Maybe Miss Whimsey was right. Maybe the duke was a bad father.
Whatever the case, Michael had to earn his ammo or get it himself. A lawman with a useless pistol, a couple of knives, and a pair of fists. Great.
He turned and looked at Miss Whimsey. “Stay here,” he whispered. “I’m going to go around and take him hand to hand.”
She nodded, though it seemed to be taut with uncertainty. It didn’t matter as long as she listened to him.
Crawling across the ground, he made his way like a serpent to the edge of his covering. So far, the archer had not seen him. Getting across the road would be—a shot rang out.From his side of the road!Miss Whimsey? No time to consider it. The shot came close to their attacker and made him run. Michael took off after him. He chased the assailant for a minute or two and finally overtook him and tossed him into the currant bushes.
The assailant’s mistake was to come up swinging. Michael ducked low, avoiding a fist to his jaw. He straightened with a jab to his opponent’s cheek and a bone-crunching right hook that lifted the man off his feet and landed him on his back, legs twitching.
“Is he dead?” Miss Whimsey asked, rushing to them and leaning over the man.
“No. He’s knocked out. Do you know him?”
She stepped back, looking surprised and a little offended. “Why would I know him?”
He shrugged. Then he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you had a pistol—and bullets?”
“You did not ask.” She turned to walk away, moving her dainty hips. “Well, you caught him. Now, I’m leaving.”
“You can’t leave yet.”
She stopped and pivoted around to him. “Who says?”
“I say,” he ground out. “I have to find a place to take him.”
“Leave him here.”
He gave her a foul glance. “So he can shoot the next unsuspecting traveler? No. Not while I’m here.” He bent down and hefted the man up and over his shoulder. He carried him to his horse and tossed him over the saddle. “Your father said there’s been an increase in robberies on the road. An earl was killed a few months ago after he was held up by a highwayman who calls himself The Dark Horseman. Well,” he turned to her behind him. “He’ll be The Locked-up Horseman when I’m through.”
Her smile changed just a bit. It became hollow and cold almost instantly. He thought she might be a master at veiling her emotions, controlling her reactions. She knew things about these Horsemen. He’d have to watch her more closely.
“What aboutcriminalslike me?” she put to him, one hand on her hip. “What would you do to me?”
“Same as him,” he replied blandly.
She pouted her lip in an effort, he guessed, that drew many a male gaze to it. It worked on him, as well. For a moment.
“It might sound cheesy,” he said setting his eyes on the road. “I don’t care. I’ve always wanted to make the world better where I am for my kids. If I have any. My job hasn’t changed. I’m afraid it never will. I must catch thieves and killers and bring them to justice.”
“I like that you want to make it better for your—what I hope you meant as children, and not goats—if you have any.”
He turned to her and laughed softly.
“But…I am a thief, as you know.”
He shook his head and looked down at her hands. He lifted his finger and held it close to hers, barely touching her. “Don’t be a thief anymore.”
“Michael?”
“Yeah?”
“What does cheese have to do with wanting a better world for your children?”
He laughed softly and drew his fingers closer until they touched her, rattling his heart and making his nerve-endings burn. He traced her palm to the tip of her fingers and then pulled away.
“I need a place to put him.”
