Earl of Hearts(21)

He arched an eyebrow, looking quite wickedly handsome as he smiled at  her in wry amusement. "You're the one who stole it, to be precise. So  let me do my duty and memorize as much of it as I can as long as we have  it."

"As long as we have it? What do you mean? Don't we need those ledger entries as proof?"

He nodded. "I'm trying to get it safely to London, but if Somersby catches us, I plan to trade your life for this book."

Warmth flowed through her in a slow, soothing wave. This was John being  protective again. Saving her life was foremost on his mind. Oh, how she  wished that little ceremony he'd performed in front of Sammy and his  family had been real. She would have been so proud to be John's wife.  "All the more reason why I should be the one to read it and memorize  what it contains. If you're going to sacrifice your life to save mine,  then I'm the one who ought to have the knowledge, not you."

John rolled his eyes and groaned. "Very well, brat. I suppose you're  right. We'll work on it together in bed. Bollocks, your brother is going  to string me up by my short hairs. You can't tell him any of this. Not  before I have the chance to speak to him in private."         

     



 

"Fine. You'll see him before I do, anyway." He was going to deposit her  in Edinburgh and then take off for London. He might not make it there  alive. Even if he did, she might not be alive by the time he returned to  fetch her. Somersby had planned to use her to hurt someone dear to her.  That wretched ledger wasn't the only reason he was desperate to find  her.

Whom did he wish to hurt?

John stretched his big frame beside her. She curled up against him,  resting her head against his shoulder, but otherwise leaving him free to  turn the pages. Unfortunately, those rows of ciphers meant nothing to  her. She tried to concentrate, but felt herself nodding off a time or  two.

She must have fallen into a sound asleep, for she awoke shortly before  dawn to the soft neigh of a horse passing close to Maeve's cottage. She  tried to sit up, but realized she was turned on her side, facing the  wall, and John's big body was half atop her, gently pinning her between  the wall and mattress. One of his arms rested on her body, the weight of  that muscled limb falling across her chest as she turned to face him.  "John," she whispered, not certain whether he was awake and doubting  that he was, for his breaths were calm and even. "I think-"

"Quiet, Nicola. Somersby's men are here. Damn it, I don't know how they  found us." He rolled off the bed and grabbed his rifle in one smooth,  silent motion. He tugged on his boots. "Stay here. Don't move. Let me  take care of them."

"What if Sammy decides to betray us?"

"He won't. He and his boys may not know Somersby, but they've met men  like him before. They understand what such a man will do to them if he  finds out they've been harboring us. They know he won't spare Maeve  either."

"What of Valor? He's in the stable and will give us away the moment they spot him."

John caressed her cheek. "He's hidden in the forest. I wouldn't dare  leave him in the village stables for any passerby to see." He handed her  one of his pistols. "Stay here. Don't poke your head out the window.  Latch the door and don't come out until I tell you it's safe. And don't  shoot that weapon until you're sure it isn't me you're aiming at." He  paused a moment to stare at her, then leaned forward and planted a kiss  on her cheek.

Not a quick peck, either.

It was a soft, lingering kiss. "Behave, brat. Don't shoot me."

Then he was off, somehow crossing to the door and removing the table  that had blocked it without making a sound. If she hadn't been looking  straight at him, she would not have known that he was moving about, or  that he'd just opened the door and stolen out of it into the gray mist  of morning.

She shoved on her boots and hurried to the door to latch it, then she  crouched behind Maeve's rocking chair with John's pistol in hand and  waited. And waited some more. And finally crept to the window when she  could bear the suspense no longer. She heard Somersby's men haul Sammy  out of his cottage and shove him toward the stable. "I told ye, no one's  come by here all week. But ye're welcome to search the village if ye  dinna believe me. Search the barn. Search the stables. Ye'll not find  what ye're looking for."

"Shut up," one of Somersby's men ordered with a snarl. "If they aren't here, then you've hidden them."

