He grasped her hand before bringing it to his mouth to kiss her cold knuckles. “He’s fine. He’s with the village doctor taking care of Talon.”
She was about to ask what Mr. Lyridon was doing in Sheerness, when the glance from Elise’s coachman abruptly registered. Now she knew why he had looked strangely familiar. “He isn’t just a barrister, is he?”
“No,” Alister concurred. “Although I fear he may be finished with field work after tonight.”
“Why?” Lyra paled. “What happened?”
His mouth tightened, as if he was considering whether to tell her the truth or not, but when he saw her expression would easily turn mutinous if he didn’t, he said evenly, “He was shot.”
Lyra covered her mouth with her hand. “He was hurt trying to free me.”
Alister didn’t have to reply. She knew the truth. She would have to find a way to repay him. She owed Talon a debt of gratitude for saving her life.
“We’re being followed.”
Lyra glanced at her brother’s tense face before she looked behind her. The brisk wind tossed her hair around like a battered flag, so she held it in place before seeing that, indeed, there was another carriage in pursuit of them.
“Do you still have your pistol, Eversleigh?”
Roarke handed it out to Alister without a word, never once taking his eyes from the road.
“Keep it steady,” Alister instructed, as he pulled his own flintlock from his waistband. He glanced at Lyra. “Do you know how to load one of these?”
“It’s been awhile,” she hedged, knowing that surely, at some point, she must have paid attention to Roarke when he had primed his rifle before going hunting in their younger years.
He didn’t reply, merely handed her two different sized flasks, and a bag full of small lead balls, before he took aim and fired behind them. Instantly, the acrid scent of sulfur filled the air as a shower of sparks rained down between them. He instantly reloaded, his movements precise but swift as he explained. “You fill the muzzle with gunpowder from this larger flask, then you place in a lead ball, before tamping it all down with this.” He produced a ramrod from the underside of the barrel. “Then you open and fill the flash pan on the side with a little powder from the smaller flask, before closing it.” He cocked the hammer back. “You’ll have to be quick but accurate. Do you think you can do that?”
She was quite certain that she couldn’t, but she nodded her head anyway. “Yes.”
“Good.” Again he fired, but this time, there was an answering report.
As Alister handed the discharged weapon to her, he fired the other. As another bullet whizzed past their heads, causing Roarke to utter a curse and nearly upset the carriage as they rounded a sharp curve in the road, Lyra poured the gunpowder with shaking hands. She prayed that she poured enough into the barrel before she set about shoving the ball inside and tamping it down with the rod. After filling the flash pan, she handed it to Alister, who traded weapons with her.
She flinched as he fired once again, but since he appeared unharmed by her efforts, she felt a bit more confident as she reloaded again. They continued this pace for several turns—Alister discharging, Lyra priming, Roarke driving—all while their enemies returned fire, only to miss them by mere inches.
At one point, she had to admire this amazing man that was her husband. For someone who had been ridiculed and virtually ignored for years, she could only catch her breath at the look of fierce determination on Alister’s handsome face, and the stubborn set of his strong jaw. She could easily see how he had become such a respected agent.
She was certainly proud to call him hers.
He glanced at her, then, anticipating the next gun to be placed in his hand, but when he saw her just sitting there, staring at him, he asked brusquely, “What is it?”
“You’re magnificent,” she breathed.
When she handed the finished pistol to him, he allowed their fingers to brush. “It’s because of you that I believe it.”
With one last, lingering glance, he focused on the task at hand, just as fervent and poised as ever.
Lyra felt her heart swell with adoration, as Roarke slid around another corner, this time, causing her to bump into him, while the horses whinnied in protest. “Bloody uneven, English roads,” her brother muttered under his breath, as he shouted an order to the gelding.
Alister closed one eye to get a better aim and fired the bullet meant to end the chase. With a resounding crack against one of the pursuing carriage wheels, the occupants inside gave several shouts of protest, before the wheel fell apart entirely and splintered beneath them. Their horses screeched in terror as the carriage promptly pulled them backward before dislodging entirely. The conveyance flipped onto its side in a nearby ditch, throwing its occupants asunder before finally coming to an abrupt halt.
Lyra instantly covered her mouth with her hands, knowing that at least one or all of them had suffered a fatality from such a devastating wreck.
Once the threat had been neutralized, Alister tucked the pistols away and gathered Lyra into his arms, where she began to shake uncontrollably. He spoke soothingly to her as Roarke finally slowed their frantic pace. After a time, the shock wore off, and she collapsed against his chest from pure exhaustion.
* * *
Lyra jerked in alarm as the carriage shuddered to a stop.
