While both his servants were now doing their best to fend off the men attacking them, Claybourne was left to deal with the other four—who were taking unfair advantage of the situation. But then she supposed that was what these sorts of cads were accustomed to doing.
Claybourne had somehow managed to kick one of the men in the stomach. Doubled over, he’d dropped his weapon—a large wooden stick. Catherine thought if she could retrieve it, she could give him a few good whacks on the head and even the odds a bit.
Before she could think it through clearly, she’d opened the door and stepped out—
Claybourne’s back was to her and a man with a wicked-looking knife was coming up behind him.
“Nooo!” she screamed.
She felt the agonizing fire erupt across her palm, and only then did she realize she’d put her hand up to stop the knife from slicing Claybourne. The man wielding the weapon seemed to be in shock that he’d attacked a lady.
Catherine looked at the crimson flow invading her glove and staggered back.
“Let’s go, mates!” someone yelled.
She was vaguely aware of someone grunting, the echo of pounding footsteps.
“Catherine?”
She blinked. Claybourne was kneeling beside her. What was she doing on the ground?
When had she fallen? Why was it suddenly so very dark?
“He was going to kill you,” she murmured. Or thought she did. The words seem to come from a great distance.
“That’s no excuse to put yourself in harm’s way.”
The insufferable ingrate lifted her into his arms and carried her to the coach. He’d barely gotten her inside before following after her, sitting beside her. “Here,” he said, and she felt him wrapping something around her hand as the coach lurched forward.
“Your servants—”
“They’re fine.”
“What’s that?”
“My handkerchief.”
“It’ll be ruined.”
“Good Lord, Catherine, your hand is likely ruined. I don’t give a damn about a bit of cloth.”
“Your language is vulgar, sir.”
“I believe the occasion warrants it.”
“Indeed it does.”
He chuckled, a soothing sound that made her want to reach out and comb her fingers through his hair, assure herself that he was indeed unharmed.
“Who were they?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly.
“They wanted to kill you.”
He said nothing.
“Why?” she asked.
