Page 8 of Devil Black

Dougal’s lips curved in a grudging smile. “This, lady, is a robbery.”

“Yes?” She glanced over her shoulder into the coach, where someone had begun to shriek. “Well, I must say you have terrible judgment. We have virtually nothing to steal.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. I really hate to disappoint you, Sir Bandit, but I am on a wedding journey, and my dowry was sent ahead last week. You should have intercepted that courier.”

“I see,” said Dougal, feeling amusement race through him in the wake of the excitement, a strange sensation.

“I do have a few pieces of jewelry on my person that I am willing to hand over—not terribly valuable, I fear, and I have no emotional attachment to them.”

“Why do you not keep them for the moment?” Dougal suggested.

“Keep them? Why?” She turned her head again. The shrieks inside the coach had risen to an alarmingly shrill level. “Oh, Bethan, do get hold of yourself.”

“Might I ask, lady, who is in the coach?”

“My maid, a bit disconcerted at present.”

“Tell her she has naught to fear. She shall remain unharmed. I mean to steal but one object this evening.”

“Oh? What might that be?”

Dougal bowed low from the back of his horse. For answer, he edged the beast nearer the coach, closer to her. He longed to see her face, the color of her eyes. He suspected she must be homely as the back end of a sow. No woman could possess such courage and beauty besides.

She stiffened when he looped his arm around her and scooped her up effortlessly out of the road. He felt indignation flood her and—was it fear, at last? He had no opportunity to tell, because she turned immediately into a wildcat, twisting, hissing in fury, and beating against him with both hands.

One blow landed on his chin, a respectable thump. Others rained down on his forearms and battered his chest. She made a soft, tempestuous armful, all right, and to his surprise he felt himself grow aroused. Ah, and he had not even seen the wench’s face.

The shrieks of the maid, apparently watching from the open door of the coach, doubled. All three coach attendants started up.

“Ah, ah!” Lachy cautioned them and waved his sword. “Is she truly worth your lives?”

“Miss Catherine!” one of the men bleated.

Ah, so that was the firebrand’s name. He restrained her, forcing her against his body using but one arm; the other still employed his sword. He enjoyed using his strength and clearly felt it the moment she decided she had no hope of escape.

She swore bitterly under her breath, causing him to smile again. “Hush,” he bade her with his mouth against her hair. “I will not hurt you—much.”

“Who are you?” At last she sounded shaken. Not terrified, he would give her that.

“Now, lady, you canno’ expect me to tell you that, here before your maid and your attendants.” He gestured with his sword. “All of you, inside the coach.”

They obliged, albeit reluctantly, and Lachlan shut the door and then turned the coach, with some difficulty, in the narrow road. The coach now pointed back down the hill. Dougal had chosen his spot well.

“What are you going to do?” his captive demanded. She had gone very still, watching the scene. He could feel her breathing, though, and he could smell her—a bouquet of pure woman that made his senses swim.

“If they are lucky, they will not be hurt,” he said into her ear, and felt her shudder.

Lachy rode to the front of the coach, took up the coachman’s flail, and hollered at the already spooked team of horses. They tossed their heads and took off at a dead run, the coach bouncing and clattering behind. Dougal could still hear the maid shrieking as it disappeared down the hill.

Catherine made a strange sound in her throat. “They will wreck and be killed!”

“Perhaps not. But they will be a long way distant from here when they stop.”

Lachy had dismounted and was gathering the weapons from the road. Dougal nodded to him, sheathed his sword, and lifted his horse’s reins. He and Lachlan would see no more of one another this night.

“What happens now?” Catherine demanded.