And then Gareth saw one of the two children running toward him, obviously thinking he was the only safety left in this world gone mad.
"Billy!” the mother was screaming. “Billy, no, get back!”
The last highwayman spun around. Wild-eyed and desperate, he saw the fleeing child, saw that his two friends were dead, and, as though to avenge a night gone wrong, brought his pistol up, training it on the little boy's back.
“Billeeeeeeee!”
Gareth lunged to his feet, threw himself at the child, and tumbled him to the ground, shielding him with his body. The pistol exploded at close range, deafening him, a white-hot lance of fire ripping through his ribs as he rolled over and over through grass and weeds and nettles, the child still in his arms.
He came to rest upon his back, the wet weeds beneath him, blood gushing hotly from his side. He lay still, blinking up at the trees, the rain falling gently upon his throbbing cheek.
His fading mind echoed his earlier words. Well done, good fellow! Well done ...
The child sprang up and ran, sobbing, back to his mother.
And for Lord Gareth de Montforte, all went dark ...
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Scandal At Christmas_A Christmas Novella Page 10