He should be hesitant.
Caution should be his guide.
None of that was in his head.
It was black, full of rage.
Killing a man wouldn’t be enough. His soul needed an army to die. Everything needed to die for the abomination Ruth had suffered.
Lawden stretched. The signal that he saw Wycliff.
He’d be ready.
Wycliff lifted his sjambok.
He swung.
The leather snapped and crackled. Then the impact, the sjambok slashed the assailant’s arm.
The fool yelled. The gun dropped to the ground. It didn’t discharge, and Lawden had it in hand the next instant.
But one hit wasn’t enough. For Ruth, Wycliff struck the fiend again and again, a lashing times three for every face he remembered at the attack.
One final strike. “That’s for harassing Lawden. Lord knows I ask too much of him.”
“Have mercy!” the man kept screaming.
No mercy. The sjambok had a life of its own.Lash.Lash.Lash.
Then the screaming stopped. He’d beaten the man unconscious.
“My lord.” Lawden grabbed his hand. “He’s disarmed. Relent.”
A bullet whizzed by.
Thwack.
A man screamed then fell forward.
Ruth came from that direction with rocks in her hand. “A shooter was over there. I hit him. I struck him good.”
She was resplendent. Coming through the brush, her hair spilling onto her deep-pink dress.
Goodness, he loved her. She looked strong coming to him after hearing Madame’s words. But Ruth didn’t possess his shock. She’d buried these truths inside her for four years.
Lawden ran up and took the man’s weapon. He might’ve kicked him. “Lord Wycliff, let’s be going.”
“Yes.” He took Ruth’s hand and lifted her into the carriage. “Back to Blaren House as soon as possible.”
Wycliff couldn’t say any more. He didn’t have words to express anything, just kept an arm about Ruth’s waist. He needed to get them back to safety as soon as possible.
Cousin Nicholas didn’t merely have to pay for touching Ruth. He had to die.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Be My Guest
When Wycliff said Blaren House, I was stunned.
