“Here? I am nae certain, Dearg,” Erskine shook his head as his gaze scanned the coaching inn before him, his dark red hair bounced across his forehead with the movement. They were so close to Covent Garden, he did not doubt that some of their party would probably take advantage of visiting the courtesans whilst they took their rest overnight, but that was not what troubled Erskine. In Covent Garden, the number of ruffians and thieves was too high to count. He did not like putting his group in such jeopardy.
“Aye, it is for one night only. What wrong could it do?” His younger brother, Dearg, laughed and clapped him on the back as they handed their horses to the stable. “Ye need to lighten up, brother. Nothin’ will happen to us tonight.”
“I am nae so sure of that,” Erskine patted his steed’s neck as the horse whinnied beside him. He was as reluctant to hand the horse over to the stable as he was to stay at the coaching inn. He had heard tales of such stables selling the horses at night and then running before the owners could return.
“Be cheerful, in the name of the wee man!”
Aye, I will be happy once we are far from London.
Erskine thought his brother could be a fool at times. If it were not for Erskine’s strategic thinking and quick work with his fists, Dearg would have come to a sticky end at the hands of a thief a long time ago. As it was, Erskine was always looking over his shoulder, and his quick temper had earned him the label ‘brute’ on more than one occasion. He hardly cared; he was sure it was the reason they were both still alive. As sons of a Scottish Laird, they were desirable targets for thieves and swindlers.
“Let go of the horse already,” Dearg took the steed from his hands and passed the reins to the stable boy. “All will be well,” Dearg was still smiling, making his freckled cheeks crease. “We are all still here, are we nae?” He turned Erskine with his shoulder to face the rest of their party that were all standing outside of the coaching inn door.
There were three other men with them: Camden, Aiden, and Tam. They had travelled down together for Erskine to discuss business of his father, Laird McCullum, with parliament. Now the Jacobite Rebellions had finished for good, such trips would become more and more necessary, but it did not mean Erskine trusted the ill-feeling between the Scots and the English to be concluded so easily.
As Erskine considered this idea, he saw Tam step away from the others, his expression altogether darker than it had been a moment ago.
“Tam, what is wrong?” Erskine was instantly alert.
“Take a look,” Tam pointed down the street behind Erskine. “It seems the Scottish are nae the only ones that thieves like to target.”
Erskine followed his friend’s gaze down the road. There was a young lad sprinting down the center of the cobbled street. Behind him at a little distance were a group of four young men, chasing him down.
* * *
Laura had never known fear like this. She could hear the footsteps behind her and the catcalls too. They were teasing her, laughing at her size, shouting that she could not outrun them. Just as the sign of the coaching inn came into view in the moonlight, she felt a pair of hands take hold of her, jerking her backward.
“Let go!” she roared, adopting the deep voice again, but it did little use. Suddenly, the ruffians closed in around her. There were four of them. She was tossed from one set of hands to another, their arms binding hers down at her side so that she could not push them away. The stench was overwhelming: a mixture of ale and the aftereffects of visiting a privy.
“What money you got then, eh?” A voice drawled as a face appeared in front of her, bright red from intake of drink. His breath stank of ale as he reached into her satchel.
She had brought so few things with her, and she could not bear the thought of such a man touching the letter from her governess. With her body being held by the person behind her, practically holding her off the ground, she used it as leverage. She reared back and kicked out with both feet, her boots struck against the stinking man’s stomach, winding him and making him fall back.
“Ha! Spirited for such a small lad, isn’t he?” One of the drunkards laughed as he approached her.
She tried to kick out again, but the fourth thief grabbed her legs, trying to hold them down.
“Come on, hand over your cash, boy, and we’ll be on our way,” the man behind her said in her ear. She tried to recoil away from his mouth being so close to her skin, but she could not get far.
She felt a hand slip into her pocket. She toyed with the idea of handing over her money, thinking it could save her life, but she had only change in her pockets, as the purse with most of her cash had been hidden in the linen binding around her breasts, and she was hardly going to confess to that or let them look beneath her shirt.
Then they will know I am no boy at all!
Her mind flashed with all sorts of fears—terrified that if they discovered she was a woman, they could do far worse to her than just steal from her… The grasp of the thief’s arms around her suddenly felt more constricting, and she tussled against them.
“Let go of me!” she roared again. She kicked out, this time freeing her legs and managing to make contact with one of the ruffian’s chins. It sent him stumbling back and clutching his face.
The thief behind her adjusted his hold. Just as she thought she would have the opportunity to escape, she felt something sharp placed at her throat. She held perfectly still as the cold touch of a blade met the crease of her throat.
“Do not move again,” the man spat the words in her ear. She could feel the spittle running down her neck, but she could not pull away from him with the blade pressed so threateningly against her. “Money now or die.”
Is this really how I am to meet my death? From a thief in the street!
“Release the lad.” A firm voice joined the cacophony of catcalls.
Laura’s eyes darted around, but all she could see were the two thieves she had wounded, one clutching his stomach and the other holding onto his bleeding chin, and the third hesitating, shifting between his feet.
“You would not do it,” the man entrapping her said, turning his head away from her. The movement allowed her enough freedom to turn her face to the side.
