Page 175 of New Storm Rising
Before I could say another word, he let go of me and slapped my mount’s posterior, hard.
“Ride! Ride faster!” he barked, and deciding not to argue for once, I did as ordered—until I realized he wasn’t following.
“Hey, what do you think you’re up to? What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me,” he commanded, falling behind some more, and…placing himself directly between me and our pursuers.
Oh, hell no!
“Stop that! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“My job as your husband. Now go faster!”
“I can’t just let you—”
Before I could finish my words, I felt a finger on my lips, silencing me. His deep, dark, sea-coloured eyes seared into me with unshakable determination. “Yes. Yes, you can!”
I felt a lump in my throat. “But—”
“No buts! Go faster, now!” His face hardened. And with Mr Rikkard Ambrose, that was saying something. “Go, or I will slow down!”
I stared into his eyes. They were implacable. He was completely serious about this, the chauvinistic son of a bachelor! I felt a tug at my heart.
“By all means, slow down,pendejo!” an unwelcome voice intruded on us from the inside of the prisoners’ carriage. “It will not make a difference eiser way! Se two of you will be gunned down soon enough. Mwhahaha!”
In answer, Mr Rikkard Ambrose pulled a stick of dynamite out of his pocket, lit it, and threw it through the window of the coach.
“Yaaaaaaargh!”
A terrified squeal rose from the coach, then abruptly cut off. A moment later, we heard a heavy thump—like, for example, from two fainting men hitting the floor.
I lifted an eyebrow at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. “I thought you didn’t have any more dynamite left.”
“I don’t. That was a dud for display purposes.”
“And you carry that around with you why exactly?”
He cocked his head at the coach. “Naturally, in case I need to make a display. Now stop talking and ride!”
Blast, blast, blast! What could I do to—
Bam!
There was no choice, was there? I had to. The faster I rode, the faster he’d catch up! Cursing, I squeezed my mount’s flanks, eliciting a protesting bleat from Ambrose Junior.
“Shut up and run, you flea-infested doormat!”
And he did. Giving a long, low bleat, Ambrose Junior sped up. The world, which so far had been jolting up and down, turned into an incomprehensible blur as the landscape raced past faster and faster. My jaw was nearly shattered every time the camel’s hooves hit the ground. But no matter how fast we went, it was no use. Turns out, no matter how well suited for desert travel they might be, camels are not as fast as horses. Who would have guessed?
Deep inside, I cursed the niggardly cheapskate that was Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Even deeper inside, I prayed for the safety of the man who was shielding me with his body this very moment.
Behind us, the desperados were catching up quickly. I kept myself pressed tightly to the camel’s back, trying desperately to peek past its massive, furry neck in search of something, anything that could help us. Suddenly, I caught sight of a twinkle in the distance.
What…?
But Mr Rikkard Ambrose was already far ahead of me. Figuratively speaking, at least. From behind me, I heard the familiar sound of his telescope unfolding. Yet even without the visual aid, I could already make out the vague outline of a river in the distance, and beyond it, a steep, cliff-like bank rising into the sky.
“Adequate.” Mr Ambrose’s firm voice came from behind me. “There.”
