He slammed the door before she could argue, grabbed the candlestick off the console table, and followed the sound of Fergus’s barking. Some of the wall sconces were lit in the long hallway, which explained why Cailean hadn’t fallen on his arse.
He turned a corner and could see the kitchen dead ahead. The door was open and Fergus jumping up and down, his frenzied yapping interspersed with snarls. Hugo skidded to a halt just inside the door. He stared at what Cailean was staring at: Albert trussed up like a gamebird in the corner of the kitchen.
But Albert wasn’t looking at Cailean or Hugo.
Albert’s bulging eyes were staring at something right behind—
Hugo whirled just as cudgel came down. Pain exploded in his shoulder as the heavy club clipped his shoulder instead of cracking his skull. Hugo stumbled back, ran into a chair, and went sprawling onto his arse.
Cowan—or at least he thought it was Cowan Morgan, although his hair was matted with blood and his face so swollen on one side that he didn’t even look human—limped toward him and raised the huge club again.
“Nooooo!” Cailean leapt between Cowan and Hugo faster than a lad his size should have been able to move. But Cowan, for all his injuries, was quick enough to pivot and he swung the raised club at Cailean instead of Hugo.
The club struck Cailean in the upper arm and the lad screamed as the blow knocked him back several feet and he careened into the pot rack before sliding to the floor.
Dozens of pots clattered on the hard floor of the kitchen, the din deafening.
Cowan turned and started back toward Hugo, just as a black and white streak shot across the room and struck him in the crotch. The big man’s scream was even louder than the pots.
“Get it off! Get it off!” he shrieked as he staggered backward, striking at Fergus with the club, but hitting his own knee rather than the small, squirming dog. He howled in pain and flung the club away, slapping at Fergus with his huge hands.
But Fergus’s jaws had locked tight. His wiry body hung a foot off the floor and thrashed back and forth as he savaged Cowan’s jewels.
Cowan rammed his pelvis into the counter, squashing Fergus against a cupboard door while he fumbled with the knife block.
Hugo leapt over the tangle of kitchen chairs that had brought him down, lunging for Cowan’s club just as something gray fluttered at the edge of his vision.
It was Martha, and she held a large vase over her head as she ran toward Cowan.
“Martha, be caref—”
She smashed the vase against the back of Cowan’s skull with all the strength of a woman who’d spent the first twenty years of her life doing hard manual labor.
Cowan grunted and crumpled, the knife slipping from his limp fingers with a clatter as he slid to the floor, trapping Fergus beneath his huge body.
Hugo snatched up the club and strode toward the fallen man. “Get back, Martha,” he said when she reached for Cowan’s shoulder to turn him over and free poor Fergus.
She jerked back her hand and took a step back.
Hugo kicked the knife away from Cowan’s outstretched hand, raised the club, and nodded at Cailean, who’d crawled to the fallen man on his hands and knees. “Go ahead and turn him over.”
Cailean grunted with the effort of rolling the huge man onto his back.
Fergus squirmed free of his prison and gave a joyous yip as he leapt into Cailean’s waiting arms.
Drool and blood leaked from the corner of Cowan’s mouth and more blood oozed from a nasty cut over his eye.
Hugo lowered the club. “Go untie Albert,” Hugo told Cailean, and then turned to his disobedient wife. “And you. I thought I told you to wait in the carriage.”
Before she could speak—and likely argue—Hugo grabbed her with the hand not holding the cudgel and yanked her close, squeezing a startled squeak out of her as he stared down into her wide blue eyes.
“Never mind,” he said, kissing her hard on the mouth. “What I meant to say was I love you, Martha Buckingham.”
She stared up at him, poleaxed.
“Oh, and also thank you for saving the day with that hideous vase.” He gave her another kiss, this one a bit more thorough, and then pulled away. “But the next time you thrust yourself in the middle of danger I’m going to put you over my knee. Understood?”
Martha’s smile grew slowly, until it illuminated the kitchen. “Yes, Hugo.”
Hugo snorted; he wasn’t fooled for a second by her demure tone and meek expression. “We shall talk more about this later,” he promised. “In great detail. Is the hackney still outside?”
“I paid him to wait.”
“I’m going to stay here and watch over Cowan. Take Cailean with you and go tell the driver he needs to fetch the nearest Watch. And then come right back here.”
“Yes, Hugo.”
He kissed her, and then waited until the two of them left before turning to Albert, who was rubbing the circulation into his wrists. “Need a doctor?” he asked.
Albert shook his head and then winced. “Just a bit of a goose egg. I’ll be fine.”
“What happened?”
“I came in through the kitchen—my key didn’t work on the front door—and he must have been waiting.”
Cowan moaned, the eye that wasn’t swollen shut opened a crack and his hands went to his bloody trouser front. He whimpered, clutched his jewels, and then whimpered again.
“Fancy seeing you here, Cowan.”
Amazingly, Cowan’s battered face twisted into a sneer when he saw Hugo looking down at him, holding his club. “You filthy sod bastard.”
Hugo grinned. “I’m glad to see that almost having your prick ripped off hasn’t dimmed your sunny nature. Why are you here?”
“Where the hell else could I go?” Cowan shouted, and then winced at the pain it must have caused his head.”
“Is that a trick question?” Hugo asked, genuinely confused. “How about the Continent? The Liverpool docks?
