Page 91 of Their Master

He flung up a staying hand. “All right, all right, calm yourself,” he muttered, crawling toward the door with a pitiful whimper.

Smith kept his gaze on Moira, rather than the door, and was not disappointed.

Her beautiful eyes threatened to pop out of her head. “Sandrine!” She shrieked and ran for the door, apparently forgetting the gun in her hand, which hit the stone floor and skittered across the room.

TheComteran toward it but his shoe struck it before he could grab it and it went twirling across the floor.

“Tut-tut.I don’t think so, my lord.”

Smith looked up at the sound of Malcolm Barton’s voice and sagged with relief to see the huge bastard filling the doorway, holding the biggest gun Smith had ever seen and pointing it at Blois.

TheComtequickly raised his hands.

“Bloody hell, Mal. Is that a punt gun?” Smith asked.

Smith’s oldest friend chuckled and ran a big paw down the barrel. “I call her Vickie—after the Queen. Because she’s always the most dangerous piece in any room.”

Smith laughed, even though it made his head throb.

Moira—who’d finally let go of her sister long enough to breathe—hurried toward him, but then stopped a few feet away, her expression fearful and anxious, as if she worried he wouldn’t want her to touch him.

“Come untie me, darling.”

A choked sob tore out of her and she dropped to her knees and started to release an ankle.

Sandrine hurried over to join her sister, working on Smith’s hands.

“I hope you brought me some clothes,” Smith said to Edward, who’d just eased past Malcolm and his gun, the two hulking men making the small room feel even smaller.

“Be patient—somebody is bringing them.” Edward smirked. “The last thing we all want to look at is your saggy bollocks.”

Smith snorted.

“These are too tight,” Sandrine muttered behind Smith’s chair.

Edward produced a knife and handed it hilt-first to Sandrine, who speedily sawed through the ropes.

“Where are we?” Smith asked, flexing his freed hands, and wincing when the blood began to flow.

“An abandoned dairy a few miles off the North Road,” Malcolm said.

Luke appeared in the doorway and pushed past both Malcolm and Edward.

“Thank God you are alright, sir,” Luke cried out, the relief in his voice flattering.

Smith grinned. “I’m relieved that you are up and about, Luke. That looked like a nasty knock on the head you took.”

“You saw that?” Moira asked, looking up from the knot she’d just untied. “I thought you were unconscious by then.” She rubbed his freed ankle.

“I might not have been as far gone as I appeared,” he admitted, standing and helping her to her feet before turning to Luke, who had an armload of clothing.

Smith set a hand on Luke’s shoulder and stepped into the trousers the other man held open for him, wincing when he tried to bend too quickly.

“Did you get those other two packages for me?” he asked Edward, allowing Luke to button him up since his hands were still numb.

Edward rolled his eyes. “Aye, we’ve got yourpackages. And a proper pain in the arse one of them is, too. As for the other one? Well, he’s cried and pissed all over the floor of my carriage—you owe me for that. We’ve got both outside.”

Moira looked up at him at his face. “You need a doctor. That cut on your—”

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