“My father was an eccentric explorer,” she countered. “One of his quirks was that he taught his daughters how to defend themselves.”

That drew a quiver of silence.

Anna tried to swallow

, but her throat was dry as dust. Could she pull the trigger?

Verdemont swore, the guttural sound amplified by the darkness. “I shall cut out your—”

“Be quiet, Pierre, and leave this to me,” ordered Josette. “Men. They are not as pragmatic as women.” She paused, and Anna could almost hear her thinking. “Well, well, what are we to do? I could call your bluff and charge, hoping you won’t have the nerve to shoot. But then, there is a good chance that my uncle or I will die, for despite the darkness, you are likely to hit one of us.”

Anna felt her palm grow slippery with sweat. The pistol suddenly felt awfully heavy in her hand.

“Or Pierre and I could retreat and take the turn just a short way back, which leads us out to another exit. That, of course, is assuming you won’t shoot one of us down in cold blood.”

More silence—or so it seemed. Anna’s ears were thrumming with the pounding of her heart.

“I think,” said Josette, “that in this case, I shall choose to err on prudence. You have won this skirmish, mademoiselle. Indeed, you have been as resourceful as the heroine in those novels you are so fond of reading.”

The swoosh of silk, the scrape of boot leather as Josette ordered her uncle to start crawling back up the stairs.

“Alors, now you have a choice to make, Miss Sloane.”

Not really, decided Anna. She lowered her weapon. Yes, she believed in stopping a murderous enemy. But not at the cost of becoming one herself. She waited until the sounds of retreat faded away, then got to her feet and limped off in the opposite direction.

Following McClellan’s lead, Devlin vaulted over the low stone wall and skidded through a turn on the slippery grass. After threading their way through a small grove of apple trees, the baron signaled for a halt.

“We’re almost there,” he said in a low voice. “The two exits are not far apart. My guess is that they will have horses stationed by the one they plan to use.”

Devlin nodded. That made sense. He did not think Josette had acted on a whim.

“So, we can either both wait at the most likely place, which doubles our chances of overpowering them before anything can go amiss. Or, to be sure we don’t miss them, we can split up to cover the two spots.” McClellan fixed him with a questioning look. “The choice is yours.”

The pistol in his coat pocket—he had managed to grab a weapon from the Gun Room as they had raced out the side door—seemed to double in weight. “Let’s go to the nearest exit,” he replied. “I’ll make up my mind there.”

Turning away without a further word, the baron crouched low and led the way over a wooded rise. Below was a stretch of wild meadowland, with a half dozen sheep grazing among the long fescue.

“There.” He pointed to an outcropping of rocks jutting up from the grass. “The tunnel opens up there.” His hand shifted slightly. “And look.” Tethered among the copse of oak just below them were three saddled horses.

God help me if I am wrong. Devlin made up his mind. “This seems the right choice. But I feel we can’t leave a spot uncovered. Dunbar has the cistern, and so you should move on to the third place.

McClellan’s eyes betrayed a hint of hesitation, but he made no protest. “If they come my way, I shall keep your lassie safe,” was all he said before slipping off.

My lassie…nay, my Love.

“I should have said it aloud,” whispered Devlin, as he circled around the sheep and approached the opening in the rocks from the rear.

In answer the breeze ruffled softly through the grasses.

Slowly, silently, he edged his way close to the gap and cocked an ear to listen.

Nothing.

A sound in the trees caused him whirl around, pistol at the ready. But it was only a large hawk perched on a branch. With a harsh cry, it finished stretching its wings and began preening its feathers.

Devlin inched closer, this time, ducking his head into the darkness. The dampness of the air sent a shiver through him.

Was it his own limbs quaking, or was there a faint rustling from with in?

Tags: Cara Elliott Hellions of High Street Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net