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Logan shielded his eyes against the last rays of the setting sun. “They’re masked, too.”
All wore caps pulled low and dark neck stocks over their mouths and noses. All except one, who’d tied on an incongruously cheery red scarf.
“Bandits,” Davey said. “The laird will nae be happy.”
Logan glanced up at the coachman. “Foster, can you turn the coach or back the horses off the bridge?”
“It’s tight, sir, but I think I can do it.”
There was an inn a short ways back. With luck—and a few warning shots from the rear—they might make it to safety.
Logan strode toward the back of the carriage. “Davey, you ride with Miss Donella. I’ll—”
“Hold up, Mr. Foster,” Davey yelped. “We’ve got trouble behind us, too.”
Three more masked horsemen now occupied the stretch of road they’d just travelled, something Logan hadn’t anticipated.
What the hell was going on?
“Foster, set the brake and retrieve your pistol,” he ordered. “We’ve got to make a stand.”
“Aye, sir.”
Logan clapped a hand on Davey’s shoulder. “I’ve got another pistol in my kit. I don’t care if you have to throw every bit of luggage into the road; find the bloody thing and guard our rear. Don’t hesitate to shoot.”
Davey looked pale. “A . . . aye, Mr. Kendrick.”
He raced back to the boot while Logan went to the carriage window.
“We’re in trouble,” he said to Donella.
“I heard.” She reached behind her head and began to fuss with her bonnet.
It was odd to worry about her appearance at a time like this.
“I want you to get down on the floor and stay there,” he enunciated, as if talking to a child.
Donella scowled. “I’m not a moron, Mr. Kendrick. I know what to—ah, finally.”
She extracted a quite lethal-looking hatpin, then yanked off her bonnet and tossed it onto the opposite seat.
“Perhaps we should give them what we’ve got and have done with it,” she said. “It might be safer.”
The shiny russet curls that tumbled around her jawline momentarily distracted him. Aye, she was bonny, and that scared the hell out of him. Especially considering what could happen next.
“They’re not acting like your average highwaymen,” he said.
He leaned back to flick a glance in both directions. The horsemen on the bridge were still advancing at a walk. The men behind had stopped about a hundred yards away, blocking any chance of exit.
Something about this was very off.
“How many of them are there?” Donella asked.
“Seven. Three behind and four ahead, all masked and armed.”
“Oh, dear. That sounds rather well planned, doesn’t it?”
“Which is why I want you down on the floor.”
