Chapter 27

Despite the lack of light, Drew knew the instant he walked into the room that he wasn’t alone. ’Twas almost impossible to see into the shadows, but the waxy scent of a freshly extinguished candle hung in the air, and he could sense…a presence.

For once, he wished he’d worn his sword. With a blade in his hand, he always felt invincible.

He supposed he could back out of the room and save himself the trouble of an altercation. But he had valuable golf clubs inside, not to mention his earnings, and he wasn’t about to let a common thief get the better of him.

Closing the door behind him as if nothing was wrong, he slipped the satchel of clubs off his shoulder, sliding out the jagged-edged niblick he’d just broken on a sand shot.

Reason told him that the intruder had probably slithered under his bed. ’Twas the only place in the room to hide. If so, the man was essentially trapped and helpless. Still, Drew would feel more comfortable facing the rascal with his sword in hand.

Listening in the direction of the bed for sudden movement and firmly gripping the niblick in his left hand, he sidled casually toward the plaid hung on the wall and fumbled beneath the fabric for his scabbard.

The instant his fingers contacted flesh, his instincts took over, and he reacted with lightning speed. He might not have his blade at hand, but any weapon would do at a pinch.

He gripped the niblick in both hands, planning to trap the intruder against the wall.

But the scoundrel slipped out from beneath his plaid and skittered along the wall like a startled cricket.

Drew pursued, following the sound of panicked breathing. Twice his fingers contacted cloth, but each time, the slippery villain managed to skip out of his grasp.

Finally he cornered the intruder. With a growl of victory, Drew advanced slowly forward, raising his niblick horizontally to force the fellow back. Then he slammed him against the wall, pinning him there with his body and pressing the shaft of the niblick across the man’s scrawny throat.

One moment more, and Josselin might have been able to unsheathe that magnificent sword and defend herself against her assailant. But he’d entered too quickly, found her too soon, and cornered her with the speed of a hunting hound.

Whoever had sneaked into Drew’s room knew what he was doing. Maybe he was a master thief. Or a Reformer contact. Or an assassin. Whoever he was, he’d been trained in mortal combat. And whatever weapon he pressed against her throat was threatening to close her windpipe. If she didn’t act now, within a few heartbeats she’d run out of air.

Fortunately, she always carried her dagger. Wincing against the bruising pressure at her throat, she drew her knife and drove her hand forward toward the man’s belly.

Which suddenly wasn’t there.

He’d dodged out of the way.

She tried again, but her dagger swished through empty air. Somehow his weapon pushed tighter against her neck, and the dark room began to fill with bright spots of light.

She clawed at his forearm with her left hand and slashed once more, this time aiming for his left arm. At the last instant, as if he’d read her intent, he pulled that arm out of reach, which made him loosen his stranglehold on her slightly.

Thank God Angus had taught her a few dirty fighting tricks. Forgetting about her dagger, she cocked her leg and brought it up hard to drive her knee into his crotch.

And missed.

He’d apparently guessed ’twould be her next move.

Luckily, his dodge had made him drop whatever he’d been holding against her throat, and it clattered to the floor.

She sucked in a welcome breath and swung her knife forward in a wide circular arc, hoping to find a target. But the blade whistled through the air. Stepping forward, she tried again. And again.

Where had he gone? She squinted into the shadows and listened for sounds of movement.

Without warning, she was seized low about the knees and upended. She gasped, expecting to hit the floor and crack her skull.

But she didn’t. She fell headlong onto the bed, and before she could recover from the shock of her soft landing, she was crushed into the bedding by the weight of her assailant.

He pried the dagger from her fingers, then seized her wrists, securing them with one fist above her head and trapping her beneath him.

She struggled against him to no avail, and for several moments there was only the sound of their labored breathing.

“Well, now,” her attacker finally grunted, his Highland brogue unmistakable, “let’s see what we have here.”

Josselin stiffened. ’Twas Drew. But how could that be? He was a golfer, not a fighter. Wasn’t he?

A dozen questions fired through her brain in the span of an instant.

What was he doing back so soon from the course?

Did he not realize ’twas her? Or had he followed her here?

Where had he learned to fight like that?

Was he a spy? Or wasn’t he?

She’d found nothing incriminating in his room. But that didn’t necessarily mean Drew wasn’t a spy. Maybe he wasn’t the kind of spy who gathered information or passed encrypted missives. Maybe he was the kind of spy who killed those who got in the way.

With his free hand, Drew used a golf club to reach the hearth, stirring the coals. They flared enough to afford a small bit of light, enough for Drew to see who she was and for Josselin to glimpse the horrified look on his face when he saw who she was.

“Jossy?”

He immediately released her wrists and levered himself off of her chest, still straddling her.

So that answered one of her questions. He hadn’t known ’twas she when he attacked. But several other questions remained.

If Drew was only a golfer, why did he have that sword?

How had he known someone was in the room?

And where the bloody hell had he learned to fight like that?

Now that she was discovered and he’d released her, should she feign innocence? Did he mean her no harm? Or was she still in danger?

“Jossy?” he repeated, blinking in disbelief.

Josselin compressed her lips. Her fathers had taught her to err on the side of caution. Self-protection was paramount.

So, searching the mattress with the flat of her hand, she located her dagger, closed her fingers around the grip, and swept it up to the point of his chin.

His eyes widened. “What the…? Jossy, ’tis me.”

She hesitated, uncertain of how to proceed, but unwilling to let down her guard.

“Jossy, lass,” he said, raising his palms in surrender, “I didn’t mean to hurt ye. If I’d known ’twas ye…”

He shifted his weight as if to climb off of her. She stopped him with a poke of her blade.

He flinched. “Whoa, lass, I was only goin’ to move off o’ ye.”

“Why are ye back so early from the links?”

He narrowed his eyes, surprised by her question. She jabbed again at his chin to hurry his answer.

He sucked a sharp breath between his teeth. “I broke my niblick.”

“And?”

His soft blue eyes were growing darker by the moment. “I came to fetch another,” he bit out. “Now I have a question o’ my own, lass.”

Josselin held her breath.

“What the devil are ye doin’ in my room?”