Page 46 of King's Man

The house exploded into life.

Nate flung himself down the stairs, but Sam had already reached the entrance hall below, dashing for the front door. A footman, panicked by the sound of his master’s shouts, raced to cut Sam off.

“Stop the bastards!” MacLeod roared.

Nate jumped at the sound, almost losing his footing as he pelted down the stairs. McLeod loomed above him now, standing on the balcony overlooking the hall as he shouted. With a nimbus of lamp-lit gray hair around his head he looked like a mad Roman emperor.

“Stop them or I’ll have your damned hides!”

The footman threw himself in front of the door, arms spread wide to block Sam. But his face was milky in the shadowy hall, his eyes distressed. And Nate knew him: it was Taylor, the footman he’d met that morning.

Sam didn’t waste time on niceties. He launched himself at Taylor, trying to barrel him out of the way. But the man was strong, wrestling Sam to a halt. Running footsteps came from everywhere and as Nate leaped down the last of the stairs, he could see the shadowy entrance hall filling with servants in all states of confusion and undress.

Someone grabbed his arm and he lashed out, sprinting for the door. Ahead, the butler in his dressing gown lunged for Sam, who let out a yell and kicked the man hard, sending him stumbling back to land on his ass. Nate skidded around him, barreling into the footman still wrestling with Sam.

Taylor’s hands were locked on Sam’s coat, but his gaze shot up to MacLeod, raging at the top of the stairs, then back to Sam. Understanding passed between them. Nate saw it — a silent look, a moment of decision — and Taylor’s hands fell from Sam’s coat. Eyes wide with fear, he let Sam push him aside.

“You piss-bucket whoreson!” MacLeod charged down the stairs, something glinting in his hand.

Nate’s gut pitched. “Shit. He’s got a gun!”

A woman screamed; the sound cut off abruptly. Nate didn’t dare spare her a look, his gaze locked on the wavering pistol as MacLeod strode across the hall towards them.

Towards Sam.

And there was only one thing Nate could do. “Go,” he hissed as he stepped between Sam and the gun. “Run.”

“Like hell I will.”

“For Christ’s sake.” Nate lifted his hands in surrender, fixing his gaze on MacLeod’s lumbering approach. “Will you save yourself for once in your goddamned life?”

Chapter Fifteen

The door stood open behind him.

Cool night air caressed the back of Sam’s neck, stirring his hair. Blood thundered in his ears, it was all he could hear, yet even so he was aware of an airless waiting stillness among the servants. And he knew without doubt that they’d seen MacLeod wield this weapon before, that he used it to dispense arbitrary justice. It’s what happened when a man’s power went unchecked by the law, when he considered himself above the law.

“Who are you?” MacLeod demanded. “Show your face.”

Nate said nothing. But Sam could hear the rasp of his breathing, saw the swift rise and fall of his shoulders. He was afraid, but he was not backing down.

“Tell me who —”

“Lord!” A bored patrician drawl drifted from between the marble busts that lined the entrance hall. “What the devil’s going on, Marlborough? It sounds like a damned riot.”

MacLeod’s gimlet gaze twitched sideways. “Nothing to trouble yourself with, my Lord.”

“Ain’t it?” Rowsley emerged from between the sculptures as if a Greek god had been brought to life — one of the dissolute and disreputable ones. Afraid to look away from MacLeod, Sam still caught a glimpse of dark hair, a slender body, and a sensual swagger. “Have you caught yourself a highway man, Marlborough?”

“Thieves, my Lord. Or spies.”

“Spies!” Rowsley crowed. “What the devil are they spying on up here? The number of tarts it takes to get a rise out of you?”

MacLeod’s complexion darkened. “Go back to your cards, my Lord.” The honorific dripped with contempt, his aristocratic veneer wearing thin. “I’ll deal with this matter.”

“Nonsense.” Rowsley strode further into view, coatless and louche with a bottle of wine dangling from the fingers of one hand. His gaze flitted over Nate and Sam, then turned back to MacLeod. “Don’t you have magistrates up here in the wilds? Or a man of business who can take care of this for you?”

“I prefer to conduct my own business,” MacLeod said, the gun barrel dipping as his attention shifted to Rowsley. “And Iamthe magistrate.”

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