Free Moonlight Surrender (Moonlight Book 3) by Marie Ferrarella

shoulder. “I need whisky.”
    Samuel stared at her. Was she daft? “ ’Tis a bad time to be drinking, mistress.”
    The old man was a fool. She gestured to Duncan. “For him. This is going to hurt like the devil.”
    “Jacob, fetch a bottle,” Samuel ordered. The younger man began backing away, his eyes still fixed on Duncan’s face, like a servant looking to his master.
    “Hold, Jacob,” Duncan cried weakly. He meant to put his hand out to stop him, but it remained at his side. Duncan looked at Beth. He wanted his senses clear. Above all, there was to be no display of weakness before his men. “All I need is to gaze at you and I’ll be drunk enough to stand whatever you turn your hand to.”
    Samuel shook his head. “Half out of his head, and he still talks that way.” He leaned forward, looking at Dun can over Beth’s shoulder. “Women’Il be the death of you, Duncan.” His small, dark eyes slanted toward the young woman. “If one hasn’t been already.”
    Guilt grew, chewing away at her conscience. He had taken the wound because he had come to her aid. If he hadn’t been talking to her, he would have readily seen the highwayman raise his pistol. This was her fault. And her responsibility to right, if she could.
    She looked around at the men surrounding her. “The knife?” she asked impatiently.
    “I’ve one here.” Hank hastily produced the one he wore sheathed at his side.
    Beth took it from him and carefully turned the knife over in her hand. She examined both sides. There was no rust on it, but it was far from clean. Tommy had re turned with a fresh basin of water. She dipped her hand into it quickly and sprinkled water on the blade, then handed the knife to Samuel.
    “Place it in the fire for a moment.”
    Samuel stared at her as if she was speaking gibberish. “Why?”
    If he questioned everything she requested, they would be standing here all night debating while Duncan lay dying.
    “I’ve not time to explain to you, sir; please, just do it.” Beth paused, then changed her tone. “It’ll be better for him if you do.”
    Because her voice had softened, Samuel nodded. He brought the blade to the fire Duncan always wanted kept blazing in the hearth and poked it toward the flame. He moved the knife quickly, tempering it. The metal turned dark.
    “That’s enough,” Beth called. “I’ve need of it now, not tomorrow.”
    Samuel swallowed an oath about women knowing their place and turned from the hearth. As he passed Sylvia, he shook his head.
    “Bossy, that one is.” He dropped his voice to a whisper.
    Sylvia smiled, knowing full well how he felt. Still, loyalty was second nature to her. “Her heart’s in the right place.”
    By now Samuel wasn’t certain that the wench had a heart at all.
    “I’ll be taking your word for that, mistress,” he mur mured. He crossed to the bed and presented the knife to Beth, bowing with a flourish. “Will there be anything else, Your Highness?”
    Beth saw the tall man she’d sent out returning with a bottle. She was glad he’d come back. She’d probably need all three to hold Duncan down as she worked. She doubted the old man had much strength, certainly not enough to manage half the task himself.
    “Yes.” Her fingers wound around the knife’s hilt. She’d watched her father do this before, but had never attempted it herself. Fear tightened its hold. “I’ll need you to help hold him down.”
    “There’ll be no need for them to lay their sweaty hands on me,” Duncan murmured. “ Tis only a whisper-thin needle you hold in your hand.”
    Bravery was all well and good, but it wouldn’t hold him still when she needed it, Beth wagered. She nodded toward the men.
    “Hold him,” she ordered grimly.
    Hank gripped Duncan’s good side and Jacob placed his hands on the other. Beth bit her lip as she watched Duncan wince. She wanted to cry out that Jacob’s hold should be gentler, but she knew that it couldn’t be. If Duncan bucked, she