“He doesn’t want me dead,” she said with certainty.
Ian wasn’t so certain. A man with a beautiful young wife didn’t need an obstinate daughter who runs away before her betrothal could be announced. “Then who does?”
“No one.”
“You’re obviously wrong.”
She released a shuddering breath—a response more telling than words—and scooted a fraction of an inch closer to him. “I’m afraid.”
He knew how much fear it took for her to make such an admission. “We’re not done for yet,” he promised.
She nodded and they sat still for a moment, listening and waiting. She started to speak again, but he silenced her by raising his hand to her lips.
Something was afoot outside. He was experiencing the tingling between his shoulder blades that usually warned him of trouble. Why his war-heightened senses hadn’t picked up on the fact he was being followed, he didn’t know…and it concernedhim. Deeply concerned him. Too often his life had been saved by his gut instincts. He hated the idea he might be getting too old for these games.
Minutes passed like hours.
What the devil were the bastards up to out there?
He thought he heard a rustling. He stared at the black wall of the wagon in front of him, wishing he could see through it. He raised his pistol. With his other arm, he protectively pushed Miss Harrell back against her books, keeping her close to his side.
Let the bastards come. His temper was up now, and he knew he could have the strength of ten men when he was this angry. He’d make them think twice before they took on Ian Campion.
But when the attack came, it wasn’t what he expected.
They set the wagon on fire.
There were three thumps on the roof and then quiet. Ian frowned, uncertain. It was Miss Harrell who understood. “The roof. They’ve taken wood from the fire and have thrown it on the roof.”
As if to confirm her words, smoke suddenly billowed in through every unseen crack in the ceiling.
Ian pushed Miss Harrell down to the ground and threw his body over her, preparing for the possibility of the roof caving in. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“They’ll be waiting for us.”
He nodded grimly. “That’s their plan.” And how would he combat it?
“There’s a door beneath me,” she said.
“A what?” He wasn’t certain he’d heard correctly.
“A trapdoor,” she explained, a touch of impatience in her voice. “There is a trapdoor in the floor.”
Ian ran his hand along the floor. He could feel the door’s outlines. “Why didn’t you say something earlier? Let’s get out of here.”
“I would if you weren’t lying on top of me. You are a heavy man. I can’t move.”
Ian frowned down at her. “Has anyone told you there are moments when absolute truthfulness is not appreciated?”
“Often.”
“You should listen to them.” He rolled off of her, pulling her close so he had room to reach for the handle. The wagon was going up like a tinderbox. Already, flames lapped the roof.
She reached beyond him for a book.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I can’t let my books burn. Especially this one.”
