The Heiress of Winterwood - By Sarah Ladd Page 0,109
terrorize another.
Graham glanced as Sulter, who nodded. With a swift motion, the older man kicked a chair across the floor, the commotion of which was enough to distract Littleton. Graham lunged forward and pushed the blade away from Helena. Graham shoved Helena away and grabbed Littleton by the coat, pulling him to the opposite corner of the narrow room away from the women huddled next to the scullery door. A fistfight, a pure battle for physical domination, ensued. Littleton still fisted the blade in his hand. Graham’s gun had fallen by the wayside. The men were unevenly matched. Graham tried to reach for his own blade tucked in his boot, but he was forced to call on every bit of energy to keep Littleton’s blade away from his body.
He thought he was gaining the upper hand when he pinned Littleton on the planked floor, but with a sudden jolt, Littleton broke from his grasp and dove away from him. Graham seized the opportunity to jump to his feet and ram Littleton into the wall. At the motion, Littleton’s blade dragged across Graham’s arm, slicing through his coat and penetrating skin. The shock was so strong that he wasn’t even sure if he’d been cut until a searing pain followed by a blinding heat radiated from the spot. Graham swung his other arm, pummeling Littleton’s shoulder, but Littleton answered with his own punch to Graham’s jaw.
Graham heaved for breath, but then, from a direction he did not know, a shot rang out. Only when Littleton’s eyes widened in stunned pain and he stumbled and fell to his knees did Graham realize what had happened. He whirled around. In the doorway stood William, pistol pointed, smoke curling up from the barrel.
Regaining his senses, Graham grabbed Littleton’s knife, threw it to the side, and patted him down for other weapons. Littleton cried out at the pressure, and Graham pushed his shoulder against the ground.
Graham thrust his own pistol, which was still loaded and had fallen to the ground, across the floor to his brother. He then pulled the fabric of Littleton’s trousers away from his leg to reveal a raw flesh wound. He looked closer. No bullet. “You’re a lucky man, Littleton. It grazed you. Count your blessings it was not I who took the shot.”
Littleton groaned, his teeth clenched, and spewed a smattering of curses before dropping his head back against the planked floor.
Graham called to William, whose face was as pale as a man who’d just witnessed a murder. “Come over here. Don’t let him move a muscle.” He straightened, glanced over at the group of women and screaming baby, and then down at his own arm. Blood seeped through the heavy fabric, darkening the wool to nearly black.
He wiped the hair sticking to his forehead away and assessed Littleton. Now he hardly looked a threat. Pale with a smearing of crimson blood across his nose and cheek. Sulter hurried forward to assess Graham’s wound.
Graham expelled his breath slowly.
Could this really be over?
He had to touch Lucy. Make sure she was real. And Amelia. His beloved Amelia.
Before he could even turn, he felt a hand on his shoulder and then caught a glimpse of blond hair from his peripheral vision. His muscles tensed until he heard a voice—more soothing and softer than his own mother’s.
“You’re hurt.”
Amelia.
Her hand traveled his back. The tenderness of her touch was a balm. He wanted to fall against her, let her comfort him, but he gathered his senses. Pushed the pain down. They were not safe yet. They all needed to depart the ship. With Littleton’s accomplices still near, they weren’t safe until their feet were safely on land.
He stood and took her hands in his. He wanted to grab hold of her. To pull her to him and feel her against him. To let her very presence heal his wounds and calm his weary soul. But now was not the time. “You must get Lucy off this ship.” His voice was little more than a growl.
“Sulter!” Graham dropped her hands and wove through the throng of tossed chairs and ushered Mrs. Dunne and Helena Barrett forward. “Get them off the ship. Now.”
He looked back down at the other two accomplices. Sulter, who’d always been quick with a rope and stronger than his small frame would suggest, had the two men bound. Sulter nodded and took Mrs. Dunne’s hand. Graham and William leaned down and lifted Littleton from the ground, each taking an arm.