Samantha pushed Abigail forward. “Josephine, take her downstairs.” She flipped her dagger out and ran into the room. “Mr. Ross, you need to leave.”
A muffled curse reached them as they rushed down the stairs, dragging the heavy bag behind them. Abigail twisted to look over her shoulder and tripped, nearly sending them both tumbling down.
“Damn it, you she devil!”
A moment later, Mr. Ross appeared at the top of the steps, with two large bags slung over his shoulders. His face had turned a brightshade of red. Samantha stood behind him with her blade pointed between his shoulders. Before he took a step, the crash of breaking glass shattered the air around them. Someone had broken a window in the parlor.
Abigail screamed as another window shattered.
Isaac drew his sword. “Get them out back. We’ll hold them off as long as we can.”
Josephine grabbed Abigail’s wrist. “Come on!”
Samantha had already seized Mr. Ross by the elbow, dragging the stunned man through the servants’ hallway. The corridor was narrow and dark, lit only by a single lantern casting shifting shadows on the walls. Their quick steps echoed in the silence, the faint creak of floorboards beneath their feet punctuated by more breaking glass behind them.
“This way!” Samantha hissed as they burst through the back door. The humid night air slammed into them, wrapping around their bodies like a damp cloak. Josephine followed, her heart pounding in her chest. The darkened yard stretched ahead, the moon casting an eerie halo around them as they rushed to the waiting wagon.
Samantha yanked down the rear gate as the horses pawed the ground. “Get in. Now.”
“I, I can’t—” Mr. Ross stammered, turning to look back at the house.
Samantha shoved him toward the wagon bed. “Youwill.Get your daughter to safety before it’s too late.”
Josephine helped Abigail climb into the back, her hands trembling. “Lay flat. Stay out of sight.”
“I’m scared,” Abigail choked.
“I know,” Josephine whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her friend’s face. “But you have to do this, it’s the only way.”
Mr. Ross climbed in behind his daughter, finally shaken into motion.
Samantha turned to the waiting driver. “Make haste. Don’t stop until you reach Augusta.”
He nodded, pale and determined, and with a slap to the reins, the wagon jerked forward. Wheels crunched over gravel, then mud, vanishing into the shadows just as shouting erupted from the far side of the house. A crash came, the unmistakable clatter of furniture toppling. Josephine spun, her heart in her throat.
Samantha’s eyes narrowed, her expression hardening with determination as she drew her rapier. “Stay here,” she ordered, her voice low and commanding. Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and disappeared into the darkness of the house, her figure swallowed by the shadows.
Josephine stood paralyzed, her heart hammering in her chest as the clang of steel rang through the air, sharp and jarring. A wave of panic surged within her as she glanced down the empty servants’ road. In a matter of minutes, she could slip into the night and escape the nightmare unfolding within the house. Her hands trembled as she clenched them into fists.
But then another crash, louder than the last, followed by a desperate shout. Her breath caught in her throat. No. She couldn’t run. Not now. She took a shaky step forward, her feet heavy, as though made of stone. Her gaze locked onto the darkened doorway. She couldn’t stand by while people she cared for fought for their lives. With a sharp breath, Josephine made her choice. Her heart hammered as determination surged through her, and she pushed forward.
A moment later, she crossed the threshold. Her chest heaved in short, ragged gasps as she ran down the corridor, shadows twisting after her. In the main hall, the battle raged. Blades clashed, men grunted and shouted, boots skidded across the wooden floors slick with broken glass and splintered debris. Her stomach turned when she nearly tripped over the leg of a prone man.
A flash of silver on the floor caught her eye. A cutlass. Shesnatched it up, her fingers trembling around the hilt, and pressed on. In the drawing room, she found Samantha locked in a deadly dance with a broad-shouldered pirate. Her friend’s movements were swift and fluid, each parry and strike precise.
Then the door behind her slammed open.
Another pirate.
Josephine didn’t think. She lunged, blade raised, a cry tearing from her throat—more fear than fury. Steel met steel with a jolt that rattled up her arms, but she held her ground. The pirate snarled and swung again, but Samantha turned, caught the blow mid-air, and drove him back. They worked together, Josephine cringing at her wild and clumsy strikes. Samantha’s blade flashed alongside hers, and within moments, both attackers lay motionless on the floor.
Josephine stood over them, chest heaving, the sword trembling in her hands. Blood pounded in her ears, and she gave a shaky laugh. “We did it.”
Samantha gave a nod, then raised her sword again. “Stay close. We’re not done yet.”
They eased from the room into the hallway. The sounds of fighting had grown distant and muffled. Outside. At the very end of the hall, the front door hung wide open. They moved that way, swords held at the ready.
Without a word, Samantha held her hand out, drawing to a stop. She took a deep breath and gazed down the hall. Her eyes widened. “Fire.”
