To her utter astonishment, Mr. Eads lowered his pistol. The weapon made a soft metallic sound as he released the hammer. Diantha didn’t dare breathe.

“Wise man.” Mr. Yale walked forward, pistol still pointed at the Scot’s chest.

Mr. Eads’s square jaw locked and he slewed his gaze aside. “Damn ye, Yale.”

“Already taken care of, old chap.”

She darted glances between the two. Their eyes looked deadly.

“You may not shoot him,” she said hastily.

“Thank you, Miss Lucas. But if you could now—”

A female shriek cut the air, followed by a cracking noise, a massive thud, and a series of yips then a man’s shout: “Oh, God!”

Then everything seemed to happen at once. Ramses came flying around the corner, barking wildly. Mr. Yale snapped the pistol across Mr. Eads’s wrist. The Scot cried out, dropped his weapon, and swung a huge fist at Mr. Yale’s jaw. It went wide of the mark while the butt of Mr. Yale’s pistol instead found its home upon Mr. Eads’s brow. Ramses clamped on the Highlander’s boot, snarling. Mr. Eads’s hand flew to his head, a string of foreign words flowing from his mouth, and the little dog left off his ankle and retreated warily.

“Don’t try it again.” Mr. Yale plucked the weapon from the ground. “Are you otherwise armed?”

“O’ course A am.” The other man scowled, pressing his fingers to a small gash on his forehead. “A won’t use them. A only hit ye because ye hit me.”

“You should have dropped your weapon when I told you to.”

The moaning from the yard beyond took up epic proportions. Mrs. Polley’s scolds rang over it. Diantha moved toward the sounds then glanced back. Her breath jerked. Her traveling companion was holding his pistol barrel against Mr. Eads’s brow.

“I will have your word on that, Duncan.”

Duncan?

The Highlander’s massive shoulders heaved. “God damn, Yale.” He glared. “Ye have it.”

Mr. Yale lowered the pistol. “And I’ll know why you’ve given it too, after I have seen to the trouble that lies beyond.” He tossed the other man’s weapon onto the ground at his feet again, as though it were nothing at all. “Leave now or assist, as you wish. But do not go far, or your fate will prove much worse than in Calcutta.”

Diantha stared. He came to her side and she finally thought to snap her gaping mouth shut.

“You are giving him back the pistol? You know him? His Christian name?”

“And his birthday, as well as his mother’s favorite marmalade. Now, Miss Lucas, if you would finally oblige me by following my instructions, I pray you make yourself a shadow behind me and come along. Your lady’s companion, it seems, has attacked a man.”

She did as he bid, mostly because it seemed foolish to defy a man who had bested a person of Mr. Eads’s size with such little to-do, but also because she was rather shaky and following him felt safe. He made her feel safe, despite the hulking Highlander retrieving his pistol behind her and the moaning man in the yard ahead. Yet at the same time it was quite apparent to her that he was the cause of her shaking.

“This may all be somewhat unusual to me,” she whispered. “Naturally.”

“I imagine so, but it is over now.” He paused and looked down at her. “Thank you for your assistance.” It was not what he wished to say. She could see this clearly in his silver eyes that seemed to seek within her where she trembled with emotion at once both terrible and wonderful. His gaze only made the trembling worse.

“And?”

His brow drew down. “And you needn’t worry again.”

“Mr. Eads will not threaten me again, or he will not threaten you?”

“Even were he to, I suspect you could hold your own.” It seemed for an instant as though he wished to smile, but now his eyes held no light.

“Why did you pretend to be inebriated?”

“You mistake it. I did not pretend.” He turned and followed the wall around the corner.

Mrs. Polley stood over a prone man, little bits of white cheese and crockery spread all about the place like snow. The man’s face was contorted with pain. He glanced at Mr. Yale and groaned anew.

“See here, sir,” Mrs. Polley directed at Mr. Yale, “if this is that man you’re so worried about following us, he’s a bag of cowardice.”

“Perhaps his courage is merely not as hearty as yours, ma’am.” Mr. Yale crouched at the man’s shoulder. “It seems your pursuit of me, sir, has landed you in an unhappy place today.”

“Who is that harpy?” He gritted his teeth. His left leg was thrust beneath his other at an angle that made Diantha’s stomach queasy again.

“Come now, sir. That is no way to speak of a member of the fair sex.”

