Page 11 of The Highlander's Christmas Bride

Now, on top of everything else, it looked like some blasted morons were going to try to rob them.

He stepped down and peered ahead into the gathering gloom. Foster had stopped the carriage at the east end of the bridge because four riders had blocked the opposite end. One gave a signal, and the men nudged their animals forward, taking up the width of the bridge as they advanced.

“Is this what I think it is?” Logan asked.

“They raised my hackles,” the coachman replied. “That’s why I stopped so sudden-like. But if they’re thinkin’ of robbin’ us, they’re takin’ their sweet time.”

“They’re nae actin’ like highwaymen,” Davey opined from his perch at the back.

Logan threw an ironic glance over his shoulder. “Ever been held up before, Davey?”

The young man winced and shook his head.

“I think you’d best retrieve the pistols,” Logan said.

“Aye, sir.”

“Daft to be tryin’ something so close to Perth,” Foster said. “Anyone could come along.”

“There’s been hardly any traffic in either direction for over an hour,” Logan replied. “Sensible folk are already indoors.”

The mysterious strangers’ actions raised Logan’s hackles, too. He’d developed finely honed instincts during his time in the Canadian wilderness, dodging predators with claws and sharp teeth, as well as those that walked upright and carried guns.

After a quick rummage through the boot, Davey handed over a pistol.

“Do you have another one?” Logan asked.

“Nae, sir. Mr. Foster has one under his seat, but that’s it. It’s rare to have trouble on the roads, these days.”

Logan had another pistol in his travelling kit somewhere at the bottom of the boot, underneath Donella’s luggage.

Idiot.

He’d grown complacent these last few years. In Canada, he’d never travelled without a brace of pistols strapped over his body and usually an extra one shoved in the back of his breeches.

Donella popped her head out the door. “What’s going on? And why do you have a pistol?”

“I’m just being cautious. Please get back inside.”

Instead, she leaned out over the step and peered ahead. “Are those men a problem?”

“Possibly.”

“I suppose they’re going to hold us up,” she said, clearly exasperated. “Mr. Kendrick, I suggest you inform the nitwits that I am the niece of the Laird of Riddick, and that he’ll not be best pleased with any nonsense.”

“I’ll be sure to make that point,” Logan said, priming his pistol.

“There’s no need to be sarcastic. And I’d like a weapon too, please.”

“We’dalllike more weapons, lass. Now, for the love of God, get back in the bloody carriage and stay down.”

Her plump lips thinned into a silent scold, but thankfully she complied with his order. While high-handed she might be, Donella was smart enough to know when to listen.

Logan moved a few steps onto the bridge, narrowing his gaze on the slow advance of the horsemen.

“What the devil are they about?” he muttered.

“They’ve got pistols,” Foster said. “I can see them in their laps.”

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