Page 62 of An Outlaw’s Desire

Voices reached her: faint but distinct.

Other men were in the tunnel.

More men who supported Sherborne? No way to know for certain.

She screamed.

Behind her, Sherborne cursed. Glancing back, she saw him lurch in her direction—as though to silence her. Pitt intercepted him.

Clang. Clang.

She screamed again. “Help!”

As Sherborne’s sword crashed with Pitt’s, fear lodged in her throat. Pitt could be badly injured or even slain before the others in the passageway reached them.

But, Pitt had an advantage his lordship did not: her.

A tremor raced through her, but she skirted the unconscious Galven and headed for Pitt. His head lifted slightly, a sign he knew of her approach. As Sherborne sneered and barreled toward her, Pitt lashed out…and she saw a chance.

As Sherborne’s blade locked with Pitt’s, screamed along it, she gripped the dagger in both hands and stabbed Sherborne’s arm.

He yelled. Lurched backward.

Blood spread across his slashed sleeve.

“Bitch!”

Men’s shouts echoed; they were almost upon them.

Sherborne spun, as though to bolt.

Raising his sword, Pitt shoved it against the side of his lordship’s neck. “Move, and I will kill you.”

Sherborne froze.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Pitt growled.

Armed guards crowded into the passageway—among them, Harlow. Men-at-arms moved past to block his lordship’s way out. Harlow’s gaze slid from Sherborne, to Pitt, to her. Seeing the bloodied dagger she still held, the widower’s eyes narrowed.

She lowered the knife to her side. “Please. Arrest Sherborne. He must not escape.”

“Lord Edric Sherborne? The fugitive?” The older man’s gaze slid back to his lordship.

“Aye, ’tis him. Pitt and I will tell you all. But, you must detain his lordship now—before ’tis too late.”

Chapter Sixteen

“Lower your sword.”

With a slow nod, Pitt acknowledged the men-at-arms surrounding him and Sherborne. As Pitt shifted his blade away from his lordship’s neck, regret and relief ran through him. While he’d no doubt face consequences for his involvement in Sherborne’s plot, at last, ’twas over.

Pitt was free of his lordship’s manipulations.

Finally, free.

Hopefully, Fenton was too.

Pitt’s eyes stung as the guards seized his weapons and pulled his arms behind his back. He offered no resistance. If only he hadn’t made such a bloody mess of things, his life now might include Blythe: days waking up with her lying beside him; nights falling asleep with her in his arms. If he’d learned any lesson over the past few days, ’twas that he cared for her as much as he had years ago—and he wanted her in his life until the day he died.