Flynn chuckled. “It was a mistake not friskin’ ye, I see that now.” His eyes slid to the side, assessing the pistol poised a few inches away from his brain. “That’s a right pretty piece. Why di’n’cha use it when the boy was robbin’ ye?”
Eva was startled; Flynn had watched that? How long had he been in the trees? There was only one reason he would have been there: he must have sabotaged the carriage and been waiting.
Godric ignored Flynn’s question. “You, gun expert,” he called over his shoulder without taking his eyes from Flynn.
The young man in the dress had been gaping like a fish. “Me?” he squeaked.
“Take the guns from the other two and then hold the pistol on Flynn and keep it on Flynn until I tell you otherwise.”
“Aww, Colonel,” Flynn whined. “The boy is shakin’ like a leaf! ’E’s like to blow a hole through me if I so much as twitch.”
“I recommend you don’t twitch,” Godric said. “Eva, take the arquebus.”
Eva sidled around Godric and took the big gun from Flynn’s unresisting hand. She staggered a bit under its weight.
“You know it don’t matter if you take all our guns—even if you shoot each and every one of us. The rest o’ my men’ll wonder when we ain’t behind ’em. They’ll come back.” Flynn smiled in a way that made Eva’s skin crawl so badly she thought it might crawl right off her body. “And when they do, it won’t go well for you.” His eyes slid toward Eva and she took a step back. “Especially the girl.”
“Is that so?” Godric cocked his head, sounding amused. “Because I can’t help feeling that if I cut off the head of the snake, the tail will just twitch a bit before going still. How about that, Flynn? How about I just kill you?” He knocked Flynn’s hat off with the point of the gun and pressed the muzzle against his temple.
Flynn swallowed noisily. “You could do that or you could stay here and I’ll let your wife go.”
Godric laughed. “Because I would take your word for anything.” His lips twisted into a jeering, almost feral grin. “The word of a thief, a liar, deserter, and a rapist.”
Flynn’s body stiffened. “I never raped a woman. That’s a bloody lie.”
“Then why do you want my wife—why did you say it would go bad for her?”
Flynn looked poleaxed. “Not to rape—to ransom, man! I just meant she’d be livin’ rough with us while we waited. Yer the bloody Duke of Tyndale’s heir! Even an ignorant criminal like myself ’as ’eard of ’im—richer than Croesus. I don’t need the both a ye—just one’ll do.”
“You want to ransom me to my grandfather,” Godric said flatly.
“Aye,” Flynn said, his tone indicating any idiot should have known that. “I’m a thief, a liar, a deserter, a grave-robber, a forger, and ’alf o’ dozen other things besides. But I ain’t no killer or raper. And I don’t allow it among my men, neither. You must o’ read about me in the papers—ever ’eard o’ me killin’ and rapin’?”
His men grumbled behind him, but the one in the hat was still looking at Eva. “What about him?” she blurted, jabbing the arquebus in the starer’s direction. “He hasn’t stopped staring at me since he got here.”
Flynn’s eyes widened in a look of genuine confusion. “Who, Matthew?”
“He’s not stopped smiling at me—leering.”
Flynn gave a genuine laugh. “’E’s simple, my lady—but ’e likes pretty things.”
“I’m not a thing.”
Flynn grimaced. “Awright, awright, don’t get in a twist. But you know what I mean—beauty, that’s what our lad Matthew likes. Why, ’e’d never ’urt a fly.”
Eva looked at the man in question. Who was still smiling his blank, eerie smile.
“Why don’t you fight?”
Everyone turned to the sound of the voice. It was the same man who’d recognized Godric first. “Isn’t that how it goes with a gentleman?” he sneered, his accent far more refined than all the others. “Have a duel? We’ve not got fancy swords, but we’ve got these.” He held up two fists the size of Christmas hams.
“That’s not going to get you your ransom, is it?” Godric sneered right back.
“No, but it’ll allow one of us to hit you in the face.”
The murmuring among the men rose above the rain, which seemed to have lessened suddenly, as if even the heavens were interested in hearing where this was going.
