nose. On the opposite side of the fire, the three Scottish bandits were lying on thin pallets on the ground, seemingly asleep.
Rubbing her eyes, Lydia sat up. The movement caught Willie’s attention.
“Don’t move, lass,” he warned.
“Would you prefer I relieve myself here?” she whispered.
Willie kicked Fergus’s stomach. “Wake up, you arse. She needs to piss.”
Fergus rolled over and scowled up at the sky. “So?”
“I said git!” Willie kicked him again. Fergus got to his feet, grumbling as he grabbed Lydia by the arm and dragged her to the nearby woods.
“Go and piss,” he grunted.
“I’m sorry, but I cannot go with you watching me,” she said, meeting him stubborn stare to stubborn stare.
“If ye really need to go, you’ll go, me watchin’ ye or not.”
Lydia crossed her arms. “Are you so backward that seeing me would arouse you?” It was completely uncouth to say that, but she wanted him to know how foul he was being.
“Fine. I’ll turn my back, but don’ do anything stupid like try an’ run. Ye willna get far, and I’ll take more’n a might of pleasure dragging ye back.”
Lydia wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of him, but she had a feeling it would end with another slap. Instead, she turned and headed for the nearest clump of bushes. She saw to her needs quickly, and when she returned she held out a hand. “Your flagon, please.”
“What for?”
“I wish to wash my hands.”
He passed her the flagon from his hip, and she poured water over her palms before drying them upon her dress. She didn’t feel as clean as she wished, but it was better than nothing. She plucked a few larger leaves and twigs off of her gown.
“Let’s be getting back,” Fergus snapped.
Just as they returned to the small clearing, Fergus tensed and stopped dead in his tracks. Lydia, who’d been focused on the ground so as not to trip over a root or rock, walked right into him.
“Oof!”
“Shush!” he hissed, and slowly pulled out a long dagger from his coat.
“What is it?” Lydia asked in a whisper. Fergus ignored her, and his head swiveled back and forth as he surveyed the campsite, where the other two men were still sleeping.
Smoke billowed up from the dying fire as a fresh breeze stirred the embers to life. Suddenly, through the haze, she saw a man running toward her. Lydia’s heart leapt into her throat as she saw Brodie bound from the trees opposite her and Fergus. He was sprinting, his feet a blur as he charged the sleeping men on the ground between them.
“Willie! Watch out!” Fergus bellowed. Willie and Reggie bolted up, pulling daggers from their boots.
Brodie skidded to a stop, raised a pistol, and fired a shot. Reggie sank to his knees and toppled over.
“You bastard!” Willie rushed at Brodie, and the two clashed in a clang of knives and fists.
Both she and Fergus stood their ground as the two brawny Scots fought like ancient Celtic warriors. But Fergus soon shook off his shock and grabbed Lydia from behind, pressing a dagger to her throat.
“Not a sound,” he warned in a deadly tone. “Or I’ll cut your pretty neck to ribbons.” He dragged her back deeper into the woods. She was still able to watch Brodie battle the other man through the trees.
Willie dealt a glancing blow to Brodie’s shoulder. Blood soon stained the fabric of his clothes, but he didn’t stop. He kept fighting, pushing Willie back toward the fire. He caught Willie’s fist in one hand, and the other held the blade now aimed at his heart.
Holding Willie’s wrists, he forced the man back through sheer brute strength. When Willie’s feet touched the burning fire, stirring up sparks, he hissed and tripped. Brodie fell with him, both men rolling until they came to a sudden halt, with Brodie lying beneath the other man. Lydia nearly screamed, but the knife at her throat kept her silent.
“Ha! Willie got him!” Fergus hooted.
“No, please no . . .” Brodie couldn’t be dead. Not because of her. He couldn’t be.
Tears blurred her eyes as Willie shifted and rolled off Brodie. As she blinked the tears away, she realized that it wasn’t Willie who had moved, but Brodie. Willie fell onto his side, and she saw that a dagger was buried in Willie’s chest, hilt deep.
“No!” Fergus yelled.
Brodie scrambled to his feet, pulling his own dagger again as he searched for the source of the cry. When he spotted them, he started forward slowly, his