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The leader turned his pistol on Angus. “We’ll see who’s doin’ the killin’. I’d shoot ye as soon as look at ye, old fool.”
Grant chopped down an impatient hand. “No one with a brain should kill anyone today. Now, why don’t you lot prove you have a few brains amongst you and get on with this business.”
“Oy, Heckie,” said the bandit who’d been rummaging through the boot. “What do you want me to do with this ’ere stuff?”
His leader rounded on him. “Don’t use my name, ye bloody moron. Just go through the rest of them trunks and be quick about it.”
“No need to get tetchy,” the man protested. “I’m workin’ as fast as I can.”
Kathleen mentally frowned. While the other three men were obviously Scottish, this one was not. He was English, with what she thought was a—
“Oh, no,” Jeannie moaned as the bandit dumped the entire contents of her trunk onto the road.
Kathleen gave her sister a hug as the villain quickly sifted through the pile, strewing items willy-nilly.
When the Englishman got up and pulled Kathleen’s trunk from the boot, Heckie waved his gun at Grant.
“Now empty yer pockets, and collect them lasses’ purses while yer at it.”
Grant extracted his money clip from his coat—a very fat money clip—and threw it at the varlet’s feet.
“You too, old man,” barked Heckie.
Angus turned his pockets inside out. “I dinna have a shilling to my name. I’m a puir man, ye ken.”
“Ye’ll be a dead man in a minute. I’ll be happy to plug ye right between the eyes.”
“You’re horrible.” Jeannie’s voice quavered.
“Ye have no idea, girl. But I’ll be happy to show ye if I don’t get yer damn purses right now,” Heckie said, leering at her.
When Kathleen felt Jeannie shudder, anger surged through her body, pushing aside fear. “Lay a hand on her, and I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp,” she snarled.
“I’ll fetch their purses now,” Grant said. “Then you bastards can be on your way.”
“Too right,” said the man still fiddling with the lock on Kathleen’s trunk. “Don’t want some bleedin’ villager stumbling along.”
The leader waved his pistol again at Grant. “Don’t be tryin’ anything funny, or I’ll shoot that barmy old bastard and take the pretty girl for myself.”
Grant turned on his heel so quickly that his greatcoat flared out like a cloak. Although his features were stonelike, his eyes glittered like icy green shards. Fury pulsed off him in waves—a cold, hard force that was utterly terrifying.
The sober-minded businessman had turned into a fierce Highland warrior.
His gaze flickered over her, and some of the fury retreated.
“All right?” he murmured to her.
She nodded.
“Good lass.”
He reached into the carriage to retrieve their reticules, then tossed the small bags at the leader’s feet. The man swiped them up and shoved them in the pocket of his greatcoat.
“Get that bloody thing open,” he barked at the bandit still struggling with Kathleen’s trunk. “Shoot the lock off if ye have to.”
Kathleen sighed. “There’s a key in the green velvet reticule.”
“Why didn’t ye say so, ye silly bitch.”
