Sin stretched in his stirrups. The days in the saddle were taking their toll. Their arrival in Scotland couldn’t come too soon, for his arse’s sake if nothing else.
His driver, Gregor, pushed his cap back on his head. Although the driver’s seat of the carriage was higher than Sin’s horse, the smaller man’s face was even with Sinclair’s as he rode next to him. “We’re getting close, milord. We might not ‘ave crossed the border, but it feels like Scotland jus’ the same.”
Sin inhaled deeply. Yes. There was nothing distinctly different between the green hills of England or Scotland, but there was something in the air that he only noticed when he was home. Trees were few and far between along this road, and the landscape held a loneliness that continued up to the rolling mountain range of the Southern Lowlands.
“Glad to be getting back home, are you?” Most of his London servants remained in England when he traveled to Kenmore, but a few were always eager to return north. Gregor and Dugald, Sin’s valet, currently perched next to the coachman and gripping the brim of his hat, would kick up a fuss if Sin ever dared to leave them behind.
“Too right.” The man tilted his head back and breathed deep.
Sin smirked. There really must be something in the air.
“I only wish summer were here to greet us instead of this constant winter.” Sin rubbed his lower back. “I would like my bride to see the sun shining on her new home at some point.” And for his farmers to be able to harvest their crops. But mother nature was one opponent he couldn’t battle.
Dugald took off his hat and patted his face with a handkerchief. “Ach, we Scots can survive a bit of dark. We’ve survived worse before; we’ll survive a bad growing season.”
The carriage took a curve in the road, bending around a small hill. “If only the rest of Scotland believed the same,” Sin muttered.
“Whoa.” Gregor pulled back on the reins, bringing the horses to a sudden stop.
Sin walked his horse forward, examining the large oak tree that crossed the road, barring their path. Its branches reached in all directions, its trunk a solid two feet in diameter.
A light breeze rippled its leaves, and the horses leading the carriage pawed the earth. The hairs on the back of Sin’s neck rose.
“Why have we stopped?” Winnifred poked her head out the carriage window. “Is there a problem?”
“Get back inside,” he yelled.
Irritation flickered across her face, so quickly he almost missed it, before she nodded and disappeared back into the coach’s depths.
“Milord?” the driver asked.
Sin’s horse danced sideways. “Can you turn the carriage around?” His gaze flew back to the trunk of the fallen tree, with its neat network of axe marks scoring the base.
The driver blew out his cheeks. “Can’t turn on this road. We’ll have to unhitch the horses and back it up—”
“Ye can back it up after we’ve gone.” A man with a kerchief around his nose and mouth stepped out from behind the hill, a similarly dressed highwayman at his side. Both men leveled pistols in their direction. “First, we’ll have all yer blunt and gee-gaws.”
“Gee-gaws?” Sin gripped his reins. He refused to be robbed by an idiot.
“Yer buttons, yer pocketwatch.” The thief narrowed his eyes over the white face covering. “Yer gee-gaws.”
The second man elbowed his friend. “Would ye look at the crest on that carriage. We got ourselves some prime pickens’ here.”
Sin inhaled sharply. He grabbed the saddle’s pommel and kicked his right foot out of its stirrup.
The first thief aimed the barrel of his pistol at him. “We didnae say ye could move.”
Sin forced his expression to remain neutral, to keep the snarl from his voice. “If you want my coin, I’ll have to dismount in order to retrieve it.”
The second thief sidled over to the carriage, getting much too close to the door that lay between him and Winnifred.
Sin’s knuckles went white around the reins.
The first thief nodded. “Slowly.”
Sin assessed the men as he climbed down. Not much muscle on either of them. Probably been a while since their last meal. Easily defeated.
“You’re bringing your trade a bit south, aren’t you?” Sin rubbed his horse’s nose.
“Better to relieve the English of their money.” The man adjusted his handkerchief. “But a Scottish toff will do.”
His driver and valet both eased to the edge of the seat. Sin met their gaze and gave a small nod. When he hired his servants, the ability to fight was a requirement, as well. He didn’t have to worry about them. But one stray bullet near his wife ….
He reached into his saddle bag, slowly so the thief could see his movements, and drew out a large pouch of coins. The fight played out in his head. He’d toss the man the bag, wait till his greedy gaze focused on the flying pouch, and follow it in with a sound beating. Dugald would pounce on the second man, and Gregor would follow to assist. They’d been in such situations before. It would be as choreographed as a play.
If only all the actors kept to the script.
“Who do we have in here?” the second thief asked.
Sin couldn’t see him behind the carriage, but he heard well enough when the bounder pulled open the opposite door.
All thoughts of the normal plan of action were erased from his mind, pushed out by a blinding rage. Dropping the bag, he took the two steps to the carriage door on his side and yanked it open.
The thief blinked. His hand clutched Winnifred’s skirts and the gun he held pointed carelessly at the ceiling.
Sin’s gaze narrowed on the filthy hand touching his wife’s gown. Heat exploded in his chest.
The man reached for Winnifred’s arm as he dropped the pistol towards Sin.
With a roar, Sin reached through the cabin, grabbing the man by the wrist and the front of his shirt. Bones shifted, cracked under his grip, and the man screamed as Sin hauled him across the floor of the carriage, ripping his handkerchief off his face, and throwing him headfirst into the dirt.
A shot went off, and Sin didn’t know if it was from his victim’s pistol or the other thief’s. He didn’t care. He pounded his fist into the man’s face, enjoying the spray of blood from his nose. He’d touched his wife. Pound. Held a weapon near her. Pound, pound, pound/smash. Dared to threaten something that was Sin’s.
