“Miss Spalding!” he called out and then he tossed her dirk to land at her feet. He’d brought with him thinking to return it to her. It was a sop to his guilt at not warning her what was coming. And now she scooped it up with the speed of long familiarity.
Meanwhile, Miss Allen spoke up with the haughtiness of one who had never truly faced rough men. “What are ye doing?” she called out. “Frightening good people in the middle o’ the day?”
The center man, one with dark teeth and a grizzled jaw, held up his hands as if to show he meant no ill. But his right hand still carried a wickedly sharp knife and his smile looked gruesome with those rotted teeth.
“No harm,” he said in a thick Scottish brogue. Fortunately, Reuben had a knack for languages and figured out the meaning easily enough. “I came to bring my wife home. She’s sorely missed.”
“You’ve no wife here, Hamish,” said Miss Spalding in a clear British accent. “Go back home.”
The woman didn’t waste time or energy on bravado. She spoke clearly even as she was backing away from the three Scotsmen. She brought Miss Allen with her, tugging lightly on the lady’s sleeve. And the two slowly moved to a more defensible position.
At least that was likely her plan, but there was no place more defensible here. It was all open ground and few trees. Not to mention the frightened face of nannies who were grabbing their charges to get away from the fight.
“That’s where yer wrong,” Hamish returned. “Yer me blushing bride, Iseabail. We were married three weeks ago, we were.”
“Three weeks?” the lady snapped. “I’ve been in London for more than four.”
“Ach, but yer token was with yer guardian, and he used it as yer proxy.” He fished a grimy piece of parchment out of his placket. “It’s signed, Iseabail. Yer mine.”
“What token?” she countered. “I am wearing it.” For emphasis, she pulled her pendant from beneath her dress.
“Cease yer blathering, woman. Come now or I’ll take ye back shackled to me horse.”
It was a cruel statement, and one that Reuben knew would come to pass. This Hamish was one to enjoy mindless cruelty.
“Run, you fool,” he rasped out. He didn’t know what would come of that. Where was she to go to? But at least in the countess’s home, she would have some recourse. A barrister, if nothing else, to investigate the claims and tie the matter up in the courts.
It would give Miss Spalding breathing room to think of something else. But she didn’t get the chance. She turned her head to look behind her, and two more Scotsmen stepped out behind them. Five bearded, kilted Scotsmen. And halleluiah, he now had an excuse to interfere. After all, he’d been told three of her kinsmen came for her. Five was clearly more than three, and if Sammy had lied to him, then he felt no responsibility to keep his word.
So he sauntered out to join the ladies even as the five Scotsmen began to close in on the women. He whistled as he moved, pretended to an insouciance that he didn’t feel. And it was enough to throw the Scotsmen off their game.
“What ho,” he drawled in as posh a tone as he could manage. “Have you no escort, ladies? That’s not safe, you know. Plenty of shady sorts in London, hmmm? I should be pleased to walk with you while we find your conveyance.”
To the side, he saw Sammy straighten up with a frown, but his attention was centered more on the confused Scots. Clearly, they had no idea what to do when an Englishman acted completely ignorant of the threat they posed.
Hamish growled out a warning, his disgust plain. “Are ye blind, ye bluidy Sassenach? Get gone.”
“Blood? Where?” He looked down at himself as if in horror using the pretense of inspecting his clothing to unhook the holsters that sheathed two of his blades. The last thing he wanted was to start throwing knives in the middle of Hyde Park, but he wanted to be prepared just in case. Especially since the Scotsmen didn’t seem to be taking the hint. Nevertheless, he tried to reason with them one more time. “I don’t know what your business here is, Mr. Scot, but civilized people do not go accosting women in the middle of the most fashionable park in London. The watch is headed this way, and no one here has any interest in your marriage one way or another.”
He moved between the ladies and the grumbly Hamish. A protective stance though he looked like a dandy standing like a lost idiot on a battlefield. He was sure the other men were approaching from behind, but he trusted the women to let him know if they came too close.
“I’ll beat ye senseless, ye bluidy idiot.” Not a clever retort, but then Reuben hadn’t expected one. What was more important was that Hamish jerked his head to his two men, indicating that they should attack.
One was big and slow, therefore the easiest of the two targets. Best to dispatch him quickly.
Reuben closed the distance, clipped the thug’s outstretched arm while kicking him hard in the knee. The big man went down with a howl and Reuban managed to wrest a very large dirk from his hand. A nice one to add to his collection.
He didn’t have the time to admire it, though, as the other one closed in. He was younger than the others, small, wiry, and he held his knife well. His attention, however, was split between Reuben and trying to grab hold of Miss Spalding. Damn it, the man was close enough to get her. One lurch and he would have her, especially since she was distracted as the other two Scotsmen came at her.
Thinking fast, Reuben did a silly feint. It was a useless move except to pull the man’s attention away from Miss Spalding. Enough, at least, for her to duck away. Or so he hoped.
It worked.
It also infuriated the young Scotsman enough that he came hard at Reuben, slashing down with his knife in a very odd movement. It was not meant for street fighting as it left the idiot overbalanced and exposed. More likely it was what he used when closing on a wild boar. It would be very effective when hunting. Useless against a man like Reuben.
A quick punch to the man’s throat, and the young one went down like a stone, gasping for breath. Reuben’s kick connected with the boy’s exposed wrist, and the knife went flying off at Sammy.
Oops. He did not want the Bow Street Runner involved. But Sammy could not resist the lure of a well-made dirk. He put away his pipe and picked up the blade as he sauntered forward.
