It would have been all good if not for Nicola storming back into his life.
He crossed to the stall and patted Valor's nose. "Ready for a little exercise, my restless fellow?"
The black gelding was built for power and endurance, much like the chargers bred for battle in medieval times. Valor was a beautiful beast and John looked forward to teaching him more tricks, especially those to use if they were ever in a scrape and had to make a fast getaway.
He had yet to train Valor to use his hooves as weapons, but that would come next. The beast had an impatient nature and was already stamping and kicking, eager to be led out of his stall and taken for a long run.
"Larkins? Bigwell? Anybody in here?" When neither groom responded, John shrugged it off. They'd probably gone off with the group of hunters who'd gathered around him and Somersby a short while ago. He set his rifle against Valor's stall and crossed to the tack room to fetch the saddle himself.
He was about to grab it when he heard several men enter the stable. Something about them put him instantly on alert. They moved silently, something no group of hunters would do, for they'd all be chattering away, boasting of the grouse they were sure to bag this morning. Their hunting dogs would be barking beside them in noisy anticipation.
No dogs.
No excited barks.
No jovial boasting.
John removed his spectacles, tucked them into the pocket of his jacket, and then slipped behind one of the rear stalls. It offered him a good vantage point while waiting for these strangers to come into view. But instead of moving toward him, they closed the stable doors, effectively shutting him in with them and keeping everyone else out.
Very little sunlight had spilled in when the door had been open. Now, the entire stable was wrapped in darkness.
No matter, it gave him the advantage.
His eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light.
He did not need to see these men to know they were Somersby's hired scum. Nor was it hard to guess their intent. They had purposely trapped him in here to beat him senseless. Perhaps they meant to kill him. Bollocks. He ought to have taken Nicola at her word. Was she safe? Would Somersby dare harm her?
He should never have allowed her to return to that villain's lair.
"Lord Bainbridge," one of the ruffians who'd accompanied Somersby this morning called out with gloating malice. He lit a lantern and set it atop a dusty worktable. "Come out, my lord. We need to have a little talk."
John did not respond, but the man must have seen his shadow cast in the lantern's dim, orange glow. He gave a bark of laughter and slowly began to walk toward John, his footsteps cautious as they crunched on the straw that littered the floor.
The man's confederates shuffled behind him, and as they approached John, their leader motioned for them to surround him. Despite having him outnumbered five to one and the stable doors securely shut, their movements were hesitant and halting.
Good. They were afraid of him, as they ought to be.
Their boots scuffed along the dirt floor and he heard one of them curse when he tripped over a loose floorboard.
Had they harmed Larkins and Bigwell? No wonder those grooms hadn't responded to his call. "And what are we to talk about, gentlemen?"
One of the men now stood between him and his rifle that was resting against the wooden slats of Valor's stall. The man was apparently unaware that he'd set down his weapon. Still, it was out of reach and of no use to John at the moment. But he still had the pistol hidden in his boot if it proved necessary to shoot his way out. The odds would turn in his favor if Jordan ever got himself down here.
Five assailants in all. He could take down two. Jordan could take down two. And there was always one coward in the group who would hang back and then run off to report their failure to Somersby.
But Jordan wasn't here yet.
Bollocks.
As the boldest assailant took a step toward him, John noticed the blacksmith shovel clenched in his gnarled fingers. "Our master was concerned that ye hadn't heard his warning."
"I heard it loud and clear," he said, watching each man as they completed a circle around him. No doubt, they believed they had him trapped.
"Very good, m'lord. But we just want to make certain ye never forget it." He raised the shovel and swung it hard, managing to strike John on the shoulder with a glancing blow. He'd been aiming for John's head, but John had parried to avoid it.
John grabbed one of the other assailants and hurled his scrawny body into the man with the shovel, grunting in satisfaction when the two fell in a heap at his feet. But they'd be up in a moment, and two others were coming at him, attempting to grab his arms to hold him down.
