Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,21
sharply, standing.
She came out of her frozen panic as if something had snapped. “Well, don’t hold your breath,” she sputtered, pushing herself up to a sitting position. “I had a perfectly good plan of my own. I was not in need of res—”
He reached down and pulled her to her feet unceremoniously. “Come on.”
“Unhand me,” she demanded. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“My thought exactly.”
Hauling her along beside him, he stalked over to Leach’s prone body. He bent down and rifled through the fallen man’s frock coat, taking a small coin purse. A powder horn. And a pouch of bullets.
“He’s dead,” the girl gasped, studying the fallen marshalmen. “They’re both dead. You killed them!”
“It was them or me, lady,” he grated out. “Faced with that choice, I generally choose me.”
He moved on to Swinton, stooping to pick up the discarded knife along the way. He slid it into his boot.
Swinton didn’t present any better pickings than the other marshalman, unfortunately. There was as precious little ammunition as intelligence between the two.
But, Nicholas decided, it would be worth one bullet to be rid of the girl.
He reloaded the pistol.
She inhaled sharply. “W-what are you doing now?” Her eyes searched his face. “What do you intend to—”
He flicked off the safety and stepped away from her. Two paces. His hand seemed a bit steadier now.
She looked stricken, her panic returning. “What are you going to—”
He aimed and fired before she finished the sentence. The sharp burst of noise wasn’t nearly as loud as the girl’s scream.
The smoke cleared. She was still standing there, her expression utterly stunned. Gulping repeatedly, she looked down at herself and ran her hands over her body, as if surprised not to find any holes.
Ignoring her, Nicholas knelt down to examine the chain, muttering an oath.
The iron was still intact. Not only had the bullet not broken it in two—it had barely left a scratch.
“Well, bloody hell.” He scowled.
So much for his perfect plan. Apparently it was going to be a great deal more difficult to get rid of his charming companion than he had anticipated.
He glowered up at her. His shoulder hurt like the devil, he had precious little money or ammunition, and he had to make it to York in a matter of days.
With the law out searching for him in full force.
And now he had to take her along.
She stood there, dappled by light that glimmered through the trees, her face whiter than a sheet despite the fact that she had been in the sun all day.
She shook her head rapidly, a leaf falling from her tangled hair. “You are... y-you are... an absolute...” She seemed barely able to breathe, let alone summon a word to describe him at the moment.
“Madman,” he supplied helpfully. Standing, he slipped the gun back into place, fastened the powder horn to his belt, and stuffed the coin purse and bullet pouch into his pockets. Then he tore off his bloodied left sleeve and wrapped it around his shoulder as best he could. It wasn’t bleeding too badly. Yet.
The makeshift bandage would have to do for now. There was no telling how long it might be before Tucker and Bickford showed up with reinforcements.
Perhaps an hour. Perhaps less.
He glanced up at the sun. “Contrary to what you said before, your ladyship, it looks like you are going with me.” He tested the wind, chose a direction. “So let’s go.”
Taking her by the arm, he headed into the forest.
Chapter 6
Madman.
The word echoed through Sam’s mind, louder than the lingering report of the pistol shot. But when he turned and set off, the chain that bound them and his unyielding hold on her arm gave her no choice but to go with him.
He headed into the woods as if the dogs of hell were howling for his blood, seemingly oblivious to the bullet in his shoulder and the blood soaking his shirt. But the shackles hampered their every step. She couldn’t match his stride or his speed. And the jangling chain caught on every root, rock and fallen branch in their path.
She stumbled alongside him, struggling to keep up, still bruised and dazed from their fall down the hillside. Tree trunks and swirling shafts of sunlight danced before her eyes in a blur as they fled, her mind reeling with images of the unspeakable violence she had just witnessed.
The rogue’s fists mercilessly beating Swinton into unconsciousness. Blood. Pistol shots. A flashing knife. Leach’s lifeless eyes staring skyward.