Page 40 of A Bonny Pretender
Chapter Eleven
Unexpected Company
Asquire andhis sons came across the commotion just as the last shot rang out. They tied the big man’s hands and left him on the ground, not sure if he would survive or not. The other scoundrel was tied to a tree, and the squire promised to lead the constable and a surgeon to the highwaymen when they arrived. Frank gave him any pertinent information and the direction of their overnight stop. If the party was needed to stay an extra night to answer questions, they only had to send word. Frank wanted to get the women to the coaching inn and away from this terrible scene.
After the squire’s party left, Barker produced a clean shirt and waistcoat so the viscount wouldn’t have to enter the inn blood-spattered. Frank had washed up the best he could and cursed his trembling fingers as he buttoned his waistcoat. He’d been terrified for the women and the possibility he couldn’t save them. With the catastrophe past, his body’s reaction was catching up with his emotional state. He was still trying to figure out when Barker had begun carrying a weapon.
As they prepared to leave, Brigid came out of the woods with the small boy who had been used as the decoy. Frank put his hands on his hips and frowned at the tear-streaked face. “Should we tie him to a tree?”
Brigid had put her arms around the boy. “No, he’s a victim the same as us.”
“Hesays.”Frank wasn’t as trusting as Brigid, but right now, he couldn’t deny her anything. Besides, the child couldn’t do much harm at this point. “How do you know?”
“He just turned five. How evil can ye become in that short of time?” She looked down at the trembling lad, clinging white-knuckled to her hand. “Besides, I saw the fear in his eyes and his hands trembling when he went through our trunks. He was as unwilling as we were.”
And so, their party had increased by one. Or one-half as Lady Brecken joked. The coaching inn was comfortable, with decent food and fresh mattresses. They ordered a meal in a private dining room and ate together. The lad had crammed some bread and cheese in his mouth, lain down on the rug in front of the fire, and fallen asleep.
Mostly they ate in silence, each in their own thoughts, reliving the afternoon debacle. If someone began a conversation, they all added to it at once. It had been a strange but bonding meal, taken while seeing each other in a new light. There were no titles or class delineations as they ate. They were five victims who had shared an experience that would forever link them together.
The maid had attached herself to Barker’s side, and he walked her to her room when the ladies retired. Frank carried the child to the kitchen, where the owner had given him permission to sleep. If the boy ran off, so be it. If not, they’d decide what to do with him in the morning. The only information they’d gotten from him before he fell asleep was that his name was Boy-O, he thought he was almost five, and he’d been sold to the highwaymen over a game of dice.
Frank headed to his own room, anxious for the hot bath that awaited him. As he made his way down the hall, he heard a soft sob and paused. Was this Miss MacNaughton’s room or Lady Brecken’s? It didn’t matter, he supposed, if he could help. He tapped on the door, and the crying stopped abruptly.
“Who is it?” the voice asked close to the door. It was Brigid. She’d been so brave and held back the tears until she was alone.
“Lord Raines. Are you all right?”
The door cracked open. “I’m s-sorry. I didna realize I was so loud.” She sniffed and wiped her nose with her sleeve. She wore a thin nightshift, her long curls mussed and loose.
“I have remarkable hearing. Can I do anything?”
Please, let me hold you, his mind screamed.
“Would ye like to come in for a moment?” she asked, opening the door wider.
The stress of the day caught up to him as he took in her appearance. He entered, and her tear-streaked face sent a dagger to his heart. The blue eyes were dark and red-rimmed, her lips swollen, but she was alive and safe. That fact alone made her even more beautiful to him.
Frank opened his arms, and she stepped against him, pressing her face to his chest. She sobbed quietly while he rocked her and brushed back her thick tresses. Letting the silken strands slide through his fingers, he murmured comforting words in her ear and stroked her back.
“Do all the MacNaughtons have such courage or did you get the lion’s share?” he asked when she calmed and hiccupped.
Brigid took his offered handkerchief and blew her nose twice.
His knuckles stroked the light bruise emerging along her jaw. “I’ve never killed a man, but I could have today.” The helplessness had been excruciating. He bent and kissed the purpling skin. “When he touched you, I—”
She reached up on her tiptoes, cupped his cheeks, and pressed her mouth to his. His arms pulled her close, and he breathed in the scents of vanilla and heather. How had this woman become so dear to him in so short a time? But she had, and he couldn’t let her go any more than he could stop breathing.
Her lips parted, and his tongue searched for hers, moaning into her mouth as he tasted her sweetness. Her nails skimmed up and down his back, and his body responded. He ached with desire and love and the need to be closer. Scooping her up in his arms, never breaking their kiss, he walked to a chair and sat her on his lap.
Brigid continued the light grazes along his shoulders and arms, her bottom pressing against his throbbing manhood. He trailed his lips along her jaw, then her neck, and tasted the salt on her skin as his tongue traced her collarbone. He pulled the tie of her nightshift and leaned back to see her breasts, stroke the pink tips. She gasped and let her head fall back.
“Ye make me crave something I canna name,” she said, her voice husky with passion. “I have a pounding here that I dinna understand nor couldna stop it if I wanted to.” She took one of his hands and placed it between her legs, covering her mons.
Her heat made him grit his teeth, wondering how long he could control his own desire. Frank cradled one breast, his lips brushing against hers, his fingers stroking her mound below.
“Sweet Mary,” she murmured and her hips pushed into his palm. Her breath came faster, her chest rising and falling as he continued to stroke and fondle.
“You were made for love, Brigid,” he whispered again her ear. “May I touch you here?” His finger slid along her folds, parting them, her moisture soaking into the nightshift.
