In a blur of panic and pain, Alexandra saw both bandits pounce on the tall man, and she heaved herself forward with a strength born of sheer terror—crawling, scrambling, and clanking toward the dark gleaming shaft of her rifle lying on the rutted road. Just as her hand closed around the stock of her rifle, she saw the tall man wrest the pistol from the thin bandit and shoot him, then crouch and whirl, pointing his pistol straight at the other one.
Mesmerized by the terrible deadly grace of the tall man's swift maneuver, Alexandra watched him coldly and calmly level the gun at the second assailant. Still sprawled on her stomach, she closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable explosion. But there was only the loud click of an empty gun.
"You poor, stupid bastard," the bandit said with an evil laugh and lazily reached inside his shirt, pulling out his own pistol. "Do you think I'da let yer grab that second gun off the ground if n I didn' know fer sure it was empty? You're going to die real slow for killing me brother. It takes a long time for a man to die when he's been shot in the stomach—"
Her mind screaming with fear, Alexandra rolled onto her side, rammed the bolt of her rifle into place and sighted down the barrel. When the bandit raised his pistol, she fired,. The powerful recoil slammed her onto her back, knocking the air from her chest. When she turned her head in the dirt and opened her eyes, the bandit was lying in a shaft of moonlight, the side of his head blown off.
She hadn't merely wounded him as she'd hoped to do, she had killed him. A groan of terror and anguish rose in her throat and tore from her constricted chest, and then the world began to spin, slowly at first, than faster as she watched the tall man kick over the bandit she'd killed, then start toward her, his long-legged gait swift, menacing somehow… The world spun faster, carrying her down through a black hole. For the first time in her life, Alexandra fainted.
Jordan crouched down beside the fallen knight, his hands rough in his urgent haste to tug off the helmet so he could assess the injuries to the inhabitant of the suit of armor. "Quick, Grimm!" he called over to his coachman, who was staggering to his feet, recovering from the bandit's blow which had knocked him unconscious. "Give me a hand with this damned armor."
"Is he hurt, your grace?" Grimm said, rushing over to his master's side and kneeling down.
"Obviously," Jordan said brusquely, wincing at the cut on the left side of the small face.
"He wasn't shot, was he?"
"I don't think so. Hold his head—gently, dammit!—while I pull this monstrosity off him." Tossing the helmet aside, Jordan pulled off the breastplate. "God, what an absurd costume," he uttered, but his voice was worried as he surveyed the limp body before him, looking for a bullet wound or a sign of blood in the moonlight. "It's too dark to tell where he's hurt. Turn the coach around and we'll take him to the inn we passed a few miles back. Someone there, will be bound to know who his parents are, as well as the direction of the nearest doctor." Reaching down, Jordan gently grasped his young rescuer under the arms, shocked to discover how light in weight the lad beneath the armor was. "He's just a boy, no more than thirteen or fourteen," Jordan said, his voice gruff with guilt at the harm he had evidently caused the courageous youth who had charged to his rescue. Effortlessly scooping the child into his arms, he carried him to his coach.
Jordan's arrival at the inn with an unconscious Alexandra in his arms caused a furor of lewd comments and bawdy suggestions from the occupants of the common room who, because of the lateness of the hour, were deeply in their cups.
With the supreme indifference of the true aristocrat toward lesser mortals, Jordan ignored the raised voices and stalked toward the barmaid. "Show me to your best room and then send the innkeeper to me at once."
The barmaid glanced from the back of Alexandra's curly dark head to the tall, impeccably dressed gentleman and scurried off to carry out all his commands in the order they had been given, beginning with the inn's finest bedchamber.
Gentry, Jordan laid the lad upon the bed and unfastened the laces at the neck of the boy's shirt The boy groaned, his eyelids fluttered open, and Jordan found himself staring into an amazingly large pair of eyes the startling color of liquid aquamarines, fringed with absurdly long, curly lashes—eyes that were gazing back at him in disoriented bewilderment. Smiling reassuringly, Jordan said gently, "Welcome back to the world, Galahad."
"Where—" Alexandra wet her parched lips, her voice an unfamiliar croak. Clearing her throat, she tried again and managed little more than a hoarse, thready whisper. "Where am I?"
"You're at an inn near where you were hurt."
The gory details came flooding back, and Alexandra felt hot tears burn the backs of her eyes. "I killed him. I killed that man," she choked.
"And saved two lives by doing it—mine and my coachman's."
In her dazed state, Alexandra seized on that reassurance and clung to it for all the comfort it offered. Not able to focus perfectly yet, she watched as if from a distance as he began running his hands up and down her legs. No hands but her mother's had ever touched her person—and that not for years and years. Alexandra found the sensation both faintly pleasant and oddly disturbing, but when the man's hands began gently probing at her lower rib cage, she gasped and clutched his thick wrists. "Sir!" she croaked desperately. "What are you doing?"
Jordan's gaze flicked to the slender fingers gripping his wrists with a strength that seemed born of fear. "I'm looking for broken bones, stripling. I've sent for a doctor and the innkeeper. Although, since you're awake now, you can tell me yourself who you are and where to locate the nearest physician."
Alarmed and indignant at the exorbitant cost of a physician's services, Alex burst out desperately, "Do you have any idea how much a leech charges nowadays?"
Jordan stared down at the pale lad with the amazing eyes and felt a deep stirring of compassion mingled with admiration—a combination of emotions that was completely foreign to him. "You incurred these injuries on my behalf. Naturally, I'll stand good for the charges."
He smiled then, and Alexandra felt the last vestiges of haziness abruptly clear from her mind. Smiling down at her was the largest and unquestionably the most handsome male she had ever seen, ever imagined. His eyes were the silver-grey of satin and steel, his shoulders very wide, his baritone voice rich and compelling. In contrast to his tanned face, his teeth were startlingly white, and although rugged masculine strength was carved into the tough line of his jaw and chin, his touch was gentle, and there were tiny lines at the corners of his eyes to testify to his sense of humor.