Page 77 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
Duncan rammed his knee into the stranger’s forearm, forcing his hand to spasm open. The knife fell to the carpet, which muffled the sound, then Duncan spun the stranger around before slamming his fist into the man’s face.
To Beatrice’s relief, the man crumpled to the ground, unconscious. All of the jewels and items he’d taken dropped to the floor, as well. Duncan quickly relieved the man of his weapon.
He stood over the stranger’s insensate body, then turned to her, his face completely devoid of expression but his posture loose and capable. He’d transformed into a warrior. The sight would have been fascinating under less terrifying circumstances.
She scurried forward when he motioned for her. As she neared, she whipped cords off from around some curtains. She held them out to him, glancing at the intruder to signify her meaning.
Duncan took the cords from her hands and bent down to efficiently tie the stranger’s wrists together, then loop the rope around his ankles so that it would be impossible for him to escape. The whole procedure took less than thirty seconds. How many times had he done this very thing?
Leaning close to her, he said in a voice so low it wasbarely audible, “Belowstairs. We’ll start with the servants and see if they know what the fuck is going on.”
She nodded, and instead of taking the main stairs, he entered the narrow service staircase. With her hand again on his shoulder, she followed him down. The fear that scoured her was unlike anything she’d ever experienced—the fight in the tavern had been mere boisterousness compared to this life-or-death scenario. And yet, if there was any measure of comfort to be found, it came from being with Duncan and the knowledge that he was a superior fighter, trained into ruthless efficiency by years of experience.
She prayed, however, that no one had to die today.
“Doing splendidly,” he whispered over her shoulder. “Brave lass.”
She exhaled a tremulous laugh. “I’ll faint dead away when this is all over.”
“I’ll catch you.”
Of that she was certain.
Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, voices could be heard at the end of the hallway. They sounded frightened, confused.
“What you going to do?” someone wailed.
“Shut up,” a man’s harsh voice barked. “Or I’ll shoot one a’ you.”
As more terrified sounds rose up, Duncan tensed. “Hostages. Damn.” He exhaled, then murmured to her, “Stay very close.”
“I will,” Beatrice gulped.
There was no one in the world she trusted as much as him, no one she’d rather have with her in a perilous situation.
Together, they slipped down the corridor to the kitchen. They peered around the doorway where another stranger in coarse clothing had the servants collected in a group in the middle of the kitchen. Judging by the footmen wearing partial livery, the staff had been caught unaware by the intruders. Food in various states of preparation was spread throughout the kitchen, indicating that the servants had been in the middle of fixing breakfast for the master and mistress of the house and their guests.
True to his word, the intruder held a mean-looking pistol in his hand. He had it trained on his hostages.
Yet Beatrice and Duncan only had the knife taken from the stranger upstairs. She supposed that the small folding knife Duncan had put in his pocket would do little to help them attack and disarm the invaders.
But what could she and Duncan do? Perhaps creep away to escape from the house and find the local authorities?
Before she could confer with him, a housemaid glanced toward the doorway where Beatrice and Duncan crouched. Her eyes widened in surprise.
“Shit,” Duncan growled.
The man with the gun saw her look and spun to investigate. He raised the pistol at Duncan.
Beatrice acted without thought. Moving quickly,she darted forward to slap at a mound of flour atop a table. The flour flew into the gunman’s eyes, and, blinded, he cursed as he stumbled around. The barrel of the pistol veered around the room as he tried to aim and fire.
Duncan flew toward him, knife at the ready.
Beatrice bit back a scream as the assailant moved to pull the trigger. But Duncan slashed the blade across the man’s hand, causing him to release his hold on the pistol.
As the weapon fell to the floor, Duncan punched the stranger straight in the face. There was a crunch, and the man fell in a heap onto the flagstones.
Beatrice darted forward to grab the weapon.
