Hell. Reuben did not want to fight his friend.
Meanwhile, he glanced back at Miss Spalding. She was the target of this attack, and he’d left her and Miss Allen alone to fend off two burly Scotsmen charging from the rear.
He needn’t have worried. As he watched, he saw Miss Spalding sink her dirk into the meat of one man’s thigh. The other would have caught her then, except Miss Allen got him with a well-placed kick between the thighs. The bastard went down with a howl, then she followed it up with a swift punch to his temple.
He would not move again for a bit.
Reuben grinned. He appreciated a woman who could fight dirty, though he was more impressed by a woman who could kill a man with her knife and step away with nary a drop of blood on her. Miss Spalding hadn’t killed her attacker, but he wouldn’t survive without someone to stitch up the wound. And rather than waste her time on his pain, she straightened up to face the man who was leading this merry bunch of incompetents.
Hamish wasn’t waiting. His face contorted in fury, and he’d pulled out his sword. A damned big Scots sword in the middle of Hyde Park. An intimidating sight to be sure, if one didn’t know anything about fighting.
With one hand, Reuben shoved Miss Spalding backwards. She wasn’t expecting it, so she stumbled. Meanwhile, he used the motion to quickly duck down and come up on Hamish’s opposite side. The man was too slow to recover. Frankly, the sword was too heavy to shift so easily, but the bastard had muscles to wield the thing, so Reuben made use of his quick reflexes. He knew better than to ever stand still in a fight like this.
He moved to the side, then punched Hamish in the ribs, close to his armpit. He continued his attack with rabbit punches, all meant to disarm, not to destroy. He didn’t put much power into his attack. That wasn’t its purpose. He meant to confuse and distract until—
Now.
Hamish turned to face him. He’d barely gotten his sword back up, but the thing was lifting quickly. If Reuben missed, the sword might very well cleave him in two.
So he didn’t miss. Reuben punched him on the temple with a heavy fist backed by the full weight of his torso.
The ugly man went down.
He spared a moment for remorse. A blow like that could permanently damage a man’s brain. He didn’t regret the action. He did, however, know that a man who was generally prone to violence could get worse after a hit like that. More brutal, more irrational, and more of a danger to any woman who was married to him.
Killing him might become necessary. But not yet.
He turned to speak to Miss Spalding. There was a great deal he wanted to understand from her, but he never got the chance.
Sammy had her. He’d twisted her one arm hard up behind her back. Her dirk lay at her feet, and she flinched every time she moved. Not because she was hurt, but because Sammy was jerking her arm high every time she tried to move or speak or even stand.
Before long, he had her on her knees between them.
Reuben’s stomach turned sour. “What are you up to, brutalizing a woman like that?”
“Did you see what she did to them Scots?” He jerked his head to the one howling as he bled on the ground. “She’s a wildcat, and I’ll not have her in my London.”
“That’s a bold lie, that is,” he countered. “You like a wildcat. You married one.”
“I married English, I did. And my lady wouldn’t do that to a man.”
Reuben snorted, his mind racing as he tried to find a way out of this mess. “Maybe. Maybe not. It depends on if someone was trying to marry her to that man.” He gestured to the bastard who was still unconscious behind them.
Sammy didn’t argue. “You said you wouldn’t interfere.”
“You said there were only three.”
He snorted. “What do I know how many Scots—”
Reuben lost his patience. “What do you know if he’s a fecking liar? What are you doing turning over a woman to the likes of them?”
Sammy stiffened. “Their papers were good. I read ’em.”
“Their money was good. You don’t know what Scots’ papers are like. Reading isn’t enough to tell.” He stomped over and grabbed the parchment out of the bastard’s placard. It looked official enough, but what did he know? He wasn’t a barrister.
Meanwhile, Miss Allen was squatting next to the man still howling as he held his leg.
“Shut up!” she snapped as she batted his hands away.
