Page 81 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

A Lady Who Takes Care of Herself

Matthew

The sound was wrong.

Matthew's eyes snapped open before his mind caught up. His hand was already closing around the knife beneath his blanket, his body already rolling to a crouch.

Beside him, Florence stirred. "What?"

He pressed a finger to his lips and mouthed, Stay here.

Staying inside, he listened for noise. The camp was silent. Too silent. No murmur of the watch. No snoring from Duff's tent.

Then he heard it again. A soft thud. A grunt of pain quickly stifled.

Someone had hit the traps.

Matthew reached beneath the blanket and pulled out the second knife—the smaller one, with the leather-wrapped hilt. He pressed it into Florence's hand.

"Don't leave this tent unless you have no choice," he whispered.

Her fingers closed around the hilt. In the darkness, her eyes were wide but steady.

"Be careful."

He almost laughed. Careful wasn't going to keep them alive tonight. Only speed and violence would do that.

He slipped through the tent flap and into the night.

The moon was a sliver, casting barely enough light to see by. Matthew crouched low, letting his eyes adjust, cataloguing the shapes around him.

Two figures on the ground near the perimeter, tangled in the rope snares Brennan had set before bed. One was struggling to rise. The other lay still, a dark stain spreading beneath him.

Beyond them, shadows moved between the tents. Three. Four. More.

Carrick's men. Had to be.

Matthew saw the glint of metal in one man's hand. A pistol. But the snares had done their work. The man was off balance, fumbling to free his leg from the rope while keeping hold of the weapon.

He never got the chance to fire.

Matthew closed the distance in three strides. His knife took the man across the throat before he could raise his arm. Blood sprayed hot across Matthew's face. The body dropped.

Shouts erupted across the camp. The element of surprise was gone, but so was theirs.

Brennan emerged from his tent like a bear roused from hibernation, a cudgel in each hand. He swung at the nearest shadow and connected with a crack of splintering bone.

"How many?" he roared.

"Don't know. Eight, maybe ten."

"Bloody hell."

Tam appeared beside them, silent as always, a long knife already wet with blood. He jerked his head towards the eastern edge of the camp.

"Three more coming. Circling."

"Take Duff. Cut them off." Matthew was already moving. "Brennan, with me."