This Fierce Splendor

As the deep-voiced command had been preceded by four gunshots, one of which skimmed the brim of his hat, Ben Travis decided it behooved him to obey… and fast. He glanced with longing at the shotgun beside him in the boot of the stagecoach, then reluctantly pulled up the horses just short of the lone bandit standing square in the center of the road ahead.

A thrill of panic darted through Elspeth MacGregor, and her hand unconsciously tightened on the black grosgrain reticule she carried. She mustn’t be forced to give up the little money she possessed. If Dominic Delaney wasn’t still at Hell’s Bluff, where her father had last made contact with him, she would have to search for him. Heaven only knew how long it would take and how much it would cost to find him.

“Do not be frightened, mademoiselle.”

Those slightly accented words were the first the plump young man across from Elspeth had spoken since the stage had left Tucson. Her fellow passenger had appeared to be dozing continuously since their early morning departure, and Elspeth had felt relieved to be ignored by him and left to her own thoughts. Now, however, the man’s dark eyes were blazing with excitement.

“I’ve read about these desperadoes,” he said, “and they have a certain code. The would never tamper with the virtue of a respectable lady such as yourself. They want only our money.”

Only! Elspeth came close to laughing aloud. Women as plain as she seldom had problems with would-be ravishers, so she hadn’t a fear on that score. But she did fear being robbed; she had to have money on which to live until she could find Dominic Delaney. She had a little gold secreted in her trunk, but most of her remaining funds were in the reticule she was clutching so desperately. “Do you have a weapon?” she asked her plump companion. “We could try to overpower them. We cannot just let them rob us.”

He blinked. The woman facing him was small, quite fragile-looking really, and her voice was sweetly melodious despite its urgent tone. The mere suggestion from her of trying to overpower even the weakest of men seemed ludicrous to him. Deciding fear was robbing her of good sense, he said soothingly, “I do not think it would be wise to challenge these fellows. They’re probably very dangerous.” He shrugged his shoulders and the fine biscuit-colored broadcloth of his fashionable coat scarcely rippled. “Naturally,” he said forcefully, “if you weren’t present, I would confront these outlaws.”

“Naturally,” she echoed dryly. He appeared to be accepting this robbery with equanimity, even a certain amount of pleasure. Judging by the beautifully crafted leather boots and expensive clothes of this calm individual, she suspected he could easily afford to lose the money he carried with him. She could not. “Do you have a pistol?” she asked.

He looked slightly affronted. “Of course I have a pistol. A very fine derringer.”

“May I borrow it?”

He blinked again. “Do you know how to fire a pistol?”

“I haven’t the slightest notion how to do so, but at least I can threaten those bandits with it.” She straightened briskly and held out her small, gloved hand. “Please.”

Clearly astonished at what she wished to do, he blustered, “I do not think-”

His sentence was interrupted by a string of curses shouted by the driver of the stage.

Elspeth frowned. She’d overheard her father and his students using some of the milder oaths on occasion, but many of the curses the driver spouted now were utterly incomprehensible to her. She cocked her head, listening carefully as the man called Ben Travis went on.

“I could have blown you to kingdom come with my shotgun, you young jackass. It would have served you right.”

“Now, Ben, where’s your sense of humor? My horse threw a shoe and I needed a ride into town.”

The deep voice of the bandit, no longer low and ominous but jocular, confounded Elspeth for a moment.

“You’re always telling us what a boring run it is from Tucson to Hell’s Bluff, Ben, so I decided to liven things up a little for you.”

“By holding up the stage?” Ben Travis’s voice dripped sarcasm. “What do you think your granddad will have to say about this?”

“How else could I get you to stop? You always go flat out the last few miles into Hell’s Bluff. I had to find a way to get your attention.”

Elspeth’s tension ebbed. Apparently there was no threat here after all. That young man had played some sort of bizarre practical joke.

“My attention?” the driver thundered before loosing a fresh string of curses that mingled with the younger man’s rich laughter. “You’ve got feet,” Ben said. “You could have walked to town, you know.”

“When did you ever know a cowboy who would walk when he could ride? Even this rattlebone coach of yours is better than walking.”

“Rattlebone! This is the finest coach that ever came out of Concord, and only a half-weaned, bowlegged cowpuncher wouldn’t be able to appreciate her.”

“Sorry, Ben.” There was still an undercurrent of laughter to the man’s voice as he apologized. “Can I have a ride to town in the finest coach that ever came out of Concord?”

“Hell, no!” There was a pause, and then another curse. “I guess if I leave you out here, you’re loco enough to try the same fool trick on one of the ore wagons. But I don’t want you up here with me. Tie your horse to the baggage rack in back and get in the coach, where I don’t have to look at you.”

“Thanks, Ben.”

“And you behave yourself with the paying customers. We’ve got a lady passenger today.”

“A lady going to Hell’s Bluff?” The deep voice was chuckling as it came nearer. “You sure your eyesight isn’t going bad, Ben? There are ladies and then there are…” He trailed off as he opened the door of the coach and caught sight of Elspeth. He quickly doffed his hat. “How do you do, ma’am. Sorry for the commotion. I hope I didn’t frighten you.”

Elspeth stared in surprise. Why, he was only a boy. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen in spite of the hardened muscular body that made him appear older. The afternoon sunlight danced over his chestnut- colored hair, revealing its red highlights, and his dark-brown eyes were still sparkling with remembered laughter. No, not remembered, but present once again as he smiled easily at her. He was so alive. She was used to being around boys his age, but she had never seen a young man quite like this one. “How do you do?” she asked faintly, thinking that if his chin had been less firm, the slight depression in its center might have been termed a dimple.

“Not so well. My horse threw a shoe on the way back to my ranch.” He climbed into the coach and settled his long slim body in the seat across from her and beside the portly man in the biscuit-colored coat. He stretched his denim-clad legs out in front of him. “Which means I’ll have to take him to the blacksmith in Hell’s Bluff and not get back to Killara until tomorrow.” He made a face. “My grandfather is going to skin me alive.”

She found herself smiling sympathetically at him. She had an idea most people found themselves smiling when confronting this young man. “I’m sure he’ll understand that it’s not your fault.”

“Permit me to introduce myself.” The plump man sitting next to him was gazing in fascination at the auburn- haired cowboy. “I am Count Andre Marzonoff, heir to estates in Vlados and recently arrived from St. Petersburg. I am delighted to meet you.”

The cowboy gazed at him blankly for a moment. “Well, howdy,” he said, and Elspeth was sure his eyes were twinkling. “I’m Patrick Delaney, heir apparent of Killara, but since I share that honor with a sister, a cousin, and five uncles you may think it tends to lessen my importance a trifle.”

Elspeth stiffened. Delaney. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Now here, so near to Hell’s Bluff.

Andre Marzonoff nodded. “I, too, have an older cousin who holds the purse strings. Perhaps we have other things in common.”

“Perhaps.” Patrick Delaney’s glance drifted from Marzonoff to Elspeth. “And what kingdom do you rule, Princess-?”

“I am Miss Elspeth MacGregor.”

Patrick Delaney tilted his head as if listening to pleasant music. “You’re Scottish, aren’t you? I ran into a fellow in a saloon in Tucson who sounded like you.” He grinned. “Well, not exactly like you. Your soft little burr is like harp chords and he sounded like a stomped-on bagpipe.”

She smiled. “I’m from Edinburgh, Mr. Delaney, and I’m afraid I’m heiress to very little. My father was a professor of antiquities at the university and scholars rarely acquire more than the wealth of knowledge.” She