Page 48 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“No, madam, you are not.” He turned to Lord Somerset. “Somerset, if you have the bollocks, see to Miss Crenshaw. As for you, Halifax, have you a weapon?”

“I do not,” he snapped.

“I have one.” Another man stepped from the crowd as Lord Somerset reached Eve’s side and grasped her arm. The first man stopped beside Lord Rushton and withdrew the pistol stuffed into his belt.

“That’s a Scottish pistol,” Halifax said in obvious horror. “It must be twenty years old.”

“Thirty-two to be exact,” the man said.

“You have an advantage with that new French pistol of yours, Rushton,” Lord Halifax said. “It isn’t a fair match.”

Lord Rushton handed his weapon to the man. “The earl will use my pistol. I will take yours.”

The man’s brows rose, but he said nothing and handed his gun to Lord Rushton while Rushton his newer pistol to Lord Halifax’s second.

“I will act as your second,” Lord Somerset said to Lord Rushton.

“You have enough to deal with.” He frowned. “You should be inside, Miss Crenshaw.”

Anger shot through her. “Lord Somerset may have the bollocks to grasp my arm, but I doubt he can manhandle me into a cottage.”

His frown turned reproachful. “Madam, we are going to have a talk about your language.” He flicked a glance at Lord Somerset, then said, “I doubt it is worth him fighting to get you into the carriage. You will, however, remain quiet.”

“Sir,” she began, but he turned his back and addressed the owner of the pistol.

“I trust your weapon works properly?”

“As good as the day I bought it.”

He nodded, then said to Halifax’s second, “What is your name, sir?”

“Graham.”

“Graham, have you a doctor nearby?”

“Duncan.” The man nodded toward the crowd.

Lord Rushton looked over his shoulder as a short, stout man emerged from the crowd. “If you would be so good as to stand ready,” he said.

“I will,” Duncan replied.

Lord Rushton faced Graham. “Please check my pistol, then hand it over to his lordship, so we can be done with this business and be on our way.”

“Ye have at least twenty minutes before you have to be on your way—if anyone bothered to sound the alarm,” the man said.

Twenty minutes? Fear brought the sting of tears to Eve’s eyes.

“Then we have no worries,” Lord Rushton said.

The man examined the pistol, then walked to Lord Halifax and handed it to him.

“How do I know I can trust you?” the earl demanded.

The man gave him a cold smile. “Because I am hoping your friend misses.”

Lord Halifax’s mouth parted in surprise.

“Don’t misunderstand,” the man said. “I want you to miss him, too. Then, I will shoot ye myself.