Free A Dangerous Damsel (The Countess Scandals) by Kimberly Bell

present.
    Ewan cursed as he turned, a rough-looking man appearing on the edge of the firelight. He was sizing the stranger up and liking his chances even with his wound still recovering, when two more came from the shadows to his left. One had a gun pointed at Angus, forcing the old Highlander and Tristan to walk in front of him.
    The other held a knife to Deidre’s throat. She looked terrified. There were tears streaming down her cheeks and she was trembling.
    “Take yer hands off of her.”
    The man smirked at Ewan. He let his free hand roam, groping her while she squirmed under the knife. “She an’ I are gonna be real good friends, and ain’t nothin’ ye can do about it, guv.”
    Ewan vowed to kill that man very slowly.
    “Please, sir,” Tristan begged. “My sister is a kind soul. Gentle and sheltered. Please don’t hurt her.”
    Gentle and . . . Ewan realized what Tristan was up to. These men weren’t Alastair’s—they must have come across them by chance. They would assume Deidre was just another terrified female. Ewan wasn’t entirely certain she wasn’t. If her fear was a ruse, it was extremely well crafted.
    “Curtis. Round up their horses and anything that looks valuable.” The man with the knife gestured to Ewan. “Ye, over there with the other two.”
    “Why do I gotta do all the heavy work?” the first gunman asked.
    “’Cuz I said so. Just bleedin’ do it, Curtis.”
    Curtis disappeared in the direction of the horses, leaving them three men—well, two and Tristan, whose usefulness was still untested—against one gunman and one man armed with a knife. If that knife weren’t resting against Deidre’s throat, he and Angus could have resolved the situation in short order.
    “No trouble from you three.” The leader followed Ewan’s thoughts, dragging the flat of the blade down Deidre’s cheek. “Or this one won’t be quite so pretty anymore.”
    Ewan watched the knife’s path, noticing the cheek it traveled down was now dry. He raised his eyes to Deidre’s. She rolled hers impatiently, and promptly let her body go slack.
    “What in the—”
    The highwayman moved to catch her, changing his hold on the knife to a less menacing one. Deidre twisted in his grip and slammed her forehead into his nose. The stream of cursing from both parties caused the remaining gunman to turn his attention to them. Being the closest, Angus made quick work of disarming him.
    “Ye fucking bi—”
    A well-placed knee from Deidre silenced the ringleader, sending him to the ground in a heap.
    “Novices,” she said with a shake of her head. She picked up the knife. “Tristan?”
    “Yeah, yeah,” the lad said as he headed off into the dark after the third man.
    The blood from the highwayman’s broken nose was smeared across Deidre’s brow like some savage tribesman. Ewan moved to wipe it away. “Deidre—”
    She held up a hand, silencing him. Her head tilted to the side as she listened for something. A surprised shout, followed by a crash, came from the direction Curtis and Tristan had disappeared to. Deidre called into the trees in a language Ewan didn’t recognize.
    More words he didn’t understand called back with Tristan’s petulant inflections.
    Her posture relaxed. “Yes?”
    He once again found himself at a loss for words.
    Angus had no such trouble. He dragged his captive over, shoving him down next to his compatriot. “Nae bad, lass.”
    She shrugged. “These fools have no idea how to run an operation.”
    Tristan reappeared, gun trained on Curtis, who now sported a rising knot on his forehead. “Honestly. What do you reckon, farmers? Fisherman? They’re not proper criminals, that’s for certain.”
    Curtis took offense. “We ain’t farmers. We’ve got a proper outfit, and when the boss finds out—”
    “Curtis. Shut yer goddamn mouth,” the man on the ground growled.
    “When yer boss finds out what?” Ewan demanded. He’d had about enough of being snuck up on and