Page 7 of Devil Black

“No doubt.” Lachy agreed. “And well bred. She will swoon at the sight of your black countenance.”

“Do you think so?” Dougal smiled, amused.

“Tell me this is but a wicked game—you will hold her a while and then leave it be.”

“Release her to MacNab, you mean?”

“Aye, so.” A particularly fierce gust of wind buffeted them where they sat their horses by the side of the dark road. “Or do you mean to extract a ransom from him? That is your plan, eh?”

“And what of the King’s desires for my future? Am I to thumb my nose at our lord and liege?”

Lachlan snorted.

“I suppose I shall just have to make my mind up after I see the wench. If she proves a beauty, or not too hideous, I may need to sample her before sending her on to him.”

“Ruin her, do you mean? A pallid, fragile, English maiden? You would not.”

“It could be she is no maiden.”

“No chance of that. Highborn lords who deal in wives insist upon their purity. MacNab will have your head.”

“I would like to see him try.”

“By any road, she is doubtless ugly as the bottom of an empty tankard. Such brides usually are.”

“True. A beautiful bride is a rare enough thing.” The thought cast Dougal into a mood blacker than the night.

He remained silent until Lachlan spoke again. “They are late. I thought your man said they left the inn at three this afternoon?”

“Our roads are not what English coachmen are used to. Hark, now!” Dougal cocked his head. “Don your mask, Lachy. And go canny.”

Borne on the gusts of wind, and intermittent, came the sound of a carriage climbing up the hill. Dougal MacRae eased his sword from its scabbard, feeling a surge of energy flood his veins.

He had done this a hundred times—played bandit, a role that was, aye, in his blood—waylaid travelers on the road and neighbors in their own drawing rooms. But never for such stakes as this. He’d stolen his share of cattle and horses, but a bride? Never.

An unholy grin split his dark face as he eased his horse out into the road and raised the sword high.

No need for shouted commands—the silhouette of him there in the road, stark and threatening, had the coachman hauling on the reins almost before Lachy took the place at Dougal’s side.

Everything went abruptly silent. The creaking of the coach springs ceased; the horses rolled their eyes but held their ground. Only the coachman’s soft, heartfelt curse competed with the gusting wind.

“Drop it,” Dougal said, his casual tone belying the excitement racing through him. The second man on the box had drawn a sword. “Throw it into the road!”

Neither the coachman nor the guard moved. Dougal urged his horse closer and poised the point of his blade at the coachman’s throat. “Now.”

The guard’s sword clattered as it hit the road.

“Come now,” Dougal urged. “Any other weapons as well, if you value your lives.”

Lachlan, well enough versed in his role by now, rode round to the back of the coach, where Dougal heard him order a second guard to surrender his weapons. “Welcome to the festivities! Divest yourself of any weapons, and your life shall be spared.” A knife and dagger followed the man’s sword into the road.

The coach door flew open and a lass, only dimly seen in the weak light, leaned out. “Daniel? What is going on? Why have we stopped? Are we—? Oh!” She caught sight of Dougal, black as sin, sitting his equally black horse. He heard the breath catch in her throat. For a score of heartbeats he waited for her to scream, wail, sob, or perhaps swoon, which in her present position would deposit her in the road. She was, after all, a gently born English miss.

Instead, she swung the door wide. He saw her skirts thrash as she scrambled down, without benefit of steps or assistance, to face him.

“What is the meaning of this?”

She looked tall standing in the road, and he could not see her face clearly in the gloom. Her voice surprised him. It shared little with those of any English ladies he had encountered in the past and held a strange lilt, as well as an edge that might slice granite. Her coach had been halted on a strange road at dusk by two armed bandits but, by all that was holy, she did not sound afraid.