The man was limp in his grip, but still Sin hit him until the features on his face were unrecognizable.
Two gloved hands grabbed his arm, a tuft of lace at the hems blowing in the breeze.
It wasn’t the strength in the hold that stopped him as there was barely any. It was the sight of that damned lace that brought him to his senses. His vision widened from its narrow focus on his victim. His driver stood over a kneeling highwayman, holding a short blunderbuss to his head. His valet scooped up his dropped bag of coin. All was well.
He dropped the unconscious man and turned, chest heaving.
For once, Winnifred’s face was completely readable. Her eyes were wide with shock, her mouth open in a perfect circle.
He gripped her shoulders, turning her about to look for injury. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
“Yes. No.” She stumbled on the hand of the unconscious man.
Curling an arm around her waist, he lifted her away from the man’s body and tucked her behind the carriage. “Which is it? Yes or no.”
“Yes, I’m all right.” She curled her body to peer back toward the carnage. “No, I’m not hurt. I can’t believe what you did.”
Sin swallowed. It wasn’t something a woman should have to see. The violence he was capable of. A woman as controlled as Winnifred wouldn’t want a brute for a husband. But that’s what she’d got. He was a blunt instrument. He wasn’t patient like his friend Montague, thinking of a solution when fist would do instead. Not sly like Summerset who preferred a surprise attack so his clothes wouldn’t get ruffled. Sin used his fists. He beat threats into submission. He wasn’t ashamed of his brutality, but it wasn’t something he necessarily wanted to show off to his bride.
“He touched you.” Sin clenched his bloody hands. An ache made itself known in his right hand, but he ignored it. “They were trying to rob us.”
“I know, but you picked him up and threw him like he weighed nothing.” Her gaze slid up and down his body. “And you were in a such a rage.”
“Blood—” Sin reined in his irritation. “Of course, I was angry. He was a threat. You’re my wife.” How was she not understanding this?
“Still …” Her gaze turned wistful. “I suppose as a man more is allowed.”
He drew his eyebrows together. “What—”
“Milord?” The driver kicked the conscious thief, and the man fell forward onto his hands. “What should I do with this one?”
Taking the man behind the hill and shooting him probably wasn’t the best option, though it would be the easiest. “Have you anything to say for yourself?” Sin asked.
The man spit onto the dirt. “An empty belly causes a man to do many things he shouldn’t. I dunnae have more to say than that.”
Winnifred picked up Sin’s bruised hand. She pulled a dainty lavender handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at his split knuckles.
He kept his eyes on his wife. “Tie him up. Tie them both up.” Although he didn’t think his man would need the restraints. He probably wouldn’t be gaining consciousness for hours, if at all. “Put them by the side of the road. When we reach the next town we’ll send a member of the watch back for them.”
“We’re going to leave them here?” Winnifred asked. “What if animals get to them?”
He could only hope. “They’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know if we’ll make the next town, milord.” Dugald bent his legs, gripped a limb of the tree, and put his back into trying to move it. He failed. “We’ll need more men to move this monster. And with all of these branches digging into the ground, I don’t even think the horses could drag it off the road.”
“We could turn back,” Gregor said. He finished tying a knot in the leather bound around the thief’s wrists, an extra rein they carried in the supply chest. “The last town we passed was probably only ten miles ago.”
Winnifred stepped around him, skirted the unconscious man, and stood next to the valet.
“We don’t have a saw to cut off some of these branches?”
“Not on this trip, milady.” Dugald’s lips twitched.
Gregor stepped next to her. “I say my horses can do it.”
“They’re going to have to try.” Sin removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
Winnifred’s gaze flicked to his chest, his arms, then dropped back to the tree. She opened her mouth, shut it.
“Something you wanted to say?” Sin asked.
She shook her head.
“Then perhaps you’d be more comfortable waiting in the carriage.” He grabbed one of the tree’s limbs and heaved. It didn’t move an inch.
Winnifred remained where she was. “It’s only ….”
Sin planted his hands on his hips and glared at the tree. “Speak up, woman.”
“Well, you see that tree?” She pointed at the fallen tree’s twin, another large oak which rose across from the stump of its brethren. They had once stood as two proud and lonely sentinels on his drive home.
“The only tree left standing for ten miles along this road? Yes, I see it.” Vexation curdled his stomach at the destruction in order to lay a trap for travelers. He glared at the highwayman.
“Yes, well if we create a pulley system over it, you see where the trunk separates into two limbs? Then the horses should have an easier time lifting the tree from the road. At least move it far enough to allow our carriage to pass.” She clasped her hands together. “But it will require a fair bit of rope.”
“Rope we have.” Sin eyed his wife. “That might work.”
“Aye, it could save us hours of back-breaking work,” Gregor agreed.
Winnifred drew a square in the dirt with the toe of her slipper. “My father did something similar once. The idea is not mine.”
Sin harrumphed. He greatly doubted that. His wife was ever so eager to hide her intelligence. Did she think he was some milksop Sassenach, wanting a dull wife who did nothing more than smile and nod? That he wouldn’t appreciate any advice to get them on their bloody way as soon as possible?
No matter. She’d learn. And he’d learn why she felt the need to hide. How she’d come to be so self-effacing. Last night he had felt defeated by her cool responses. Thought perhaps their temperaments were too different to form a happy union. But she was a challenge, and one he was determined to meet. He would strip her of her disguises and enjoy every moment of it.
“You heard the woman.” He skimmed his palm down her arm, wanting the contact. “Let’s collect every bit of rope we have. Gregor, help me unstrap the luggage. And if it isn’t enough, we’ll throw in the reins.”