Page 31 of A Heart Worth Loving

Her father neared him.

“Why do you want my father so badly?”

“He is an enemy of France. Now step away from Kilbreck.”

“Mister Harris, I—”

Her father reached the Frenchman. He yanked his clasped hands up and brought them down onto the man’s neck. Laurent stumbled. Ewan lunged forward as her father drove a fist into the Frenchman’s ribs. The gun roared. Kyla screamed. She took two faltering steps, then straightened when her father and Mister Laurent fell to the floor. She reached them two seconds later and threw herself into her father’s arms once Ewan pulled him to his feet.

Ewan dropped to a squat beside Laurent. “He isn’t dead, but we had better get a doctor.”

“The shot went wild,” her father said. “I knocked him unconscious.”

Ewan stood. “Mister Brodrick, I presume?”

“Oh, Papa, you were so foolish,” Kyla sobbed.

“Foolish? I believe I just saved your lives.”

Kyla pushed away from him and swiped at her tears. “You have saved yourself for the gallows.”

“Ah, so you are Miss Brodrick’s father, the smuggler,” Ewan said.

“You must be Lord Kilbreck.”

To Kyla’s shock, the two men shook hands.

“Come, help me get this man on his feet,” Ewan said. “I must decide what to do with him.”

“I have some thoughts,” her father said, as they hauled Mister Laurent to his feet.

“Thoughts which include throwing him off a cliff,” Ewan guessed.

“Nothing so drastic,” he replied.

They began dragging him toward a hallway on the left wall.

Kyla didn’t move. They were acting like old friends.

“Come along, Miss Brodrick,” Ewan said before he and her father disappeared down the hallway.

She hesitated, then started after them. She reached the hallway in time to see them approach a low-burning lamp far down the corridor. She hurried after them as quickly as she could through the shadows. They passed the light and turned a corner. She reached the corner, then trailed them out into the inner courtyard. They continued along an arcade walkway and eventually entered an open room. The men carried Mister Laurent down half a dozen stairs into the main part of the modestly furnished room. A chair sat before a low burning hearth fire. A divan sat to the right of the chair, and a small desk was located against the righthand wall.

They dropped Mister Laurent on the divan, then Ewan crossed to a table to the right of the hearth where sat a decanter of amber liquid and several glasses. He poured the liquor into two glasses, then gave one to her father.

“You do owe me your life, my lord,” her father said. “The least you can do is give me a head start.”

“So you can continue as a smuggler?”

“Never fear, I will not use Blackstone Abbey again as a hiding place for my cargo.” Her father lifted his glass in salute and downed the whisky in two gulps.

“Cargo, eh?” Ewan said. “Interesting choice of words. Mister Harris was quite determined to capture you.”

“Mister Laurent,” her father corrected.

Ewan brows rose in surprise. “A Frenchman.” He grunted, took a gulp of his drink, then said, “Who are you?”

“Just a smuggler who has a penchant for French goods.”