safe, that so much more was at stake than she had even a hint of. Working the docks may have scarred his hands, but she was beginning to suspect he had earned other scars that weren’t visible. He was no longer the sort of man who awoke among hedgerows or teased about freckles.
While she’d been wondering what kind of man he was, she’d heard grunts and muffled curses. The door had suddenly swung open, and she’d been dragged out by this blighter and watched in horror as his mates had bound her coachman and footman.
Now she stood, a figure in this strange tableau, a captive in an untenable situation for which she could envision no escape.
“Won’t hurt her at all, mate, if the two of ye go to yer knees and don’t fight the killing what’s to come.”
“No!” she cried out, as the ominous words chilled her to the bone and horrible images of what they foreshadowed rushed through her mind.
“Rest easy, Kathryn. Cowards who shield themselves with women never win.”
How could Griff sound so composed, so unbothered, as though he’d just announced that it was going to rain? While her heart was pounding so hard she was surprised it didn’t knock the man away from her.
Good Lord. Griff went to his knees without hesitation, and she wanted to scream. Marcus—she assumed that the silhouette standing a short distance away was Marcus—followed suit, lowering himself in the same manner that his brother had. Panic sought to take hold, but she fought it off, concentrating on her situation, what she could detect of it that might give her an edge.
“Whatever you do, Kathryn,” Griff said in that steady, conversational tone, “don’t stomp on his foot.”
“Why the bloody hell would she—”
Before he could finish, she did exactly what Griff had ordered not to do because she realized it was exactly what he wanted her to do. He’d served up a distraction. As the man who’d held her within his grasp had been speaking, his grip had slackened until his clothing barely whispered against hers, and the knife was nowhere near her skin where he could easily mark her. So she struck. Hard and with purpose. As he yelled and jerked back in reaction to the onslaught of her heel digging into his instep, she twisted away, escaping him completely.
A growl, fierce enough to shake the heavens, like that of a feral beast, echoed through the air. She turned back in time to see Griff smoothly lunging to his feet before charging forward, brandishing a sword—where the devil had he gotten that?
The odious man who had threatened her gave a little squeak like a frightened dormouse just before he was run through.
One of the other men was making a mad dash for her, and she skittered back but needn’t have bothered because Griff cut him off before he got close. A second fellow joined the brawl. With a quick glance around, she saw that Marcus was dealing with the fourth fellow, and she returned her attention to Griff battling the two. He’d not had time to reclaim his sword, but it appeared he had a knife, as did those he fought. Every now and then, moonlight glinted off steel. She wanted to rush into the middle of it and help him, but she stayed where she was, knowing it was wrong of her to find beauty in his feints and parries, in the skills he exhibited with such grace. While she was terrified for him, she recalled the confidence with which he’d spoken the night before about collecting what was owed to him. He knew how to carry out a threat, how to deliver a blow, how to be victorious—and she fought against creating any sound of alarm or any movement that might distract him from his purpose.
Swinging a leg up and around, he knocked one of the fellows to the ground, then took the other down by slamming into him. They rolled. She could barely see their movements in the darkness, but heard the slap of flesh hitting flesh, a moan, a cry, and silence.
Griff bounded up and turned his attention to the man he’d earlier kicked. The villain had regained his footing. Knives were clearly evident as they slowly circled each other.
“Drop the knife and run,” Griff ordered, his voice flat, without sentiment, as though he’d tightly bound all his emotions so they couldn’t interfere and prevent him from doing the unpleasant tasks that needed to be done in order to