“Vote,” somebody muttered. “Vote,” another said more loudly. And then another, and another, the word echoing under the gunmetal-gray sky.
“A vote it is,” Flynn said. “All in favor of settlin’ this like gentlemen?”
“Aye!”
“All opposed?”
Only the rain could be heard.
Flynn grinned up at Godric. “A fight it is. If’is lordship fights and wins, we let ’im and ’is wife—”
“And the boy,” Godric added.
Flynn’s eyebrows rose, but he nodded. “Awright, we’ll let all three of ’em go. If ’e fights and loses, then ’e comes with us, we let the other two go, and ’is lordship writes a pretty beggin’ letter to ’is granfer.”
The men roared their approval.
“So, my lord,” Flynn said with a hard glint in his eyes. “It’s all up to you.”
Chapter 11
“Agreed.” Godric stepped back from Flynn but didn’t lower the pistol.
“Don’t do it,” Eva shouted.
Godric glanced down at her, surprised. “I thought you enjoyed a good mill?”
Her jaw sagged and she stared up at him, her eyes wide as she shook her head. “I am not jesting, Godric. He’s a liar—he’ll never keep his word. Please, don’t do it. We’ve got three guns—”
“Four,” their first robber—the frock-wearing arquebus expert—chimed in.
“Four guns,” she corrected. “We can take our chances.”
Godric grinned, amused in spite of the situation. “Don’t you have any faith in me, Eva?” Without waiting for an answer, he glanced at their new ally. “What’s your name?”
“Andrew,” the boy blurted, and then swallowed loudly, the gun he was holding on Flynn wavering. “Um, Andrew Lowell, sir,” he amended.
Godric turned back to Eva and said in a low voice. “I want you to go with Andrew. Keep to the road. Get rid of that damned arquebus and move as fast as you can. One of the postilions told me the nearest village is only three or so miles down the road. If you—”
“No.”
Godric blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
“No, and don’t use your colonel voice on me, either.” Her words were pure bravado because he could hear the terror in her tone.
“Eva, now is not the time to argue. Now is the time to—”
“Would you leave me behind?”
“That’s hardly the same—”
“It’s exactly the same. I’m not leaving you.” She crossed her arms, the mulish look he’d come to dread shifting her features.
“Er, Colonel Fleming? Are we planning to do this before we all float away like leaves in a stream?” Godric flicked Flynn an irritable look and the other man held up his hands and shrugged. “I’m just sayin’ the rain ain’t slowin’ none.”
Indeed, it seemed to have picked up yet again.
“Eva—”
“No.”
“Blast and damn and bloody hell!”
She flinched at his vulgar tirade but didn’t budge. Godric wondered why his head hadn’t exploded yet—his eyes were hot and dry, even though he felt as if he were treading water.
“Goddammit, Eva,” he ground out, glaring at her stubborn, beautiful face.
“No.” She was as unbudgeable as a boulder.
“Fine,” he snapped. “Take this.” He offered her the gun, butt first. “I want you to go stand by Andrew and I want one promise from you.”
“I’m not leaving.”
He ground his teeth. “Not yet—but if things look bad—” He gave her a hard look. “You’ve boasted
that you’ve been to mills—promise you’ll leave if it looks bad for me. Promise. If you really want to help me, then go.”
She swallowed convulsively, her jaw quivering as though she was fighting tears.
“If I lose I can’t protect you, Eva—but you will be able to help me if you can get to a constable.”
She gave a rough jerk of her head and snatched the gun. “I promise.”
Godric smiled. “Good girl. Now, keep an eye on Flynn and his men—I’m sure they have knives and such hidden on their persons, although this lot likely wouldn’t have a gun small enough to hide.”
Eva nodded.
“I don’t trust Flynn any farther than I can throw him.” Both their eyes slid to the Falstaffian highwayman.
“Me either,” Eva said.
Godric grinned and gave her a quick, hard kiss before nudging her shocked person toward Andrew, who had a gun in each hand and was visibly shaking.
“Keep an eye on Andrew—make sure he doesn’t blow off his own head.”
