Page 27 of Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell
“I don’t know if it would have been so loud. It sounded closer.” Simon opened the window and stuck his head out, scanning the darkness.
“Mr. Farrell,” called Meg.
The butler was through the door in a blink. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you hear that noise?”
“Yes, ma’am. It sounded like gunfire.” The butler looked to Simon, one eyebrow raised. “Mr. Jackson has not returned yet. Shall I investigate?”
“No, I’ll get my pistols and take a look. Stay with Lady Drake.” He half ran to his bedchamber, found his saddle bag, and pulled out the pistols. He always travelled armed, prepared for highwaymen searching for easy prey.
Simon stopped in the parlor. “Farrell, lock the door after me. Don’t let anyone in.” He placed the pistols in the waist of his pants and donned his greatcoat. “If you have a weapon, get it now before I leave.”
To his surprise, the butler nodded and left the room, soon returning with a small revolver. “As you say, my lord. They will have to go through me first.”
CHAPTER 13
Simon had continued to practice his marksmanship after the war. He reckoned whoever had made that shot would be the enemy. Remaining in the shadows of the manor, he quickly made his way around the house. Another shot rang out.
Behind the stable, his brain directed as he took a wide arc to the back of that building. The horses snorted and pawed, restless at the unfamiliar noises of the night. He could see several forms, one waving his arms.
Creeping up to a fence line, he spied one man down, the others gesturing to one another as if in an argument. As he inched closer, he could hear the voices.
“What if he don’t die?” asked one.
“I got him in the chest. He’ll die,” said another.
“Don’t matter none. We’ll get the money and be gone afore the sun is up and they find him.” He waved an arm. “Let’s get to the house. If yer that worried, shoot ‘im again.”
Simon knew the dying man had to be under the employ of the baroness, possibly her driver who had gone into the village. He would check on his condition, then track the bloody cracksmen to the manor. As the men moved away from the stable, Simon edged near the prone form, then realized he was being followed.
“I’m the stable master, my lord. D’you think he’s dead?”
“We’re about to find out.” Simon checked the man’s neck for a pulse as blood leaked from his shoulder. “Good news. He wasn’t hit in the chest. But we must stop the bleeding.”
The stable master pulled the wool scarf from his neck. “I can use this. My boy has gone for the constable and the surgeon. You go after those fiends and take care of our Lady Drake.”
Simon nodded and ran into the dark, slowing as he reached the perimeter of the house. He could hear a banging—against the parlor door? Crouching beneath the window, he heard Meg scream as wood splintered. Then a shot rang out, accompanied by another scream.
“He got me. The bloody butler got me.”
“Bein’ the hero, are ye?”
Simon didn’t wait to hear more. He ran to a back entrance, assuming it was the kitchen and the door the thugs used since it was open. He followed the muffled voices down a hall until he reached the parlor. Standing against the wall, he peered through the crack between the door and the wall and saw one man sitting on the floor, using a handkerchief to stanch the bleeding from his chest.
Well done, Farrell, he silently commended the butler. Then Simon strode in, acting as if he did this every day, with his gun held out. The sight before him curdled his stomach.
The other two men still wore their kerchiefs to cover their faces. One held Meg, the other held a pistol to Farrell’s head. All four faces turned to Simon.
“Let her go, and we can settle this amicably,” said Simon.
The taller man shook his head and snorted. “I don’t care if all of ye meet yer maker tonight. If I go back without the money, it’s my arse that’ll end up in the Thames.”
Simon took several steps toward them. “You realize you’ll hang for this.”
“If’n they catch us,” said the short man.
Tall Man laughed. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’ll set your pistol down slow like and sit on the fine carpet. Then we’ll tie all three of ye up, and the pretty lady will tell us where she keeps her blunt.”
