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“Damn it.” He lifted a fist and she braced herself but he stilled and turned his head, fist still raised. “Garrett,” he said, “go see what that was.”
Demeter hadn’t heard whatever had drawn his attention but it didn’t matter. If there was someone here, she had to get their attention. She clanged the ring with all her might and screamed against the cloth. Garrett huffed and headed around the corner of the building. Demeter paused and held her breath. A thud and a strange, strangled noise was followed by the sound of tussling. The man guarding her straightened and raised both fists.
Blake emerged on horseback, a wooden plank in hand, and Demeter sagged against the wall. He headed straight for them, his jaw set, his eyes so dark it made her gasp, and swung the wood straight for the man’s head. He sagged without making a noise, bending in the oddest manner until he crumpled upon the ground. Blake wasted no time in dismounting and striding over to her.
He threw down the plank, grasped her face, yanked the cloth from her mouth, and pressed his lips hard against hers. She sank into the welcome warmth of him.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” she sobbed when he broke the kiss to work on the knots about her wrist.
“Did they hurt you?” he demanded.
“A little,” she said.
“I’ll kill him,” he muttered and Demeter glanced around him to spy Mr. Foster standing sheepishly behind Blake.
“I could not let them hurt you,” Mr. Foster said, pistol hanging limply from his hand.
“A bit late for that,” she murmured.
“Please believe me, Lady Demeter, I would only ever—”
“Shut up, Foster,” Blake snapped, “and keep watch.”
“There’s more of them,” Demeter told him. “We must be quick.”
“I already knocked out two of them.”
She shook her head. “There are more. At least three more.”
He cursed. “These damned knots.”
She lifted her wrists. All her pulling had bunched the knots so tightly he could not make progress with them.
“You have a knife?” she asked.
He smirked. “I do indeed.” Shoving a hand into his pocket, he pulled out a knife she recognized well.
“My knife! You kept it?”
“A little trophy from our first proper meeting.” He grinned and carved through the rope and she gave a sigh of relief when the tension dropped from her shoulders. She tugged her still bound wrists and offered them out but Blake paused and twisted.
“Um, Blake...” Mr. Foster’s voice trembled and Demeter peered around him to see two of the men hastening over.
Blake set his jaw and shoved her behind him, shielding her with his body. She curled her hands onto his arm, spying the fury on the leader’s face. He stood a head taller than Blake, his shirt stretched across shoulders and arms that should surely belong to a bear. Tears stung her eyes. They were so close to freedom.
“Be careful,” she begged.
***
Be careful. He snorted. He didn’t need caution. He had enough fury in him to blast through these two men in an instant. The bruises upon Demeter’s cheek and the welts around her wrists would fire his anger for months to come, he reckoned. He eyed the man squaring up to him. Wider, taller, stronger.
He didn’t care. This was the leader and he welcomed the chance to take out his fury on him.
But before he could rush him, a third man dashed across the dockyard toward the building. He brandished an axe, swinging it wildly toward him.
“Foster, load your damned pistol,” he ordered.
Despite Foster’s bravado at coming to rescue Demeter the man had done nothing but ride behind him. “Foster,” he bellowed again, but the man at the leader’s side, a slender, tall fellow with no hair and a scar down one cheek, swiped the gun from his cousin’s hold with ease, sending it skipping across the ground.
