“Don’t move!” Gregor growled. A tiny red nick appeared on Kendra’s smooth skin, and her whimper was like a knife in Trick’s gut. Gregor swung his gaze on one of the other two men, motioning toward Trick with his head. “Kill him first.”
“I told you!” Kendra wailed.
“Kill?” Palms forward, his gun pointed to the sky, the man backed away. A Duncraven villager—Trick had slapped him at the draidgie.
Now he wished he’d pounded him into the floorboards.
“Nobody said anything about killing, aye? We were supposed to move some chests and go home with gold in our pockets. Nobody said anything about killing.”
“I’m with you, Davie.” The second man’s pistol dropped to the dirt. “Good day to you people. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’ll be heading back to Duncraven now—you may keep my horse with my compliments.” Casting a wistful glance to the animal in question, which was hitched to one of the wagons, he started walking.
“Wait!” Rhona’s eyes darted back and forth between the retreating men and her husband. “We don’t have to kill.” Her voice rose an octave. “Blast you, Gregor, I told you from the first that we didn’t have to kill!”
The men halted and turned back around, apparently reserving judgment.
“Aye,” Gregor barked. “And then you talked me into that milk-livered way of doing it, when we could’ve been done with the deed and clear to London weeks before he showed up.” He aimed a deadly glance at Trick.
“A pox on you!” the first man said, pivoting away.
“Wait!” Rhona shot her pistol into the air.
Everyone froze. A choked sound came from Kendra’s throat.
“We don’t have to kill,” Rhona repeated, her jaw tight with fury as she faced her husband. Visibly shaking, she gestured wildly at the four loaded wagons. “We cannot do this alone. We cannot let them walk.”
Her gaze fell on the rope Trick had dropped to the ground. “We can tie the scoundrels up, like they were going to do us. We’ll be long gone across the Forth before they can follow. The tide will turn, and they’ll be stuck here till tomorrow.”
Other than his labored breathing, Gregor remained silent. Resolute. The two other men exchanged looks and resumed walking.
A crack of lightning rent the air. “Come back,” Gregor bellowed as thunder rumbled and rain began pelting the earth. “I’ll hold this one until you tie up the others.” His breath came in spasmodic jerks. “You!” he shouted to Niall. “Get down here unless you want to see the inside of your sister-in-law’s gullet.”
Niall didn’t need to be told twice.
Using Trick’s own ropes, they tied him and then his brother on the muddy ground, feet together, wrists crossed and bound behind their backs, then lashed to their bodies for good measure. Finally Gregor wrestled Kendra to the ground, and the two men gave her the same treatment.
“Ouch!” she yelled. “Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! OUCH!”
Lying on his side, Trick winced with each tug of the rope, though frankly he couldn’t imagine what she found so painful. The entire situation was aggravating as anything, but it didn’t hurt so much as to warrant squealing like a pig.
His poor wife must have the lowest pain threshold in history, he decided, remembering her fear of the marriage bed. Should she ever give birth, he would do best to keep clear of the house. Or maybe the county.
He was jarred from those musings when Gregor came to stand over him, murder in his cold blue eyes. “You blasted smaik!” A swift kick to Trick’s side knocked the breath from his lungs. Gregor’s jaw clenched, and he kicked again, a blow so hard Trick heard the sharp crack of a rib. Pain knifed through him, exquisite agony that made the worst of his father’s beatings seem insignificant.
He shut his eyes, gasping for air, hearing the wagons roll down the road as he waited for the pain to subside.
“Trick? Oh, dear heavens. Trick, are you all right?”
“I’ll live.” She was too far away to touch, but he opened his eyes and sent her a wan, forced smile. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” The tears welled up again, mixing with the rain. “Oh, hang it, I’m so sorry. I know you told me not to come, but she was poisoning them, Trick, they were—”
“We’ll talk of it later.” He was too confused right now, torn between fury that she’d shown up and relief that her throat was intact. The pain was becoming bearable, an insistent throb along his left side. “Niall? You all right, man?”
“Aye. I should have shot him.”
“Don’t be a horse’s arse. It was four against two, and a knife at her throat.” His eyes widened when he looked back to Kendra. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Getting out.” She gyrated in the mud. “Angus and Davie, they’re nice men at heart. I talked to them at the draidgie.”
“What?”
“I thought if I could convince them they were hurting me, they’d leave the ropes loose.” She wiggled a hand free. “It worked.”
“Crivvens,” Niall breathed. “She’s brilliant.”
And Trick was a deuced idiot.
Her arm was still tied to her body, and it took another few minutes to work it free. Then more long minutes to unravel the rest until only her ankles were bound. She made short work of those bonds and scrambled to her feet, shaking out the kinks, splattering mud to the ground.
“I never thought I’d say this, but thank goodness it’s raining.” She tilted her head back, letting the downpour run into her mouth and wash down her body.
A wry laugh shot from Trick’s throat, shortened by the pain in his ribs. “Untie me, you brilliant wench.”
Minutes later, he was free, hugging her like he never wanted to let go, never mind the ache in his side. He dropped kisses on her mouth, her cheeks, her eyes. “Sweet heaven, leannan.” He pulled back, running his fingers over the tiny cut on her throat, convincing himself it was nothing. “I thought I was going
