Page 54 of The Storybook Hero
The horse, suddenly riderless, whinnied in fright. Octavia took two steps forward, then her knees nearly buckled at the ghastly sight of the leader’s bloodied face and shattered skull..
Somewhere close by there was an agitated shout, then the snapping of branches and the dull thud of hoofbeats receding.
“Don’t look,” snapped Alex as his arm came around her waist and spun her roughly away. “Catch hold of those horses. We shall need them.” He took one glance at her wan face and gave her shoulders a shake. “Come, don’t turn missuss on me now! It’s best to be away from here as quickly as possible.”
In a near daze, Octavia obeyed his curt order while he made a quick search of the dead man’s coat. He stuffed several items into his pockets, then gathered up the pistols and came back to her side.
She swallowed hard and tried to control the trembling of her hands. Alex looked furious—and with good reason. Once again he had been forced to risk his neck for her.
He must be getting heartily tired of it.
“I ...” she began
Ignoring her halting words, he shoved all but one of the weapons into the saddlebags of one of the captured horses. “Stay here while I get the children,” he barked.
He quickly returned with both of them in his arms. Emma was whimpering softly. Nicholas, too, had steaks of tears on his cheeks though he made no sound. Alex smoothed the tangle of hair off the girl’s pale brow and whispered something in her ear before placing her in a saddle. He took Nicholas around to the other mount, but before lifting him in place, he set the boy on the ground and squatted down so that their faces were only inches apart. A short exchange followed, ending with Nicholas nodding solemnly and essaying a brave smile. Then he, too, was made ready for the ride.
Alex made one more trip to strip their belongings from the tired pack animals. When everything was fastened securely on their new mounts, he finally turned his attention back to Octavia. His eyes were narrowed, and she noted they were flooded not with the gentle compassion he had just displayedwith the children but some other emotion—something, she imagined, between anger and exasperation.
“Hell’s teeth! What did you think you were doing?” he demanded, through gritted teeth.
“My reticule,” she stammered. “My pistol was in my reticule.”
“Good Lord, what did you think you were going to do with it? With your aim, only the trees would have been in danger.”
Her chin came up a fraction. “Well, you had no weapon yourself. I had to do something.”
“You did quite enough by braving those bullets to drag Nicholas to safety.” His tone had softened somewhat. “In the future, kindly leave any sort of dealings with firearms to me.”
She turned visibly paler at his words.
Alex took hold of her shoulders, none too gently. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, averting her eyes from his. “What of … him?” she whispered, catching sight of the unconscious assailant.
“He’ll have a long walk back to the road during which to reflect whether to choose a new line of work.” His breath came out in a harried sigh. “The children have had quite a shock. They need to recover with a rest and perhaps something hot to drink. But not here. Are you sure you can manage?”
She could have used a hug or murmured words of encouragement herself, but she merely set her jaw and nodded an assent.
“Then up you go.” He boosted her up behind Nicholas. “And Octavia,” he added softly.
She looked at him expectantly. Perhaps now he might say something kind. After all, she thought, she had received just as big a shock as the children.
“Don’teverdo anything as damn foolish as that again,” he growled.
So much for being cuddly and irresistible.
Hell’s teeth,repeated Alex to himself as he watched Octavia’s head duck to avoid another drooping pine bough. His heart had nearly stopped on seeing the pistol aimed at her breast. Good Lord, she had nearly been killed because of her gritty courage! Why couldn’t she be like other females and faint … or at least collapse in a fit of vapors, so he could protect her without having to resort to such melodramatic efforts?
He gave a slight shake of his head. Really, this was beginning to outdo even the worst sort of horrid novel. Perhaps he should take up pen and paper himself—the tale he could write would have the ladies of thetonswooning in droves, allowing him to supplement his quarterly allowance quite nicely.
The only trouble was, any sensible person would dismiss the plot as ridiculous beyond belief.
The ghost of a smile quickly disappeared as his thoughts turned back to what had just occurred. The children and Octavia were depending on him, and he had nearly brought them all to grief because he hadn’t sensed the danger. He tried to take a deep breath but suddenly his chest felt as if it were encircled by an iron band, slowly, inexorably twisting tighter and tighter.
What if he had failed once again to save those he cared for?
His eyes pressed closed, and the realization washed over him that if such a thing had happened, he might well go ahead and blow out his own brains because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. He stifled a groan as a wave of black despair threatened to engulf him, like it had so many other times?—
