Page 61 of Never Kiss a Scot
Ewan shrugged. “’Twill be a quick fight. One blow will knock you down. Then what? You agree to be dealt with by me and my men?”
Joanna tasted the bitterness of fear upon her tongue, and she tried not to think that losing meant her and Brock’s deaths. But she felt—no, sheknew—she could do this. Ashton was an excellent boxer and fencer, but Rafe…the bounder turned highwayman had taught her far more valuable skills before her first season, such as how to stop a man from taking advantage of a lady.
“Joanna, no,” Brock said. “I forbid it.” One of the men nearest him punched him, and he grunted in pain.
“Gag him. I willna listen to him whine while I deal with her,” Ewan snapped. Brock’s mouth was forced open, and he was gagged with a cloth tied tight across his mouth. His hands were bound, and he was shoved hard to his knees.
“I should like to borrow the knife…if you please.” Joanna held out her hand to Ewan.
He chuckled as he handed her the blade. “You mean to prick my fingers with it,Sassenach?”
She arched a brow at him, and his laughter died. Then she bent over and sliced her skirts and petticoats straight down the front and back, ignoring the whistles of the men. She needed freedom to move, and her skirts would only get in the way. Then she shoved the blade back into the ground and stepped away from it.
“Are you ready?” she asked Ewan. He stared at her.
“God’s blood. You truly mean to fight me,Sassenach?”
She curled her lip in a challenge and replied in a mocking brogue, “Aye.” Then she crouched, legs braced apart. The night wind billowed her split skirts around her ankles, but rather than slow her down it felt good. She was anticipating his actions now, just as Rafe had taught her. If she did this well, she could end the fight almost at once.
Ewan, smiling smugly, waved at her. “Come at me, English,” he said with a sneer.
Joanna was grateful she had boots on rather than slippers as she approached him. When she was just out of reach, she waited. So did he. Then he swung a fist. Joanna ducked and came up fast, flattened her right palm and slammed that palm into the bridge of his nose. Blood exploded at the point of impact, and Ewan bellowed, clutching his face.
Joanna didn’t stop. She jabbed a punch at one of his eyes, hitting the spot hard. He snarled and swung out, clipping her head, and she stumbled. Her ears rang, but she kept her balance and went back for another blow. She grabbed his shoulder to drag him down. The aggressive move caught him off guard, and he bent forward. She rammed her knee hard right into his groin.
A high-pitched keening escaped Ewan’s lips. She ran around behind him and leapt on his back, getting a good suffocating hold around his neck. Between the pain in his groin, the bloody broken nose, suffocation, and her full weight on his back, he was having trouble focusing on how to defend himself. He clawed at her hands, but she ignored him and squeezed his neck with every ounce of strength she had. He stumbled, fell to his knees, and finally went down. She held on a moment longer and then let go. He collapsed facedown on the ground, gasping for breath.
The men around her stared at her, but not one of them moved on her.
She wiped at a bit of blood on her lips, panting hard. She’d let her body get a bit too relaxed in the last year and wasn’t as strong as she’d been when Rafe had first trained her. Her teeth had cut into the inside of her cheek when Ewan had hit her with that glancing blow. She looked at Brock, whose eyes were wide. He was just as motionless as the men who still held him.
“I won the challenge,” she declared. “Your quarrel with my husband is over. Whatever sins his father committed are not Brock’s. He is a good and loyal Scotsman, and you should be ashamed to treat him like a traitor. His father abused him. He had no love for that man, nor any control over what he did. In fact, he’s more Scottish than any of you here. You are supposed to be honorable men and good warriors. Protectors. Not bullies, not men who murder in the night. That is cowardice.”
She waited for Ewan to get to his feet and retrieved her husband’s knife, tucking it into her own boot. In that moment she felt as wild as the wind upon the hills, as though she herself was a Scot. Which reminded her…
“And another thing. I am a Lennox. Scotland is in my blood. Think on that before you call me an outsider again.”
She hadn’t minded Brock calling herSassenach, but she was not about to let these men turn it into an insult.
“Ewan?” one of the men whispered loudly.
Ewan smeared blood across his face as he dragged the back of his hand under his nose. He winced, drawing in a deep breath.
“Let them go. ’Tis over, all of it. We will speak no more of the sins of Montgomery Kincade.”
Brock was jerked to his feet and then released. Their coach driver was also released, and he joined them, his eyes still wide with fear. Ewan met Brock’s gaze and nodded solemnly before he and his men mounted their horses and rode back in the direction of the village.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” the coachman said as the others left. “I couldna stop them.”
“It’s all right, Hamish. Lucky for us we had a guardian angel riding with us.” Brock turned to Joanna. “My God,” he whispered, dragging her back into his arms, squeezing her hard enough that she struggled to breathe.
“I’m fine,” she assured him.
“Fine? No, lass. You were brilliant, wonderful, fierce.” He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her forehead. “Let’s get you home. I need to make certain for myself that you are all right.”
Joanna was more worried about him, because he was bleeding and bruised, but she didn’t tell him that. She needed to ask him about what she’d heard Ewan say about his father. He owed her the truth.
The coachman climbed back up on his perch. She and Brock got back inside the coach.
