One down.
Ian grabbed the fallen knife and then turned to the second man in time to see Prometheus rear in panic and land both front hooves hard on the man’s chest. He heard the sharp crack of bone and then the man’s sharp gasp. Crumpets! as Dillie would say. That had to hurt.
He was about to rescue the undeserving wretch from Prometheus’ hooves when another two men suddenly appeared. These men had pistols drawn. Ian dove behind a bale of hay as one got off his shot. He heard it whizz past his ear. Too close. The bullet narrowly missed his head. But now Ian realized he was pinned between two bales of hay and had no way out.
The other blackguard stepped in front of him and raised his pistol. Ian knew there was no chance he’d miss. Dillie, I’m sorry. I won’t be there for you.
The shot rang out and somehow struck an overhead rafter instead of him. He heard a dull thud, and then the man fell atop him unconscious. “What the—”
He shoved the motionless body off him and scrambled to his feet in time to see Dillie swing an iron shovel hard at the knees of the last man left standing. That blackguard howled and crumpled to the ground. “My knee! You bitch! I’ll get you for this!”
She raised the shovel to swing it again, but Ian grabbed it from her hand before she accidentally struck him—or Mr. Gwynne and the sturdy helpers who’d just come running in to save him. He no longer needed saving, of course. Dillie had managed to complete the job, just as she had the last time he’d been attacked on Chipping Way.
“Lord love me! Mrs. Gwynne suspected these knaves were up to no good! I ought to have listened,” Mr. Gwynne said, shaking his head at the bodies littering the stable. “What a mess! And they coshed young Harry over the head pretty good, but he’ll be all right. That boy has a thick skull.” He ordered his men to tie up the assailants, sent one off to summon the magistrate, and then grinned at Dillie in obvious admiration. “Good thing ye alerted us, though ye don’t seem to have needed our help.” He turned to Ian. “Yer Grace, are ye injured?”
Ian shook his head and let out a soft laugh. “No. I’m well, thanks to my valiant defender.” His smile faded a little as he studied Dillie. She had on her stained gown and her equally stained cloak, and she wore one boot. At the moment she was leaning against him, looking quite uncomfortable as she tried to keep her injured, unshod foot in the air. She was covered in a sleety snow that clung to her hair and cloak. “Bloody hell,” he said quietly. “You might have been killed. Are you all right?”
She nodded and leaned closer. “About our earlier conversation,” she said in a whisper, “I have something I need to say to you… concerning Elsie.”
Bloody hell again.
“Dillie, can’t it wait?” This was hardly the time or place for the discussion. He wanted to question those men first and have his suspicions confirmed. No doubt his family had sent them and they had been following him since London.
“No, it can’t.” She had that stubborn, Dillie look of determination on her face, completely ignoring that he had almost been killed. That she could have been killed. Apparently, facing death was no more daunting for her than a stroll in the park. Lord, he didn’t stand a chance. Napoleon’s armies would have surrendered to her if faced with that stubborn look.
Ass, she just saved your life again.
He owed it to her to listen to whatever she had to say. Obviously, finding Elsie unlaced beside him had distressed her more than facing death at the hands of these fierce assailants.
He carried Dillie off to the side where several bales of hay were neatly piled and set her down on one of the bales. He hoped the small, makeshift wall of hay would lend them some privacy, for he expected her to unleash some stunning blows. He’d take whatever she wished to dish out. He owed her that much and more.
“Go on, tell me what’s on your mind.” He folded his arms as he stood beside her, waiting for the barrage of angry accusations. However, he kept his gaze on Mr. Gwynne and his staff as they worked, for he needed to be sure the blackguards were securely bound and unable to cause more harm. Only then would he carry Dillie back to the inn, before she did more damage to her injured foot.
She tugged on his jacket. “You have to look at me.”
He sighed, knowing he ought to face his punishment like a man. “Very well.” Reluctantly, he gave her his full attention.
She squared her slight shoulders and cast him a hesitant smile. “I’m so sorry, Ian. Can you ever forgive me?”
“What?” He shook his head, certain he’d heard wrong. Where were the insults and accusations?