Where was Jordan?
He could do with his help about now, for these were big fellows, even for hired muscle.
He kicked one hard in the groin, then grabbed a bridle that was dangling on a nearby beam and slammed it into the other man's face. The man cried out in pain and grabbed his nose as blood began to spurt from it. But their leader and his scrawny companion were back on their feet and charging at him, so he had no time to enjoy his small victory.
As John reached out to grab the scrawny one and toss him again, the fifth man suddenly found his courage and heaved a barrel at him, managing to catch him on the hip. That threw John off balance long enough for the assailant with the shovel to land another glancing blow, this time to his ribs.
John was not a man of violence, but neither did he believe in meekly accepting his fate. He kicked the fellow hard in the gut and then wrestled the shovel out of his hands, easily accomplished as the air rushed out of his assailant and left the man unable to breathe. He then struck his scrawny companion under the chin with the shovel, satisfied when the man keeled over with a whimper.
Breathing hard himself, John glanced around in satisfaction. He'd put all but one of them out of commission. Shovel man was on his knees still trying to catch his breath. The scrawny one was writhing on the ground and holding his possibly broken jaw. Of the first men he'd taken down, one was still clutching his inflamed balls and the other still crying over his broken nose.
The coward who'd tossed the barrel at him was nowhere in sight, but the stable door was now flung open, allowing sunlight to stream in. John knew the whimpering scum had run back to Somersby.
He turned back to the leader of this rabble, who did not seem quite as brave as he had been a moment earlier when he'd held the iron shovel. John now had it. "Tell Somersby if he sends you idiots after me again, I'll have his guts for garters."
"Ye'll be dead," the man growled and withdrew a pistol hidden beneath his jacket.
John groaned. "Put it down before I kill you."
"Ye have it the other way around, m'lord. I'm going to-"
John swung the shovel down on the man's hand with enough force to break it, and probably had broken it judging by his shriek of pain. The pistol discharged, its shot landing harmlessly in the floorboards.
Jordan strode in just then, carrying the unconscious fifth man over his shoulder. He dumped him on the ground beside his writhing companions. "What's going on?"
"Took you long enough," John grumbled.
His friend shrugged. "You did all right for yourself. What shall we do with these gents?"
"Tie them up for now. I'm in no hurry to return them to his lordship. They rode in behind Somersby's carriage, so their horses must be tethered somewhere nearby. Let's collect them, too."
"You aren't seriously considering returning the men and their horses to Somersby, are you?" Jordan arched an eyebrow. "Because I have a better idea. I'm known in these parts. Just say the word and the magistrate will lock them away for as long as you wish."
"I like that plan." John grinned. "The fewer men left to protect our marquis, the more likely he is to behave himself for the duration of his stay."
"Are you going to mention this to Lady Nicola?"
He shrugged. "She doesn't need to know just yet. She's already overset."
Jordan's eyes rounded in surprise. "The lass ought to be told. This isn't a question of boasting about your valor, but of her own safety and that of her family. Those men were sent to break bones. Namely yours. And mine, if I got in the way."
"I know." John sighed and ran a hand across the nape of his neck. "Let's take care of these gentlemen first and then ride over to Somersby's hunting lodge. If I sense danger, I'll take Nicola and her aunt and uncle out of there at once."
"If?"
John was still rubbing his neck, for he was angry and frustrated and worried about Nicola. "Somersby is the sort of snake who sends others to do his dirty work for him. He won't get his hands soiled. If he truly wants to marry Nicola, he'll behave himself for now. But knowing Nicola, she is making her own plans to leave as we speak. They have friends staying in the area. She'll be safe enough with them. We'll escort her and her family to those neighboring friends, if necessary. But that's the extent of our involvement. We have rebel smugglers to catch. Oh, and we'd better find the two grooms, Bigwell and Larkins. I'm not sure what Somersby's men did to them to get them out of the way."