of here.”
Nash had been shocked when the other man, who he’d only known for a few weeks, tackled a soldier and struck him then motioned impatiently for Nash to make for the crypt door. Nash finally ran, his back tingling all the while, almost as though he was waiting for the pistol ball to strike him. He even heard the cock of a hammer, but when he’d braced for the impact, none came. A quick look back showed him Rowden with one hand on the rifle and the other on the soldier’s throat.
There had been more soldiers upstairs, but Rowden had emerged from the crypt with the French soldier’s rifle, tossed it to Nash, and that had been the end of the soldiers.
Later that night, what felt like years later but must have only been hours, the four of them slept out under a canopy of stars with a low fire burning between them. Aidan had taken first watch and Nash, Rowden, and Colin were trying to sleep. Colin had long since stopped moving, but Nash couldn’t seem to get comfortable. Finally, he stilled and then he heard Rowden’s voice carry over the crack and hiss of the fire.
“Why didn’t you go when I told you?” Rowden asked. “I said follow me, and you were still in the same spot when I looked back.”
Nash raised himself on an elbow. He didn’t want to admit he’d been afraid, so instead he said, “I didn’t know the plan.”
Rowden had rolled over on his stomach and stared hard at Nash, the orange from the fire making patterns on his face, his jaw dark with hair from days of not shaving. Nash, Colin, and Aidan had only patches of hair, but Rowden had seemed to grow a full beard in less than a week.
“I told you to follow me. That was the plan.”
“I could have been shot in the back,” Nash said, forgetting he was pretending not to show fear.
“You let me worry about your back. You worry about mine all the time. We all have a date to dance with the devil. Yours wasn’t today.”
Nash had been able to sleep after that. There hadn’t ever been another time he’d needed to rely on Rowden as much as in the crypt, but even if he hadn’t thought of the incident for years now, he’d never forgotten the feeling of brotherhood with Rowden.
“I told you that night that I would watch your back,” Rowden said, bringing Nash back to the parlor and Wentmore. “I’d protect you, just like you protected me from a roof or a balcony.”
“I remember,” Nash said.
“That didn’t change because we’re back in England. I’m here.”
Nash didn’t speak. Rowden didn’t need to say the rest. He was here for Nash, still protecting him, still there for him in his time of need.
“Give me the pistol, Nash. I’ll watch your back just like I did in Portugal.”
Nash took a long breath. Strangely enough, it seemed he needed the pistol more now than he ever had in that crypt, surrounded by soldiers. But he’d had to take a leap of faith then and he had little choice now.
His belly roiled and sweat broke out on his forehead, but he swallowed his fear and held the pistol out.
Rowden took it, and inside his head, Nash could feel a scream building. But then Rowden was beside him, his arm across his shoulders. “Let’s go to dinner. You’ll sit there and make polite conversation and behave like you’re at a goddamn dinner party.”
“My pistol.”
“I’ll keep it. I won’t give it to your father. When he’s gone and this is over, I’ll give it back to you.”
Nash didn’t like it, but he didn’t have any other choice. He took a breath and opened the parlor door, unarmed and ready for the real battle.
Twenty-One
Pru wasn’t watching where she was walking on the way home. Her mind was too full of all that had happened that day. Nash’s face had looked so cold, so utterly devoid of any emotion as he’d stared at his father, his pistol pointed at the earl’s head. His hand had been as still as a statue. She imagined his resolve was as solid as well. He could have killed the man, and she knew that would have killed Nash too. Because he hadn’t seen his father in that moment. She had no doubt he’d seen a French soldier, the enemy.
She almost turned around and went back to Wentmore twice. She was terrified that the earl