As luck would have it—bad luck—she barreled through a sea of cornflowers, rounded a bend, and nearly rode right over him.
Fifty-Seven
“GRAB HER!”Rhona yelled.
In the middle of tying up a man, Trick looked up to see Kendra yanked off Pandora. A heartbeat later, Gregor had a blade to her neck.
Where the hell had she come from?
Stunned, Trick could barely find breath. Empty-saddled, Pandora reared and galloped up the embankment, his and Niall’s mounts bolting after her.
“Damn you for a dastardly whoreson,” Gregor grated through gritted teeth. “Release my man, before your pretty wife’s head is rolling down the road.”
“Don’t listen to him, Trick!” Tears swam in Kendra’s eyes. “He’ll only kill you. He’s murdered once already, almost twice—”
“Now!” Gregor bellowed.
His gaze riveted to Kendra’s, Trick dropped the rope and slowly stepped back, the blood pounding in his ears.
I’m sorry, she mouthed, her heart in her glistening eyes. She raised her clenched knuckles to her teeth while the tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Rhona, get the weapons.”
Stalking over to retrieve the pistols Trick had made them drop to the ground mere minutes earlier, Rhona smirked at Kendra. “Thank you, dearie.” She handed a gun to one of their accomplices. “For a while there, your husband thought he had us fooled.” The man Trick had been restraining struggled out of his half-tied bonds, and she handed over another pistol. “Imagine he and his brother thinking they could hold the four of us up.”
Atop the rise overhead, Niall shakily stood, the lone real gunman among a dozen hats and pipes they’d arranged around him. He ripped the makeshift mask from his face. “Wedidfool you,” he spat.
“Until your bonnie sister-in-law showed up and we put two and two together.” Gregor tightened his hold around Kendra, and she flinched, making Trick’s heart leap into his throat. “Drop your gun, lad, lest you be the next to feel my knife.”
“He’ll kill you anyway, Niall! I’m telling you—”
Niall’s pistol fell to the road with an ominous thud.
Steaming—at Kendra, or Gregor and Rhona, or the world in general, he really wasn’t sure which—Trick tore his own mask off and tugged the periwig from his head.
“Don’t move!” Gregor growled. A tiny red nick appeared on Kendra’s creamy skin, and her whimper took a year off Trick’s life. Gregor swung his gaze on one of the other two men, motioning toward Trick with his head. “Kill him first.”
“I told you!” Kendra wailed.
“Kill?” Palms forward, his gun pointed to the sky, the man backed away.
A Duncraven villager—Trick had slapped him at thedraidgie. Now he wished he’d pounded him into the floorboards.
“Nobody said anything about killing, aye? We were supposed to move some chests and go home with gold in our pockets. Nobody said anything about killing.”
“I’m with you, Davie.” The second man’s pistol dropped to the dirt. “Good day to you people. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’ll be heading back to Duncraven now—you may keep my horse with my compliments.” Casting a wistful glance to the animal in question, which was hitched to one of the wagons, he began walking.
“Wait!” Rhona’s eyes darted back and forth between the retreating men and her husband. “We don’t have to kill.” Her voice rose an octave. “Damn you, Gregor, I told you from the first that we didn’t have to kill!”
The men halted and turned back around, apparently reserving judgment.
“Aye,” Gregor barked. “And then you talked me into that milk-livered way of doing it, when we could’ve been done with the deed and clear to London weeks beforeheshowed up.” He aimed a deadly glance at Trick.
“Hell mend you!” the first man said, pivoting away.
“Wait!” Rhona shot her pistol into the air.
Everyone froze. A choked sound came from Kendra’s throat.
