Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,94
pay your debt in another way, senorita.”
She almost kicked him—but Nick’s hand was on the man’s shoulder before the smithy could draw another breath. “The lady’s not part of the bargain.”
Nick didn’t hit him, didn’t draw the knife. She heard no threat in his voice.
But something about his grip on the blacksmith’s shoulder made the man release her. Instantly.
“All right, ami, all right. Old Ramon, he thought you might want to save yourself the money, is all.”
“Try not to think, old Ramon. You’ve got work to do.”
“Let me see the money first.”
Nick counted out one hundred in gold guineas. “And how much might it cost to throw a pair of your fine horses into the deal?”
“Another...” Ramon eyed the coin purse, as if mentally weighing it even as Nick emptied it. “Two hundred.”
Sam struggled to hold her tongue. Two hundred! It was outright theft, but they were in no position to argue.
Besides, she reminded herself, it wasn’t their money.
She fought the urge to glance at the wagon they had robbed last night, subdued the grin that tugged at one corner of her mouth.
“Luckily for you, I’m a generous man.” Nick handed over the demanded price. “And there might be more. A little something extra for your silence. If anyone happens along asking questions—”
“I never saw a black-bearded machao and his blonde senorita in all my cursed life.”
“Exactly.”
“How much more?” Ramon asked with a greedy smile.
Nick closed the coin purse and tied it to his belt again. “After you’ve done the job.”
The smithy nodded in agreement. Transferring the money to his own coin purse, he slid it down his shirt. “Who the devil are you, ami?”
“Someone you’re better off not knowing,” Samantha put in dryly.
They were perhaps the truest words Nick had ever said to her.
The blacksmith chuckled. Taking one of the strange-looking implements from the wall, he bent down over the shackles. “Give me your foot again, senorita.”
Sam cautiously inched her foot toward him.
This time he didn’t touch her with anything other than professional intent, apparently keeping either his fee or Nick’s towering presence in mind. He worked at the cuff around her ankle, but gave up after a few minutes, tossing the tool aside.
“Morbleu, whoever put these on you, they did not want them to come off!”
Sam’s heart started pounding. She was half-afraid that the shackles might be permanent after all. That she might really be chained to Nick forever.
And some stupid, reckless part of her was thrilled by that thought.
But Ramon was already choosing other tools from the wall—a small hammer and a sharp-looking chisel. Returning to her side, he lightly placed the chisel against the bolt that fastened the cuff around her ankle.
“Now be very still,” he warned, lifting his hammer.
She bit her lip, looked away, frightened that she was about to lose a foot.
Her eyes locked with Nick’s.
Then she heard and felt the blow all at once—a metallic clang that reverberated through her very bones.
The cuff fell open, slid to the ground.
And the chain was off. They were separated.
She was free.
Chapter 20
Free. Sam could hardly believe it. She stared at the chain, lying harmless on the ground, gleaming dully in the bright morning sunlight. Already Ramon was working on the cuff around Nick’s ankle.
Free. The moment they had been waiting for, working for since that first morning in gaol, when fat Bickford had laughed as they were linked inseparably together. Had it been only a matter of days? It seemed like a lifetime.
But instead of bringing relief or happiness, freedom brought... numbness. It didn’t feel as if she had just been relieved of a burden.
It felt as if she had just lost some part of herself. Some vital, important part.
She released a long, shuddery exhalation, realizing she had been holding her breath. Bending down, she rubbed at her sore, bruised, reddened ankle, chastising herself for such outlandish thoughts.
The shackles had brought her only pain. And a mark that looked like it might be a permanent scar. To mourn their loss was foolish—and she had been a fool too often of late. No more, she vowed.
She would waste no more time on emotions that only brought hurt.
“Which horses?” she asked the blacksmith.
“Eh, senorita? What’s that?” Ramon was still crouched on the ground beside Nick. With a second sharp blow of his chisel, they were both released from the shackles. Both free.
“We just paid you two hundred for a pair of horses.” She pointed toward the line of mounts picketed a few yards beyond his wagon. “Which ones