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With the only ball in the riffle gone, Ross ran to take James’s, but Fingal was faster and pointed the newly acquired gun to the willowy McPherson on the ground, immobilising him.
Quick as lightning, Drostan stood on his feet and advanced on Ross, who showed a look of dread on him. The McKendrick grabbed him by his collar and flew countless punches on his despicable nose. The older man was no match against his out-of-control rage and lost balance. With an angry push, the fat-bellied man hit the dust, Drostan came over him, still discharging non-stop punches, releasing a lifetime of bottled ire.
More horse hooves announced other people coming towards them. Freya finally regained her capacity to react and looked up to see Taran, Wallace and Lachlan galloping and shouting. She managed to stand up.
Her husband seemed not to have registered the newcomers as his fists pounded tirelessly down, his stance crumped with extreme fury. Ross had passed out long ago. She did not want her husband to be the criminal. Her kin were.
Fingal and the coachman tied James and dragged him away.
Stumbling to him, she placed a light hand on his muscled shoulder. “My love.” Her voice came soft and calm.
He froze in a second, his old-whisky eyes lifting to meet hers. That marvellous steel frame unfolded from the ground.
Bloody knuckles, sweat jaw, dusty shirt, rumpled tartan, he was the very image of a fierce warrior. He glared at her hard as his bunched biceps banded her by the waist, pivoted and pressed her against the carriage, his mouth nosediving to hers.
With a moan blocked at her throat, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back as though they were alone. Or in bed.
Or in heaven.
“Ahem.” Wallace cleared his throat.
“I know this might not be a good time to interrupt.” Fingal’s voice did not penetrate the haze the couple merged in.
“Since it is the appropriate place for this type of…demonstration.” Came Lachlan ironic.
Drostan and Freya did not pay heed.
“A rather…healthy demonstration.” Taran put in.
Still, they did not disentangle from each other. If anything, they seemed take the kiss to the next level.
“Papa is kissing mama again!” Ewan, who had just arrived in Aileen’s carriage, exclaimed.
His parents let go at once.
Meanwhile, Fingal was explaining what had happened and how Drostan had bloodied Ross.
“Never do this to me again.” Drostan rasped for her ears solely.
Their noses’ tip still touching. “I will do whatever I have to protect you.” She murmured back.
“Impossible woman!” After which, he deigned to pay attention to the people surrounding them.
“We thought it better to stay behind to be able to keep an eye on you.” Aileen provided, holding Ewan’s hand.
Only now did Sam alight from the carriage with a heavy science book in his hand and an abstracted look in his eyes.
“But you handled the criminals well.” Taran conceded.
“I will tie Ross and call the magistrate.” Volunteered Lachlan.
“Bearing forbidden guns, these men will rot in jail.” Predicted Sam.
Next morning, Drostan awoke with a start with grey lights of dawn trickling through the drawn drapes. He groped the rumpled sheets for his wife and found merely cold cloth. His head jerked around, an empty bedchamber greeted him.
Strong legs sprang from the bed as he wrapped his tartan messily around him.
The events of the previous afternoon blew him away. There should be expecting retaliation from Ross, certainly. And he wanted to prepare for it. Only he did not have the chance. Strong revolt took him over as the villain finally revealed what blackmail convinced his wife to leave him. He still reeled from it. On that road, his mind had been so focused on the danger, and on how to overcome it he did not respond to her voice pouring her heart out for him.
