Page 58 of A Scot's Pride
“Come on, ye bastard, show yourself,” Bryson urged to no one, which of course, had his horse flicking his ears as if he’d missed a command. “Good, lad.” Bryson stroked his horse’s neck.
A loud crash and shouts out of view, past a bend in the road ahead of Bryson, had him asking his horse to pick up his speed. Something terrible had happened from the sounds of it.
He came upon a crash in the middle of the road—a carriage turned on its side, the axle and the rigging to the horses broken, causing the poor animals to rise on their hind legs as the driver attempted to unlatch them.
Bryson leapt from his horse, and then as he ran forward to help, time seemed to suspend. Standing in the middle of the road in front of the driver was Campbell, waving a pistol.
Campbell? A pistol? What the bloody hell was going on?
As he passed by the overturned carriage, the door punched open, falling flat against the prostrate side of the carriage. Freya’s gorgeous head popped out of the opening. Was he seeing things? What was she doing here? But he didn’t have time to ask because Campbell fired a round into the air, drawing back his attention.
“Campbell?” Freya said at the same time Bryson roared it.
Freya whipped her head toward Bryson as he ran past, heedless of the smoking gun in the man’s hand. Bryson tackled Campbell to the ground, pinning him beneath his body. Hauling back his arm, he gave Campbell a swift punch in the jaw, hard enough to knock him out. Thank the saints. Then Bryson took the pistol from the coward and tossed it to the driver, who caught it midair.
“Lord Lovat,” the driver said, recognizing him from the many times he’d been involved with the Grysham family over the weeks. “How serendipitous of you to arrive in time.”
“What are you doing here?” Freya called from where she was peering out of the overturned carriage.
“I could ask you the same thing.” Bryson studied her.
Then, to his utter astonishment, his Aunt Bertie poked her head out of the overturned carriage.
“Oh, Bryson, dear. So good of you to find us, though I have no idea how you did.” She smiled. “Serendipitous.”
They kept using that word, which did not explain this situation. They should be back in Sunderland. Not here, wherever here was. But questions would have to come after he dealt with Campbell.
“Toss me something to tie this rat up with,” Bryson instructed the driver, who took the laces out from one of his boots and passed them over.
“Campbell, what is taking so…” The nasal whine of Leila faded as she came out from the woods, seeing the accident and that her fiancé was on the ground, unconscious and tied up with Bryson leaning over him— and her sister was in the overturned carriage.
“Leila.” Freya’s voice was full of menace as she leveraged herself and climbed from the overturned carriage, her skirts getting caught around her legs as she grunted and wrenched.
Bryson started toward her, but she managed to free herself and hopped onto the ground, marching toward her sister with authority and anger, her hands fisted as if she might strike her.
“You’re bleeding! Oh! Ew!” Leila covered her eyes.
It was then Bryson saw that Freya was bleeding down her arm from some glass protruding near her shoulder.
“Bryson, help me out of here, would you?” Aunt Bertie held her arms up like a toddler wanting to be carried, though her gleeful smile was anything but childish. She looked as if she’d caught a mouse in her trap.
Bryson lifted her easily from the wreckage and checked her, happy to find his elderly aunt had no injuries. Settling her where she stood, he turned and rushed over to Freya, who was leaning menacingly toward her immature sister.
“Was he going to rob us?” Freya stabbed a pointed finger toward where Campbell lay on the ground. “Is that what this was about? You were going to rob us?”
“I didn’t know it was you,” Leila pouted.
“So, Campbell was going to rob anyone who passed? You ran away with a criminal. That makes you a criminal, Leila.” Freya’s voice rose with exasperation.
“It’s only a crime if you get caught,” Leila said with a challenging look as she crossed her arms over her chest, looking every bit like an obstinate adolescent.
Freya blew out a breath that sounded like a half laugh. “Well, you got caught.”
“Only by you. It doesn’t count.” Leila then pointed at the glass in Freya’s arm. “Can you please do something about that? It’s making me nauseous.”
Bryson placed his hand in Freya’s, gently squeezing before she used it to strike her sister, which he wouldn’t blame her for wanting to do. “Let me help take care of that,” he said softly, leading her away from Leila, who had lost all sense.
“I can’t believe what she’s saying.” Freya’s voice was soft and confused as she rubbed her free hand over her face and against her eyes before groaning. “Has she gone mad?”