A tiny smile played around her lips, but her eyes told a different story.
“Go on,” Godric urged. He waited until she was beside the boy before turning to Flynn’s men. “So, which of you would like to beat on a peer?”
It didn’t surprise him when the strapping blond man with fury in his eyes stepped forward.
Godric smirked around at the silent men as he unbuttoned his sodden coat, his fingers moving slowly from the cold. “What? No vote, first?”
His opponent glared. “You think that’s funny, don’t you—the likes of us thinking we have the right to have a say in how things run—to vote.”
Godric snorted as he handed his coat to Eva, who took it without ever lowering the gun from Flynn. “Yes. I think it’s funny that a band of thieves and deserters think they deserve the vote.”
The other man scowled as he threw his oil-slicked coat to one of his companions and began working on his regimental coat, which had been overdyed an unattractive gray-brown.
Godric didn’t blame the man for making use of what was probably the best-made garment he’d ever owned. He knew most soldiers who’d fought in the war had come out of it with little more than the clothing on their backs, and some, like Donny, the wizard with the coach wheel, had come out with far less. But he did blame the men for their desertion.
“Your sort has always viewed ours as if we’ve no more brains than a draught horse. Cannon fodder, that’s all we are to you.”
“Actually,” Godric said casually, removing his waistcoat, “I support the expansion of the franchise—although I draw the line at including criminals.”
The man took a step toward him, his expression murderous. “You’re nothing but a—”
“Steady on, Paul,” Flynn said, stepping between them and putting the flat of his hand on his furious minion’s chest.
Paul scowled but stayed where he was. They both pulled their shirts over their heads at the same time and Godric had to admit the other man stripped to considerable advantage. He was an inch shorter than Godric, but a good stone heavier, his thick muscles obviously honed by years of work.
When Godric turned to give Eva his shirt, he couldn’t resist smiling at the way her eyes caressed his torso; what man—closer to forty than thirty—wouldn’t be gratified to have a beautiful woman look at him like that?
“All right, then—the rules,” Flynn bellowed, clearly getting into his role as master of ceremonies.
Godric ignored Flynn’s self-important babbling, his eyes on Eva as he stretched his body to warm up his cold muscles. He flexed his torso and twisted at the waist, grimacing at the pops that rippled down his spine. He knew he was showing off for her, like a cock for a hen, but the look on her face—mute desire—warmed him far more than the few exercises.
Her pupils flared and he knew she was thinking of last night. Remembering how she’d looked while he knelt before her sent blood rushing south. For the first time since he’d woken up with that knot on his head, Godric actually looked forward to marrying her. Not just to warm his bed, but because he liked her spirit and the way she made him feel alive. Who knew? Maybe they’d find a way to rub along. If they didn’t kill each other first.
“Ready, my lord?” Flynn yelled behind him.
Godric gave her one last look and then turned away; he was as ready as he’d ever be.
* * *
Eva’s heart was pounding and sweat was mingling with the relentless rain. She backed closer to Andrew, keeping her eyes and gun on Flynn, although he and the rest of his men appeared enrapt at the sight of a disgraced soldier stepping up against a national hero.
“Godric said to keep an eye on them,” Eva told Andrew when she reached his side. “Can you hold the gun straight while cradling that bloody blunderbuss?” she snapped when he didn’t immediately respond.
“It’s a—”
“I know what it is!” she hissed. “What I want to know is whether you can shoot to kill if you need to.”
“Kill. He never said anything about killing.” His eyes widened, the one behind the glass hidden by rain and fog, the empty frame showing a hazel eye that threatened to pop out of his skull.
Eva snorted, turning enough that she could keep an eye on the combatants, who’d commenced to moving carefully around each other, clearly struggling to find their footing in the deep mud that hid a multitude of ruts and potholes. “What do you think they will do if he loses?” she demanded. “Do you actually believe they’ll let us go?”
“Flynn promised. He said—”
“I heard him,” she snapped, wincing when the bigger man—Paul—jabbed faster than her eye could track, clipping Godric’s jaw when he didn’t move out of range quickly enough. Paul was stocky, but he was fast.
