Chapter Nine
Mal handed Georgina her pistols from the saddlebag. Laddie was at his side, quiet but intent. He was watching the sheep but seemed to be waiting for a command from Mal before he moved toward them.
“The shepherd will be around somewhere,” he whispered. “Probably asleep, but if he makes trouble…”
She stared at him, the bite of metal cool against her palm. “If he makes trouble?”
“Shoot him,” he said, like it was obvious.
Georgina flinched. Her time with these outlaws hadn’t felt quite real, but now it felt too real. She couldn’t believe Mal would so casually talk about violence—but she’d known, hadn’t she? She’d known there was an edge of cruelty to his warmth. She would be a fool to ignore that part of him.
“I can’t.”
He glanced at her. “Threaten to shoot, first. That should be enough. We haven’t had to kill a man yet.”
“But you would.”
“Only if it was necessary.”
Georgina prayed it would never be necessary. “Won’t there be a dog?”
“We don’t shoot dogs.” He sounded horrified, glancing down at Laddie like he might have understood the words. And she found it grimly amusing that he was more willing to kill a person than an animal.
He took a wrapped paper package from the bag and unfolded it, and the savory scent of mutton drifted to her.
Laddie stepped forward. “No, Laddie,” Mal said. And the collie halted at that single, soft-spoken command.
“Dogs just want to be fed. Give it a minute.” He set the mutton on the ground like an offering.
And sure enough, about five minutes later, a rangy shadow emerged from the flock. It stopped, sniffed, wary. Mal knelt down.
“I won’t hurt ye,” Mal said, voice soft. He patted the ground.
The animal walked forward, stopped, sniffed again. Mal was infinitely patient. He coaxed the herding dog by slow degrees, until it was right in front of him. It scarfed down the mutton in three hasty bites and then cocked its head at Mal, as if asking for more.
Mal smoothed his hand along its side. “There’s a good dog.” He pulled one more piece of mutton from the bag and tossed it. The dog caught it midair.
He glanced toward her. “See if you can find the shepherd.”
A chill ran down her spine, but accompanying it was a surge of something else. Mal trusted her. She was—for now at least—one of them, and silly as it was, she didn’t want to let them down.
Georgina sidled past the sheep. Some of the creatures were curled up on the ground, but some were standing, staring at her blankly—where they sleeping? Or watching her? Sheep, she decided, were a bit eerie.
Eventually she saw a human-size bundle on a rise that overlooked the flock. The bundle was unmoving, and when she drew closer, she heard hearty snores. She breathed a sigh of relief but kept her pistol at her side, just in case.
She hadn’t been standing there long, waiting for the men to finish, when his breathing changed slightly. His breaths turned quiet, and then, suddenly, a snore that could have woken a whole village erupted from him.
He startled awake.
Georgina held perfectly still, alarm making her pulse riot. Go back to sleep, she thought frantically.
And maybe he would have, but something must have excited the dog—it barked. Once. Twice.
The shepherd groaned. “Stupid mutt.” He turned on his hands and knees to push himself up. “If this is another false alarm, I’ll wring your neck.”
Her thumb touched the hammer. The sound of the gun being cocked was loud in the sudden silence.
“Stay right where you are.” Georgina winced at the waver in her voice. Her hand trembled, and she took a long, deep breath. Forced it to steady.
The shepherd, on his knees, froze. “Who’s there?”
“Stay right there,” she said. “And I won’t shoot.”
He must not have believed her—he started to push up, off the ground. Georgina quickly jammed the nozzle of the pistol into the space between his shoulder blades. She flinched nearly as badly as he did.
“All right,” he said, voice shrill. “All right.”
They stayed like that, in an unmoving marble tableau, for an indeterminable amount of time. Georgina didn’t know if it was a minute, or five, or ten, but it felt like an eternity. She peered through the night and nearly doubled over in relief when she heard footsteps and saw Mal emerge from the gloom.
He touched her shoulder, jerked his head back toward the horses.
“Get down,” she told the shepherd. When he was lying prone on his stomach, she said, “Now count to a hundred for me.”
“One…”
She stepped back silently, to the sound of his counting, and followed Mal’s winding path back the way she’d come. Her heart was like thunder in her ears.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded. “I just…didna expect him to wake.”
In the darkness, his hand on hers was like a beacon of warmth. “You did well.”
Good Lord, she’d just threatened to shoot a man. She’d had a pistol pressed to his back. A shaky breath spilled from her lungs. She wanted to stop, to rest her hands on her knees, and just focus on drawing in oxygen.
But if she fell apart now, it could have dire consequences for all of them.
So she kept going, one foot in front of the other. This time, once they’d mounted their pony, she let Mal take the reins.
The other men were already some distance ahead of them, with Laddie and the sheep they’d separated from the flock. Mal nudged the pony in their direction, when a loud crack sounded behind them.
The night lit up for a split second, outlining the shepherd rushing toward them. Gun smoke filled the air. Their horse, startled, reared back. Georgina was left scrabbling for balance.
Mal’s grip on the reins tightened as he fought to control the mount. “Get down!” His voice was frantic and frayed. She’d never heard it sound quite like that before, and it frightened her.
Then, Mal’s hand, a reassuring, guiding pressure on her back. She leaned forward as far as she could, practically lying across the pony’s neck. At the sound of the gunshot, the men had left the stolen sheep. Now they were racing back toward Georgina and Mal, covering ground quickly. Mal urged the pony faster, and they lurched into a canter across the moors.
But the shepherd was still behind them, and he must have had time to reload. Another flash of light. Another exploding gunshot.
Georgina felt an impact. A sudden, horrible jarring. The breath was knocked out of her. At first, she thought she’d been hit by the bullet. Her hands flew to her chest and found nothing amiss. It took a moment for her to realize that the impact was Mal, slumping against her, as if all the strength had left his body at once. Something wet seeped into her bodice at the shoulder.
“Mal,” she cried. “Mal!”
“Is that all it took for you to say my name?” he gasped. “I would’ve gotten shot sooner.”
She didn’t know how he could jest at a time like this. She felt like she might fly into a million pieces if she didn’t hold on to all of them with clenched fists. “Put your arms around me!”
She took the reins with one hand; with the other, without even thinking or pausing to reflect, she aimed her pistol blindly over her shoulder and fired. But they were farther away now, and if she’d hit the shepherd, she couldn’t tell. After the light and the smoke, all she could hear was the ringing echo of the gunshot, the sound of her own heart, and Mal’s ragged breathing, like the gasps of a drowning man at her back.