“She—” The man gritted his teeth. “She said you would be a clever son of a—”

“Ladies present, my friend.” Mr. Yale clucked his tongue. “Do mind your manners. Now, tell me, who are you and who is ‘she’?”

The man closed his eyes, his lips a zigzag.

Mr. Yale nodded. “I see. You are probably wise. I would not tell me who I am and what my purpose is in following me if I were you either.”

“What will you do with him?” Diantha asked. “He is in terrible pain.”

“From the bump on his head as well as the broken leg, no doubt.” He looked at Mrs. Polley. “You have outdone yourself, madam.”

“A man’s never snuck up on me without suffering for it,” she said indignantly, brandishing a crockery handle bereft of crock.

“Have you many men sneaking up on you, then?”

“In my younger days I wasn’t a dog to look at. Some of those so-called gentlemen in my lady’s house didn’t know where their hands shouldn’t be.” She slanted him a knowing look then turned her orbs meaningfully to Diantha.

Diantha ignored it. “What will you do with him?”

Mr. Yale looked down the road. “I shan’t have to do much, in fact. Would you be so kind as to retrieve that bottle of spirits from the carriage and give it to him?”

The man’s eyes popped open. “You wouldn’t kill me.”

Mr. Yale’s brows went up. “Of course I wouldn’t. What sort of person do you imagine you are pursuing?”

But he had threatened Mr. Eads moments ago with murder. Hadn’t he? Diantha’s heart would not cease racing. It was quite clear that he was not what he seemed on the surface, but she did not understand which was real and which was not. Within moments her journey had gone from reckless to truly dangerous.

“The miller who is now returning to work after his dinner will set your leg,” he said. “You will want to have gin in you before that, I daresay.” He glanced at her. “The bottle?”

She went, casting a glance over her shoulder to see him walking toward the miller, an aged man, short, dark and wiry with age, followed by two younger men, all in rough garments. Mr. Eads was nowhere to be seen.

She returned to the prone man as Mr. Yale and the others approached from the road. The miller and Mr. Yale were in quiet conversation but she understood nothing of it. The language met her ears peculiarly, lilting yet at once rough with strange rolls and crunches.

Mr. Yale stopped before the man in brown and crouched again, scratching his fingers through the shaggy fur between Ramses’ ears as the dog pressed against his thigh. The muscle was clearly defined by his breeches now. Diantha became warmly aware that she had never stared at a man’s thigh before. It was a day, it seemed, for disconcerting realizations.

“This is Mr. Argall,” he said to the man in brown, gesturing toward the miller whose wrinkled face was grim. “He and his sons here will set your leg then convey you to their home, where Mrs. Argall will care for you until you are able to be taken in a cart to the nearest public house. You needn’t concern yourself with compensating your hosts; I have arranged for that. No—” He raised a palm, though the man’s tight lips showed no sign of speech. “You needn’t thank me. Only, be a considerate guest, if you will. The Welsh are infinitely generous with their hospitality, but they do not take kindly to ingratitude.” He paused and lowered his voice. “As I do not take kindly to being followed. Pray, sir, bear this in mind when you are once again on your feet.”

He stood, spoke again with Mr. Argall, then shook the miller’s hand and came to her.

“Miss Lucas,” he said quietly, grasping her elbow and drawing her away from the scene of broken bones and crockery toward Galahad. “Would you be so kind as to busy Mrs. Polley in preparing for our departure while I converse with our friend for a moment in private? He has gone down the path to avoid notice, which is undoubtedly for the best.”

“I will, as long as you do not shoot him and he does not shoot you.”

“I shan’t. He shan’t. Not on this occasion. I promise it.” He released her and mounted his horse. “I won’t be but a minute and then we will be on our way again.”

She stroked Galahad’s satin neck. “The miller looked at you as though he knew you. Do you know him?”

“The Welsh are a curious folk, Miss Lucas. One must never mind their peculiarities.”

“How do you know the language? Have you lived here?”

“For the first eighteen years of my life.”

He was Welsh. She didn’t know why it should surprise her, except that she had never imagined him living anywhere but London. He had always seemed so elegant, so gentlemanlike and refined in speech and manner. But now she had seen him unshaven, his eyes glittering with anger. And when he had kissed her, she hadn’t felt like a lady being kissed by a gentleman. She’d felt like a woman being wanted by a man.

She needed to know more about him. She needed it in some place deep inside her she did not quite understand. “Are you familiar with this region, then? Is your family here?”