Wicked Laird (Brethren of Stone 2)

She squinted to see. A strand of apprehension moved through her. Perhaps it was their hats or the way they sat in the saddle but she didn’t think they were the men from the fort. “Blair,” she called turning to where her husband stood checking the level of a giant log they’d just stood.

“Aye?” he grunted, not looking up.

“Men,” she shouted.

“Sinclair,” a man’s voice echoed down toward them. Shivering she wrapped her arms about her waist. She’d know that voice anywhere. It was the stuff of her nightmares.

“Aye,” Blair called again, much louder and stepped away from the log, striding toward her.

“It’s time we had another chat,” McKenzie yelled down again. “This time, however, it isn’t going to be so friendly.”

Blair had reached her side and his arm slid around her. “Why not?”

McKenzie kicked his horse, riding down toward them. At least ten men followed behind him. “Ye’ve several things that belong to me.”

“I’ve nothing that belongs to ye.” Blair’s arm tightened about her waist. “Will,” he called. “Take Elle back to the boat. Hurry.”

“No,” Elle said, then put her arm around him. She was afraid of McKenzie, there was no doubt but she wouldn’t leave Blair to face him alone. Determination bolted through her. “We’re in this together.”

Blair’s gaze swung back to her. “Elle, I’ll not argue this one.”

It was a mistake. That was her only thought as her peripheral vision caught sight of McKenzie riding toward them. His hand rose up and she saw the pistol. He couldn’t actually think he could just shoot a man did he? In front of all these witnesses?

And Blair. He was trying to protect her. She’d distracted him.

“Stop,” she yelled and without thought, threw herself in front of her husband.

She felt rather than saw his arm rise up, brushing against her side and then she heard the deafening blast that rent the air. Was that Blair or McKenzie?

Her arm rose and curled about his neck and then a ripping, searing pain lanced through her arm.

She yanked it down and looked at Blair. He held her tight to his chest but his eyes were scanning the dunes. Glancing behind him, she watched as several of their men filed in like the ranks of an army, ready to defend against the onslaught.

A scream ripped through the air. She blinked, trying to discern if that had been her or someone else. Her head swam and she gave it a little shake to clear it.

She looked down Blair and gasped. “Ye’re covered in blood,” she wailed.

“Elle?” he asked, his voice rising higher.

Was he hurt? She blinked again wanting to ask but her lips wouldn’t work. Leaning her head on his chest, she closed her eyes. Then the world went black.

An understanding of the reality of the situation hit Blair in slow degrees. McKenzie had attempted to shoot him in broad daylight in front of thirty witnesses. He’d fired back because that was what a man did when someone attempted to kill him.

McKenzie had clearly been hit because he’d fallen in the sand where he lay motionless. Blair had one moment of triumph. It could be over. Right here, right now.

Then he’d looked down. Blood covered his crisp white shirt. Elle had given him a foggy, unfocused glance before she’d leaned her head on his chest and went limp.

His wife had been shot.

Wrapping his other arm about her body, he lifted her and rushed backward, not wanting her in any more danger. “Move to the front,” he yelled at Will even as he plunked down in the sand, checking over Elle. There was blood on her dress but no immediately visible rip.

Growing frantic, he lay her completely in the sand. Rolling her to first one side and then the other, he checked her back. As he moved her, he saw a gush of blood come from her side. Lifting her arm, he saw it. A bloody tear on the fleshy underpart of her upper arm.

Ripping away the fabric, he then used it to tightly bind the wound. His heart was pumping wildly in his chest, filling his ears with its beat. Not Elle. He needed his wife. Which meant he needed to stop the bleeding. It was only a flesh wound, as near as he could tell. It was just loss of blood that they needed to be concerned about.

“Ye’re under arrest,” Constable McCleary called.

“Fer what?” Will yelled back.