Fox had gone over her. She scrambled to her feet, pulling her pistol.
Inside, a melee had erupted. Fox rolled on the floor with a man, knives flashing as they held each other off, and Kincaid struggled with Sir Richard. A body lay stretched on the floor.
Panic rising, she finally spotted Lady Jane bent over an overturned chair with a man tied to it.
She ran to help.
“Stop wriggling, Shaldon,” Lady Jane said.
“We’ll get you out, Papa.” Perry knelt and set the pistol down on a corner of worn carpet.
Father’s arms came loose and he yanked at the rope tying his ankles. The front of his shirt was sodden and dripping. “Go and lock the door, Perry,” he wheezed. “Two more in the house. Cut these ties, Jane dear.”
As she ran to the door, Fox took one valiant slash, his man falling and almost tripping her. Kincaid had Sir Richard against the wall, but the big Scotsman was injured, one of his arms a limp wing. Fox ran to help.
She threw all of her weight against the door,snickingit to, but the keyhole was empty. She scanned the surrounding floor.
There. By an overturned urn.
Perry scrambled for it and shoved the key in the lock. Lady Jane clutched Father with one hand and Kincaid with the other, the three of them stumbling toward the servant’s door. Fox had Sir Richard by the scruff.
“We want him alive,” Father called.
“Go,” Fox called. “We’re right behind you. Perry, go with them.”
“In a minute.” Before she could turn the key, the door opened, smacking her back, her head cracking against the wall. Stars flashed in her vision and she slid to the floor.
