Page 47 of An Outlaw’s Desire

The guards near Pitt glanced at each other.

“Very well, milady. We will investigate—”

“Now? ’Twould be wonderful.”

Pitt fought a smile.

“Not now. We are conducting an interrogation, milady.”

“Of course. I understand.” She sighed wistfully. “I was just thinking how pleased Lord Montgomery would be, to return home and learn such treasure had been found. I expect he’d bestow a generous reward upon those involved in such a find.”

The guards around Pitt murmured.

If she could distract them a little more….

“Where exactly are the riches supposed to be?” a man-at-arms asked:

“Well, I probably shouldn’t say—”

“We can go search for you,” another guard said. “Let you know what we find.”

“Hold on,” Harlow said. “We are questioning this intruder.”

“He can’t escape.”

God’s Bones!

Pitt held his breath.

“Tell us where to find the riches, milady.”

Parchment pages rustled. “Let me make certain…. Oh, how silly of me. I misread. The treasure appears to be one level up, behind some wall that was repaired.”

The guards hurried away: all but Harlow and the man-at-arms by the table.

“Hellfire.” The widower gestured to his colleague. “We should get the prisoner in a cell—”

Pitt leapt to his feet, grabbed the stool, and hurled it at the man going through his belongings.

Blythe gasped. In less than the space of a blink, Pitt had gone from sitting to standing to attacking.

Roaring, Harlow reached for his sword.

The wooden stool slammed into the guard at the table. The impact propelled him backward several steps. His boot heel hit one of the table legs, and he stumbled. Before he could regain his balance, he careened into some shelves. Earthenware pots and iron implements dropped onto him, and with a groan, he crumpled to the floor.

Was he all right? She’d go and check on him, but ’twasn’t safe.

His hands still shackled, Pitt lunged for the table. His gaze snapped from the widower, advancing to strike, to her. Blythe’s heart lurched. Pitt’s expression reminded her of the predatory way he’d studied her before: eyes hard with resolve, a wildness defining his features. A shiver raked through her.

His hand skimming the tabletop, Pitt shoved his garments onto the floor. Keeping the table between him and Harlow, Pitt dashed toward the fallen guard.

The widower’s sword gleamed as it arced downward.

“Pitt,” she shrieked.

Harlow’s blade sliced through air. The tip banged the edge of the table and left a mark.

Pitt drew the fallen guard’s sword. Gripping it with both hands, he stared down Harlow.