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She grimaced but gave him a nod and slid down to the floor, gripping the hatpin.
While he admired her courage, her feeble weapon could do more harm than good. A good jab in the right place might give an attacker pause, but would just as likely infuriate him.
Donella obviously read his mind. “I’m a Scotswoman, sir. I will defend myself, no matter what.”
He quirked a brief smile. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Just sit tight until I come back and get you.”
“They’re almost here, sir,” Foster barked.
After glancing behind to make sure Davey was covering their rear, Logan strode to the head of the carriage and leveled his pistol. When one of the horsemen raised a hand, the riders halted some yards from the carriage.
For long seconds, Logan and the masked riders exchanged stares. On the other end of the bridge stood Perth. He could see the lights in the windows of houses and shops, and smoke curling up from chimneys. Even though civilization loomed close by in the shape of a tidy, prosperous town, they were isolated. Possibly no one would even hear if shots were fired. The sounds of water rushing below the bridge and the rising wind in the trees conspired against them.
Logan raised his voice. “I happen to be an excellent shot, so I suggest you let us pass.”
“There be seven of us and three of ye,” said the one who’d held up his hand. “We mean ye no harm. But yewillfollow our orders, or we’ll do what needs must.”
“If it’s money you want, one of you louts can come get it,” Logan replied. “But if we keep standing about, someone’s bound to come along and raise the alarm, which will put rather a crimp in your plans.”
“We dinna want yer money. It’s the lass we’ve come for. Hand her over and we’ll be on our way, and no harm done.”
What in hell . . .
How did they know who was in the coach? The scenario was becoming increasingly bizarre, since few people knew Donella was returning to Blairgal Castle.
“Foster,” he said quietly, “did you notice anything suspicious back at the inn while we were waiting for Miss Donella?”
“Nae, sir. There were only a few locals hangin’ aboot, havin’ a pint or two.”
“There must be some confusion,” Logan said, again raising his voice. “I’m a businessman from Glasgow, and the woman in the coach is my wife. Be assured that she will not be going anywhere with you.”
The gang’s leader waved his pistol. “Och, the flower’s nothin’ of the sort. Just hand her over and we’ll be on our way.”
The flower? Now what the hell was the idiot talking about?
“Och, that’s nae good,” muttered Foster.
Logan shot him a quick frown before cocking his pistol.
“Have it your way,” he said to the masked leader.
Three pistols were lifted and cocked in return.
“Hold, ye daft idiots,” barked the leader before turning back to Logan. “We’ll nae be hurtin’ the lass. Word of a Highlander. But we will be takin’ her. It’s up to ye how hard or easy ye want to make it.”
“They dinna seem that keen on a fight,” Foster said to Logan. “And I’m thinkin’ this is Clan Graham business, what with the flower and all.”
“I have no idea what any of you are talking about,” Logan replied, “but I agree this is some sort of ridiculous clan situation.” Clan issues, especially ones that involved matters of honor, could be a royal pain in the arse.
“Why do you want her?” Logan called out.
“None of yer business.”
“You’ve made it my business. And that means it is now Kendrick business, since I’m the brother of the Laird of Arnprior. Run afoul of me, and you run afoul of Arnprior and Clan Kendrick.”
That set off a round of uneasy muttering. The group’s leader silenced his compatriots with a few sharp words.
“We have nae quarrel with the Kendricks. And if ye want to keep it that way, ye’ll hand the lass over.”
