“Are ye certain we are safe?” she whispered, searching the trees but seeing naught.
“Aye,” he said quietly.
She worried her lower lip between her teeth. All she could see were branches and leaves, thick tree trunks, and then darkness deep within the woods.
“Mayhap we should start walking toward town. It canna be that far?” she asked hopefully.
“’Twill be better if we stay here. John will be back soon. He’ll bring help and then we’ll be on the road before we ken it.”
The whole time Malcolm spoke, he didn’t look at her. Instead, his eyes were focused on the trees.
“I—”
“Lass, please. I ken what ’tis best. Do ye and Mary have cloaks in your bags?”
“Aye,” she confirmed, wondering why he asked.
“Get them and put them on. ’Twill keep the chill off ye. I dinna want ye to come down with an ague.”
She didn’t appreciate being told what to do, but the serious tone of his voice had her moving to do as he said, instead of being objectionable.
Locating their cloaks, they slipped them over their shoulders. “Should we build a fire?”
“Nay.”
“It may get cold. If ye dinna want us to become ill ’tis only proper.”
“We dinna want to bring any more attention to ourselves than we already have with our stuck carriage.”
The sound of a twig snapping drew Malcolm’s attention back to the woods. “Go to the side of the carriage, ladies,” he ordered tersely, albeit softly, and that was when she noticed the pistol tucked into his side.
She sucked in a breath and hurried to do as she was told, she and Mary huddled together, watching Malcolm move toward the woods.
A hand sneaked around from behind and covered her mouth.
“Well, what ’ave we here?” an unfamiliar voice whispered near her ear, his foul breath infiltrating her senses.
Without a second thought she clamped down on the hand and stomped on the man’s foot. He howled, raising his hand to strike her.
She braced for the hit.
“I suggest ye step away from the lady,” Malcolm ordered, his voice cold as ice.
Pistol in hand, it was pointed at the filthy man. He looked and smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in ages and she tried to ignore the awful taste lingering in her mouth. He looked at Malcolm, smiling a toothless grin, as he put his hands up.
Mary wrapped her arms around Lizzie, and they huddled together against the carriage.
Why was he smiling? The look on Malcolm’s face was terrifying.
Another man, just as dirty as the one standing in front of them, stepped out of the woods and her breath caught.
Was this an ambush? She’d heard about them from her father’s travels but had never experienced one before.
“Malcolm!” Lizzie yelled as the man stepped up behind him, his hand raised high, ready to bring down a club upon his head.
With a deft swiftness, Malcolm spun, ducking out of the way of the blow that just missed him. He threw an elbow out, catching the man on the chin, causing him to stumble back. Striking him with the butt of his pistol, the man collapsed in a heap.
Pointing his pistol at the two men, he stalked them like they were his prey. His eyes impossibly dark. His face fierce and set in stone.
