Their Harlot Bride (Bridgewater Brides 7)
Both of our heads whipped around to see a man on horseback, galloping away through the fields, something big draped over his lap.
William
* * *
“Sassy!” I called out her name before I could think, taking a step forward as if I could somehow bring her back to us with just her name.
The horseman was riding away with her over his lap—I recognized the fabric of her dress—and I doubted either of them could hear us if she was even conscious. From the way her body was flopping, I doubted it. Fear seized my heart, freezing my chest.
“Damn!” Clive spat out the curse, but unlike me, he didn’t freeze, leaping into motion. I followed him, only a moment behind. It took us precious seconds to free Thunder and Blaze from where we’d hitched them to the fence post and get them turned in the right direction.
Precious seconds to follow the unknown horseman.
Thankfully, the land was flat, and we could see him, even if he was just a tiny silhouette on the horizon. I clenched my jaw with anger as I saw the way Sassy’s legs, arms, and head were flopping. She must be unconscious. He was going to pay for that.
We’d promised to protect and cherish her, and today, we were failing on both fronts.
We followed him for several miles to a break in our fence, which had Clive and me exchanging hard looks. That was new. I’d just walked this line last week. It was damn lucky we hadn’t lost any cattle through it, although part of me was grateful the horseman hadn’t had to jump the fence with Sassy perched so precariously on his lap.
About a mile off our lands, near the river, we could see a campsite ahead. Smoke came from the fire, and the horseman with Sassy had slowed to a walk.
I grit my teeth, watching as two men jumped up to help lift her down from her kidnapper. They were touching our wife… none too gently either. As we came closer, I could see her head lolling.
One of the men was already backing away, holding onto her, while her kidnapper and the other man turned to face us, hands on their holsters. I don’t know why they didn’t draw, but they were going to regret not taking us seriously as a threat. Clive and I were damn fast with our draws, and these two didn’t look comfortable in their stances. We got down from Blaze and Thunder, stepping in front of them. The horses snorted but didn’t move.
A fourth man, one I hadn’t noticed until we were almost upon them, stood up next to the fire as Clive and I came to a halt about fifteen feet away. The man holding Sassy had stepped back beside the man next to the fire, so he could see her face.
Dark-haired and tall, his handsome face was ruined by a vicious red scar that ran across his entire face. His eye on that side was damaged. Whoever slashed him had gotten him right across it.
“That’s her,” he said, his voice filled with anger and satisfaction. His accent was different from Sassy’s, that of an English lord rather than a commoner. This had to be Lord Carmichael, come all the way from England to find her.
Remembering what Clive had said about her assaulting the man, I could only guess she’d been the one to give him the scar across his face. He hadn’t just been hunting her because he’d wanted her… he likely wanted revenge.
“That’s our wife,” Clive said coldly, making Carmichael finally turn to look at us.
His lip curled up in a sneer as he looked us over, clearly unimpressed.
“Then you should be thanking me for taking this whore off your hands.” He barked a short laugh. “Although I shouldn’t be surprised, a harlot like her would end up with two husbands. Apparently, she could only change her ways so far.”
Anger bubbled up in my gut, roiling and seething, and if I could have done so without endangering Sassy, I would have thrown myself at him right then.
“He said, that’s our wife,” I responded, my tone lethal. “Give her back to us, and we’ll let you go quietly and forget your insults to her.”
The lord’s eyes widened with incredulity. “Are you threatening me?”
It had taken him long enough to notice.
12
Sassy
* * *
Voices stirred through the darkness as my throbbing head drew me back to consciousness.
“I admit she’s a good fuck, gentlemen, but she’s hardly worth dying over.”
I recognized that voice, and it filled me with horror and despair. My head throbbed harder, and I fought back a whimper. Maybe if I could fall back into unconsciousness, I’d awaken again to find this was all a dream.