There were at least three attackers—all armed with batons or cudgels. Big, brawny fellows who looked determined to beat him to a bloody pulp, if not worse.
Raising his fists protectively, Ash danced back out of range, but the two upright thugs came after him at the same time. For what seemed like endless moments he fought off both brutes, while out of the corner of his eye, he saw their even taller comrade lurch to his feet.
Not certain if he could take all three at once, Ash redoubled his efforts, yet he knew he was losing the fight as his shoulders and ribs took the painful brunt of the attack. At the increased ruckus in the carriage house, the nervous horses began snorting and stamping as if preparing to bolt, which shook his coach in its traces, despite the brake being set.
An instant later, Maura’s cry of alarm chilled Ash’s blood. He didn’t want her caught in the melee, yet the moment she ran into the carriage house, she threw herself into the thick of the battle, charging one of his attackers with her bare fists.
When the miscreant whirled toward her threateningly, Ash felt a surge of fear-driven rage more powerful than anything he’d ever experienced.
In reaction, he let fly a punishing blow that sent his second opponent sprawling. Responding just as swiftly, Maura scrambled after the fallen thug’s baton and swung it with all her might at the first tough. With a yelp, her target went down hard, like a felled oak. Ash was left with only a final assailant to dispense with.
By the time he succeeded in knocking the lout unconscious, Maura was standing over the other two prone thugs, pointing a cocked pistol down at their heads.
“Don’t even think about getting up,” she warned in a deadly tone. Ash could hear the fear trembling in her voice, but her eyes were fierce and bright.
She was angry and shaken, but he had never been more proud of her—or more grateful. The fight had concluded almost as swiftly as it had begun. Yet he knew he could not have survived without her intervention. He was still more concerned about Maura just now, however.
“Are you all right?” Ash demanded as they stood staring at each other, breathing heavily.
“Yes,” she said unsteadily. “Are you?” Distraught, she scanned his face, noting the scrape on his jaw where it had grated against the cobblestones, and a bruise on his left cheekbone from a beefy fist.
When she raised her free hand to gently touch his injured jaw, Ash reassured her. “I’m fine—but I am worried about my grooms. I need to find them.”
Maura nodded in answer. Then, continuing to aim her pistol at her prisoners, she backed away just far enough to calm the frightened horses. Ash almost smiled. He should have known that the animals would be her chief priority, even above her own welfare.
She spoke soothingly to the beasts, bestowing a soft stroke here, a tender pat there. Then her eyes lifted to meet Ash’s, suddenly fierce as fire again. “They tried to kill you.”
“I wonder,” Ash replied thoughtfully.
He nudged the unconscious thug with his boot. Her attention directed downward, Maura inhaled a sharp breath at the man’s attire. “He is dressed in Deering’s colors! These are his servants!”
One was indeed wearing familiar livery, Ash realized. “I don’t doubt they are. Keep your pistol trained on these fellows, will you?”
“Gladly.”
“Don’t move if you value your life,” Ash advised the defeated bruisers who were still conscious.
While Maura stood guard over them, Ash made a quick check of the carriage house and found one of his grooms on the floor behind his coach, clutching his head and groaning. Three other servants were tied and gagged in the tack room, including his coachman, Thomas.
After freeing his chagrined staff and devising a compress for his injured groom’s head, Ash returned to Maura’s side. Deering’s minions had remained perfectly still where they lay, but he could see they were quaking in fear at the punishment they would likely receive.
“Let’s tie them up and see what they have to say for themselves.”
In short order his own servants had accommodated his wishes, although none too gently, in payment for the harsh treatment they themselves had received earlier. Maura could then safely uncock her pistol and return it to her cloak pocket, and Ash was able to confirm what he’d suspected: The thugs were indeed employed by Viscount Deering. They had come on foot to infiltrate the Beaufort stables—their orders to disable the marquis’s servants and commandeer his coach, then incapacitate him for a time so he would be forced to forfeit the duel.
“See?” Ash said quietly to Maura. “Killing me was not their aim. They merely hoped to keep me from reaching our meeting.”
“For once I am in complete agreement with Deering,” Maura muttered. “I should have tried that method of forestalling you myself.”
Ignoring her gibe, Ash sent a stable lad for reinforcements from the house, then turned to his coachmen and quietly issued a new set of orders. Once Thomas had climbed into the driver’s seat, Ash shepherded Maura into his coach.
“Just where are we going?” she asked, clearly none too happy.
“To the dueling field, of course.”
Her eyes glittered dangerously. “I am not letting you face Deering over pistols!”