing for Kennison’s reward either way.
Vivianne glanced at him again, tipped her head in Bridget’s direction, and abandoned her friend to wander toward the wee burn. Ian followed.
Bridget looked about her as if just noticing her friends had walked away. When her gaze flew to Rory, his heart and his feet froze.
You can’t afford her still echoed in his mind.
She was trying to say something with her eyes, but he needed a closer look to understand. Finally his feet moved. She stepped back. He ignored the retreat, kept advancing. Her backward progress was halted by a tree. She could have looked for an escape, but she simply watched him. Waited. Her chin raised, though not in defiance.
She, too, must wish to finish that kiss…
“Damn you,” he whispered, before their faces met. Although those were not the words he’d meant to say, he’d not take the time to change them. The world fell away until they alone stood on a precipice, anchored to the earth by only the tree at her back, aware only of the places where their hands and lips connected to each other. Nothing in the world could end this kiss.
Nothing but the feel of a coin between Bridget’s gown and her rib.
“Damn you, woman.” He meant it this time. “Give me your gown, and do it now!”
The gasping at his back could not be accounted for by the handful of people he knew to be there. No, indeed. By the rush of air sucked past him, there had to be an additional dozen at least, and more than a few blades freed from their scabbards. It didn’t matter if they were Kennison’s or McMurtry’s men. He’d be bleedin’ either way.
He should protect himself, but he couldn’t turn away from Bridget’s beautifully flushed face, her kiss-bruised lips. There was a dreaminess in her eyes he wanted to explore. But in another heartbeat, she seemed to realize what he’d said to her. Only then did she look around him, perhaps to see who else might have been listening.
“I don’t suppose you have an honorable reason for demanding that my sister disrobe?”
CHAPTER THIRTY- ONE
Bridget blushed anew at her brother’s query. She could only imagine what he must think of the Scotsman for demanding she hand over her gown. She knew, of course, Rory only meant to remove the coins from it, and thereby remove the danger they posed
, but Phinny wouldn’t know that.
She wished Phinny would go away again, slink back into the forest until she was finished kissing Rory Macpherson. For she certainly didn’t feel finished.
What she truly wished was for Rory to want the gown removed for other reasons. But he hadn’t. And he wouldn’t. After all, she wasn’t worth much to him. Oh, the Irishman had put it another way, saying Rory couldn’t afford her, but she’d heard no argument. Thank goodness Vivianne had been standing between them so Rory would never know just how his lack of response had hurt her heart.
He hadn’t even tried to dissuade the Irishman from running to her brother, likely relishing the idea of Phinny taking her off his hands. All three men would then be free to hurry back to their lives.
But then again, he’d kissed her. He’d damned her first, of course—and afterward—but the kiss had been more delicious than any they’d shared before. It was the memory of this kiss she would keep for always, stored in a pretty box in the corner of her mind, where she could take it out and remember, when she was alone. Whenever the Baron might leave her to herself.
The tip of a blade snaked its way over Rory’s shoulder and he backed away, turning as he did so, revealing her brother at the opposite end of it.
Phinny glanced at her briefly, then returned his attention to the Scot who held his hands out to his sides as if barring him from reaching her. But surely Rory didn’t believe she needed protection from Phinny!
Her brother had suggested an explanation, an honorable one, but the way the Highlander’s lips remained tightly shut, it would be up to her to supply it.
“Phinny—”
“Don’t.” Her brother’s voice had never sounded so hard, not when speaking to her. “I don’t care to hear a word you have to say, sister.” He raised his voice then. “John, gather up the women and take them back up the road. Make camp a good distance away so they need not smell blood.”