Godric’s left hand shot straight out from its guard position, which was the first time she noticed he was sinister. Her lips curled; how appropriate.
Paul bobbed and dodged his fist by only a hair. Eva chewed her lip as she weighed both men’s strengths and deficits: Godric had a better reach, but Paul was undoubtedly quicker—younger—perhaps as much as a decade younger. He also had pure rage on his side.
Paul threw a couple more jabs, probing Godric’s defenses, his style quickly readjusting to fight a left-handed opponent. He had good enough technique, but Eva couldn’t help noticing that he sometimes overreached, almost enough to allow his elbow to lock.
Godric’s style was, wisely, defensive and she admired his form as he danced just out of range of yet another jab. She’d known his body was magnificent from what she’d seen of it a few nights ago, but he looked even more virile stripped. His body was somewhere between lean and stocky. While his muscles were developed and defined, they were also compact and graceful. It was an aristocrat’s body—but an aristocrat who’d used his body hard. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, and Eva could see the muscles of his ridged stomach and narrow waist flexing and stretching as he loosened and became more limber. She knew by watching his eyes that he was slowly becoming a purely physical creature.
She loved mills—loved to watch two strong male bodies pitted against each other, loved the sheer physicality of the fighting itself. Of course she also enjoyed looking at naked male torsos. Eva never told Gabe how often she’d dragged James with her to some country inn or farmer’s barn to watch fights. James tried to act like he didn’t want to go, but she’d recognized the look on his face when he watched. He was just as dangerously stimulated as Eva.
“I saw you box twice,” Paul said, his tone almost conversational, although anger pulsed just below the surface.
“Oh?” Godric easily dodged a rapid jab followed by a right cross, and then smiled as he flicked his head to toss his hair off his brow, sending a spray of water flying.
“Yeah,” Paul said, “MacNamara and Olsen.”
Godric grinned at some memory.
“You tore them both up,” Paul said, his jab missing Godric’s jaw and connecting with his shoulder.
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Godric grunted at the hit but didn’t stumble.
The two were well matched for all that their strengths were so different. Godric made up the disadvantage of his years with superior science. What Paul lacked in skill he made up for with rage, bulk, and youth.
They traded punches, neither scoring a solid hit. Paul continued talking, his voice breathier as time went on.
“My brother was under your command,” he said after finally delivering a hit that connected soundly with Godric’s jaw and sent his head back with an almost audible snap.
Eva realized she’d bitten her lip so hard she’d drawn blood.
Godric staggered and leaned into a crouch, as if off balance, but then he came up under Paul’s guard with two furious uppercuts, the second slamming Paul’s jaws together so hard, Eva felt it in her own teeth. Godric then danced out of reach, easily avoiding Paul’s sloppy counterpunch.
Both men circled, catching their breath, and the muttering of Flynn’s men grew louder, their actions more restless—dogs scenting blood.
“Was your brother a cowardly deserter like—”
Paul threw a right hook that knocked Godric back at least three feet. Flynn’s men surged up behind him to box him in.
“Get back!” Eva yelled, taking several steps toward Flynn, the pistol aimed at his chest.
Flynn raised his hands in a staying gesture. “You ’eard ’er, boys. Back—step back from ’is lordship.”
The men grumbled but shuffled away from the brutally dancing couple.
When Eva turned, Godric had blood running from the corner of his grinning mouth as he gave her a quick wink.
She shook her head in disgust. Men.
“Barry wasn’t a deserter—more’s the pity for the poor bastard.” Paul spat a bloody mouthful into the mud between them. “He’d probably still be alive if he’d deserted. But he had some cracked belief that you’d keep your men safe.” He barked out a laugh while throwing a clumsy jab, which Godric avoided with ease, repulsing Paul with a left cross that made him grunt and stagger back.
“He believed that drivel until the day he died. Hell, he probably still believed it as he waited for you.” Paul went after Godric with a flurry of jabs, driving him back. “But you never came.”
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