Page 36 of Wicked Highland Heroes

More silence followed, before the man said, “I don’t want any trouble.”

“I am in complete agreement,” Erroll said in all honesty. But he didn’t always get what he wanted, either.

*****

Eve’s kidnapper dragged her to the same gate through which Oscar had taken Lord Rushton, and when they exited she caught sight of her father’s carriage sitting across the street between two other coaches. Her heart jumped as the kidnapper eased through the doorway and hugged the shadows along the garden wall. Oscar was waiting for her in the coach. If she could draw his attention, she would be saved. She bit down on her kidnapper’s hand. A slew of whispered curses filled her ear, but his hold didn’t loosen.

She bit harder and kicked—then froze. A gun barrel dug into her back. Eve carefully released his hand. He muttered something unintelligible. Fear threatened to cloud her brain in a muddle of tears, but she forced back the compulsion and scanned the street. How did he think to get away with kidnapping her in public?

Waiting carriages lined the street. A coach at the end of the street lurched into motion, headed toward them, and Eve recognized the silver shield with three red inescutcheons coat of arms. Lord Halifax. Hope surged. He would help her—but he probably wasn’t in the carriage, she realized with horror. The coach neared and Eve shifted her eyes to the driver. Surely he would help her. But his gaze remained straight ahead. Her heart pounded. It was likely he hadn't spotted them in the shadows of the wall. The carriage neared, then halted in front of them. The door swung open and Eve couldn’t believe her luck when she caught sight of Lord Halifax into the doorway.

He disappeared back into the coach, leaving the door open. Her kidnapper lurched into motion. In three steps, he reached the vehicle and stuffed her inside. Confusion washed over her as the door slammed shut, leaving her alone with Lord Halifax.

*****

Erroll's kidnapper pounded on the top of the carriage and they slowed, then stopped.

"What is it?" someone called from the rider's seat.

The door swung open and Erroll grimaced at sight of the brute, who lowered his head as he stepped from the coach. The man was even bigger than his voice suggested. However, the bigger they were, the harder they fell—though getting them to fall was a task he was getting too old to relish. Erroll glimpsed the bulge in the brute's pant leg at his ankle in the instant before the foot left the step and hit the ground. No good criminal went anywhere without a knife. That was Erroll's first piece of good luck tonight.

The brute turned around. "My companion has a pistol pointed at you. So no funny business."

Erroll canted his head in acknowledgement. So he now had to deal with a pistol. Not that he'd expected any different. However, he felt relatively certain the men weren’t experienced kidnappers. The cut of the brute's coat said he was no pauper. Not to mention, Erroll had never heard a criminal call his partner in crime 'my companion.' The brute's speech was more educated than the average gutter rat, which piqued Erroll's curiosity as to who their employer could be.

The brute leaned into the doorway, untied Erroll's feet, then straightened and motioned him out. "Come on," he said.

Erroll stepped from the carriage and recognized the deserted road. They were headed north from Manchester. It was a clear night with a full moon and the coach had been traveling at a good clip. By his calculations, they had probably traveled about fifteen miles. Chances were, they'd left the party no more than an hour and a half ago. The brute had agreed to allow Erroll to relieve himself, which meant they were far enough from their destination that the man knew Erroll wouldn't be able to wait.

The brute made no move to untie his hands, and Erroll said, "My trousers are not going to open themselves and my cock will need to be pointed in the right direction."

The man gave him a deprecating look and spun him around to face the carriage. Erroll realized he had bent to get the knife strapped to his ankle. He straightened then grasped Erroll's wrist and sawed at the ropes. Erroll glanced up at the driver who, as the brute had warned, held a pistol. The rope abruptly fell away and Erroll pivoted as he threw an uppercut to the brute's jaw. Erroll wrenched the knife free in unison with the crack of his fist against the man's face.

The driver shouted "Oscar!" as the brute's head snapped back.

Oscar drove a punch aimed for Erroll's gut, but Erroll sidestepped the fist and jabbed twice at Oscar's nose. Erroll threw an arm around Oscar's neck and swung around behind him, jamming the knife point against his neck. Oscar froze.

"Throw down the pistol," Erroll ordered the driver.

The driver eyed Oscar, who said, "He won’t stab me."

"But I will," Erroll said. "Only you will not die right away, maybe not at all—if you reach a doctor quickly enough." Erroll looked at the driver. "Throw down the pistol."

The man tossed the weapon to the ground. Erroll shoved Oscar away from him, then took one step and scooped up the weapon.

He stepped back and said to the driver, "Come down from there."

The man complied and joined Oscar.

"Now," Erroll said, "who hired you to kidnap me?"

Neither man answered.

"I am in no mood for games," Erroll warned.

"I said this was a hair-brained idea," the driver said.

"Quiet," the brute growled.