"Hidden who? Ye aren't tax collectors, are ye?"

There were only three of Somersby's men that she could see. She doubted  there were more, for Somersby would have needed a small army to patrol  the vast area and still have men enough to send to Edinburgh and London.  But those three were indeed ugly, scarred creatures whose faces were  distorted with malice.

Sammy cast them a defiant look. "Who sent ye here?"

The biggest man slammed his fist into Sammy's face. "I told you to shut  up. Open your foul Scottish mouth again and I'll kill you."

Nicola held tight to her pistol, wishing she had the ability to get off  more than one shot. No wonder there was still tension between their two  countries. Even English vermin such as these men believed themselves to  be above any law-abiding Scot. Not that Sammy was law abiding by any  stretch of reason, but he certainly wasn't bothering anyone now.

A fourth man suddenly came out of Sammy's cottage dragging a barely clad  Maeve by her hair. "Tell us the truth, you lying scum or I'll slit your  harlot's throat."

Nicola began to shake.

How long was John going to remain silent and allow these men to brutalize Maeve and Sammy? And where were Sammy's sons?         

     



 

She closed her eyes and rested her head against the rough stone wall.  "Keep out of this, Nicola," she whispered to herself. "John knows what  he's doing."

But what if they'd caught John?

And Sammy's sons?

What if there were more than these four villains?

Her eyes were closed no longer than the equivalent of a few heartbeats,  but she had yet to open them before she heard a pounding at the latched  door. Startled, she almost fired her weapon in surprise. "Open the door,  Nicola."

She recognized John's voice and hastened to obey.

He took the pistol out of her hand, grabbed the pouch he must have  tucked under Maeve's bed last night, then gave a quick look around to  make certain he'd left nothing behind. "We have to go."

"What happened? Where are Somersby's men?" Then she saw them, all four  of them sprawled lifeless on the ground atop a widening pool of blood.  "John?"

"They were about to slit Maeve's throat."

Sammy came in, nursing the bruise to his jaw from the punch he'd just  received. "They would have slit mine next. Villainous scum. Thank ye,  m'lord. Seems ye saved m'life again. I'm indebted to ye."

Sammy's sons, who had come in behind him, nodded in agreement.

"Not this time, Sammy. I led them straight here. I owed you no less than to keep all of you safe."

Nicola felt a loud hum between her ears.

She felt dizzy.

Somersby's men were evil, but to hear them growling one moment and then  know they were dead in the next, was too much for her. And yet, she  would have shot the man who intended to slit Maeve's throat. She would  have fired at his head and prayed that she'd hit him between the eyes.

She took a step and swayed.

John wrapped his arm around her waist. "Nicola! Are you all right?"

"No."

"Bollocks." He led her, half walking beside her and half carrying her,  away from the village toward a nearby stream. "Here, sit down."

He helped her onto a fallen birch. After making certain she was not  going to tumble off it, he knelt along the stream's bank to dip his  neckcloth in the rushing water. Nicola watched him wring it out. "I'm  sorry you had to see that," he said, gently running the cloth across her  forehead, then her cheeks, lips, and neck. He dipped it again and  dabbed it against her lips, which felt as dry and cracked as her throat.  "Any better?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. I still feel ill."

"Is she carrying yer child?" Angus asked, he and his brothers having  followed them out from the village, gawking at her all the while.

"No!" Nicola shot back. "I'm just ill. I've never seen dead men before. Did you kill them all, John?"

He ignored the question, for he appeared to understand that she wasn't  asking out of pride in his accomplishment, but out of horror. Angus  wasn't nearly as insightful. "He killed the one threatening Maeve, then  started on the other three who were holding Sammy. We helped. Couldn't  let those beasts kill our own kin." His chest puffed out with pride. "He  deserves it sometimes, but he's our pa. No one threatens him and  lives."

It was a simple code of honor.

Protect your family.

Steal from everyone else.