Chapter 9 #2
“I am just fine, thank you,” Augusta responded.
It baffled Charity how much danger that Augusta had just willingly put herself into and felt helpless.
Thankfully, the men were busy in conversation with Duncan and had not yet noticed the both of them.
“What will make you stop this madness?” Charity found herself pleading.
“Well, for one thing, you stop ordering me around. And that your husband to be stops ordering us around as well,” she said. “I am not a child, and I can make my own decisions.”
“Make your own decisions elsewhere,” Charity got hold of her arm and tried to pull her back towards the carriage door.
But they had finally been noticed. The man who had been circling their carriage was upon them in an instant.
“My, my, my….” He grinned, “Who do we have here? His Grace did not mention that he was hiding such pretty young girls in there…”
A chill went down Charity’s spine, and Augusta realized then as well that she had made a terrible error.
They were in great danger now.
“Talk to us with respect,” Augusta said to the man.
“Respect, huh?” The man towered over Augusta. Charity tried to pull her back, but Augusta instead spat at the man.
All hell broke loose then, and suddenly the man retaliated by swinging his arm out to strike Augusta.
But before he could strike, the man fell towards the floor. A bang had followed before.
Duncan had shot at the man’s leg, rendering him unable to stand.
“Get behind me,” Duncan said, suddenly in front of them. “I had asked you not to step outside.”
The frustration in his tone was evident. Charity felt Duncan’s arm press back lightly, pushing them both away as he stepped forward into the man’s space.
“Now, don’t injure my men,” the head thief said. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Malcolm took his gun out as well, pointing at the men.
“If you move another inch,” Duncan warned, “I am going to shoot you down, and the rest of your men as well. Do you want that, or do you value your life?”
Charity realized that the men, while daunting, were not armed with a firearm of their own. Or they would have shot back by now.
Suddenly, they did not seem so outnumbered anymore.
Malcolm lunged in from the side, catching one man with a short, hard blow that dropped him. Even the driver had leapt down with a club in hand, swinging at another who had tried to come save the one who had been shot in the leg.
Charity could hardly keep up with the events. It was all happening too quickly. Matilda was screaming from inside the carriage, and Augusta was clinging to Charity now.
Duncan moved towards the men, who had now furnished knives.
One of the men tried to come around his side, and Duncan pivoted and hit him with a straight punch to the jaw that made the man stumble and spit, and then Malcolm was there, finishing it with the butt of his pistol.
Charity forced her legs to move, dragging Augusta back towards the carriage.
“Get in,” Charity said, and she pushed Augusta towards the open door. Augusta stumbled, then climbed into the carriage, her face white, and Charity followed, half-turning only once to look back.
The last thing she saw before going back in the carriage was Duncan taking a swing towards one of the men. He was knocked out cold.
The remaining thieves backed away, cursing, one of them dragging another by the collar.
“He’s a madman…”
“He will kill us too….”
“This is not worth it…”
The men began to retreat with their tails between their legs.
Charity realized that Duncan had just pulled off what was perhaps an impossible and no doubt impressive feat. He had scared away the thieves.
Augusta was staring at the floor now, and Charity was consoling Matilda, who was still sniffling and crying.
“It’s over now,” she said to the little one. “The danger has passed.”
A moment later, the carriage door opened again, and Duncan came inside.
“Get us moving,” he said to the driver.
The driver nodded quickly, climbed back up, and the horses began to move again.
“Have they gone?” Augusta was the first to speak.
Charity pinched the bridge of her nose. Even after all of that trouble, Augusta still had something to say.
“You saw what happened,” Duncan replied to her curtly.
“Well, more like it just happened and we were caught in the middle of it…” Augusta said. “You said that you were going to take us to safety, and yet not even a few hours in our journey do we encounter something like this…”
“Augusta….”
“No, let her speak,” Duncan said. “Go on. What do you think should have been done?”
Now that the duke was speaking to her directly, Augusta seemed to shrink. She bit down on her lip, no longer as sure of herself as she was just a moment before.
“I…”
“Do you think that it is in my control if thieves are to intercept us?” he said.
“No,” Augusta answered. “But then you should not promise safety when you cannot guarantee it either…”
Duncan’s gaze shifted to Augusta, and Charity braced herself. Duncan had little patience for being challenged by someone who did not know him.
“You stepped into a road where armed men were waiting,” Duncan replied, and the bluntness of it made Augusta flush. “You may do as you like with your pride later, but if you do that again, you will be dead before you finish your sentence.”
Matilda made a small sound, clutching Charity’s hand.
“Please do not scold her,” she whispered, because even Duncan’s calm voice frightened her now.
Duncan’s gaze flicked to Matilda, and Charity saw him register her fear, saw him tighten his jaw as if irritated with himself rather than with her. “I am not scolding,” Duncan said, and though it was still firm, his tone softened a fraction. “I am telling her the truth.”
Charity could not bear the way Matilda flinched at the sound of him, so she shifted forward, leaning slightly across Matilda as if her own body could block fear.
“Enough,” Charity said, and though she kept it quiet, there was a decision in it.
“Augusta, you will not step out again, and you will not speak as if Duncan harmed you, because he did not, and because if he had not been there, you would be on the back of a horse right now with your wrists tied.”
Augusta’s eyes flashed, but the color in her face faded again as the reality of that settled.
Charity turned to Duncan. “You will not frighten them more than they already are; they have seen enough…”
“Then do not let them put themselves in the path of danger,” Duncan said.
Charity’s jaw tightened. He was right.
The rest of the ride was stiff and quiet, broken only by the sound of the wheels, the occasional sniffling from Matilda, and the shallow breaths Augusta took as she tried to regain control of herself.
When the carriage finally stopped a little way down the road, not at an inn this time but at a small clearing where the trees broke enough to give them space, Duncan’s hand went to the door latch, and he stepped out first, scanning the road as if he expected the mercenaries to return.
Charity followed, and Duncan turned, and before she could step down properly, his hand came up to her elbow, steadying her, firm but not rough. Augusta watched it with narrowed eyes, and Matilda stared at her lap as if she did not want to see anything that might upset her.
Charity stepped onto the road and drew her cloak tighter, then turned to Duncan.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, seeing the blood on his knuckles and it made her stomach twist.
“It is nothing,” Duncan said, and he sounded irritated by the question.
“It is not nothing if it is yours,” Charity replied.
Duncan’s gaze sharpened. “Come,” he said, and before she could ask what he meant, he took her by the forearm and guided her a few steps away from the carriage, far enough that the sisters could not hear clearly, though Charity knew they would still watch.
“What are you doing?” Charity asked, and she tried to keep her voice even. “If you mean to scold me, then you might as well do it where they can hear, because they already think you are going to eat them alive.”
Duncan stopped and turned to face her.
“Were you hurt?” Duncan asked, and the question came out blunt, as if he were asking about a broken wheel rather than a woman.
Charity blinked, caught off guard by that being the first thing he said. “No,” she replied. “I am not hurt, and neither is Augusta, and that is what matters.”
Duncan’s gaze moved over her face, lingering for a moment on the bruise still visible on her cheek, then dropping to her arms as if checking for hidden marks, and Charity found, to her own surprise, that the scrutiny felt less like judgment and more like concern.
“You stepped in front of her,” Duncan said. “You stepped straight into a man’s path.”
“She is my sister,” Charity replied, and the sentence came out simple because there was nothing else to say. “I was not going to stand there while she was struck.”