“Milord, riders behind us!”
The driver’s shouted warning made Walker’s breath jam in his throat. At once, he pulled a pistol from his belt, the sharp movement awaking Marguerite. She blinked up at him blearily, still half lost in sleep.
“Walker?”
He didn’t speak but disengaged himself from her quickly and as gently as possible, and peered out the rectangular back window.
True enough, a pair of dark-clad riders were whipping their mounts to drive them faster toward the carriage. Walker cursed vehemently and slid down the glass to yell at the driver, “Keep on, man! Don’t dare stop no matter how close they come!”
Cursing again, Walker turned around to find Marguerite fully awake now and staring at him wide-eyed. He said nothing but looked out the back window once more to find the accursed riders were gaining upon them. He jumped up to douse the lantern light, plunging the interior of the carriage into darkness lit only by moonlight.
“Highwaymen! Get onto the floor, Marguerite!”
He’d had to shout above the thundering hooves and near-deafening clatter of the carriage wheels, which made him say another prayer that none of them came loose to send them crashing into the trees. Marguerite had thankfully heeded him, huddling at his feet as Walker drew his other pistol and prepared to fire if either rider came alongside the speeding carriage.
Another quick glance out the back window made him certain they had only another few moments before the highwaymen would reach them.
Walker was an expert shot, but if the two riders split up and attacked from both sides, he’d need all of his skill to engage them at the same time. And if their purpose was to try and disable the driver, who yelled even now to the horses and cracked his whip to drive them harder—
“Walker, your right side!”
He twisted round at Marguerite’s outcry as one of the riders appeared at the window, the highwayman’s mount snorting with exertion and glistening with sweat.
Walker heard Marguerite scream and he knew then that the other rider had reached them, too, on the opposite side of the carriage just as he’d feared. He didn’t wait any longer but fired his pistol at the attacker nearest him at the same moment the carriage seemed to swerve.
Good God, had the driver lost his grip on the reins? Walker knew he’d missed his shot and aimed the second pistol even as another pistol fired from what sounded like right beneath him.
Walker heard an agonized scream, not female at all but that of a man as the rider outside the opposite window pitched from his mount and fell onto the road. Only then did Walker see that Marguerite knelt at the carriage door with a smoking pistol in her hand.
Incredulous, Walker wheeled around to see that the second highwayman had fallen back. A quick glance out the rear window confirmed to him the man had pulled up his mount to see to his comrade, who lay sprawled in the dirt at the side of the road. Then the carriage rounded a curve and Walker saw them no more, though he wasn’t looking out the window any longer.
Instead he stared at Marguerite, her face as pale as death in the bright moonlight, her eyes shimmering with tears.
“Do…do you think I killed him?”
Walker had barely heard her over the near-deafening rumble of the carriage, relief flooding him that the driver clearly still had the racing vehicle well in hand. Yet it was nothing to the emotion he felt as he retrieved the pistol from Marguerite’s trembling hand.
Amazement.
Anger that she’d opened herself up to such danger kneeling at that window. She could have been the one who was shot!
And pure unbridled admiration as he continued to stare at her, hardly believing what had just happened.
He saw it then, the opened compartment near his feet where she’d grabbed one of the pistols. How quickly she had reacted while he’d been looking the other way! He shoved his own pistols into his belt and bent down to gather her into his arms, while she threw her arms around his neck.
She trembled still, from head to toe, holding onto him fiercely as he sat down with her upon his lap and yelled to the driver, “No more stops! Ride on to Gretna Green!”
“Aye, milord!”
Walker heard the crack of the whip, the carriage continuing its breakneck pace, though Walker knew the driver would have to slow the horses soon. Yet even a fast trot would keep the highwaymen well behind them, especially with one of them wounded.
Or dead.
Still Marguerite clung to him, her head buried in his shoulder, though Walker found himself starting to laugh. He couldn’t help it, he still felt more astounded than he’d ever known in his life.
“Good God, woman!” Tears bit his eyes, too, but only because he was laughing so hard. He heard it then, a giggle from Marguerite, though she hadn’t lifted her head.
He knew he’d said nothing to comfort her, but then again, he should be congratulating her! Yet when she giggled some more, no longer trembling, he was glad she appeared over the shock of saving their lives.
