Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(40)

“He’s gone,” she declared, turning her head to look back at the villain, and then stopping when he dug the pistol deeper into her head.

“I don’t think so,” he replied.

“Maybe he did leave her, Ansel.”

“And leave his woman? His horse?” Ansel shook his head and turned to face Dixon, lifting the pistol from her head as he did so. She exhaled a breath of relief to feel the weapon removed from her face, even if only temporarily.

“I don’t think so,” Ansel continued.

The air whistled, and she felt the sudden rush of something launch past her, just inches from her shoulder.

Ansel’s grip on her arm vanished and she was free. His body dropped to the ground with a thud. She looked down and choked on a gasp at the sight of the knife imbedded deeply in his shoulder. He choked and made incoherent sounds, twisting his head to look in astonishment at the butt of the knife jutting from his shoulder.

Dixon cursed and fell down beside his friend. “Ansel! Gor, Ansel! You’ve been stabbed!”

“I know that!” Ansel cried, his face a contortion of pain and panic.

Shaking her head, Cleo jumped to action and scrambled for the forgotten pistol. She located it on the ground several feet away. Snatching up the weapon, she grasped it in her hands and pointed it at the unsavory pair.

She’d barely had time to acclimate to the heavy feel of it before it was plucked from her hand. Strong fingers stole it away as if she weren’t gripping it at all.

Her gaze shot to Logan. He stood beside her, his expression revealing none of her anxiety, just stony resolve.

“Now,” he announced, his deep voice maddeningly calm. “Listen to me . . . Dixon, is it?”

Without a word, Logan moved, positioning his body between Cleo and the men on the ground. She peered around him to see Dixon’s face as he looked up at Logan, his sunken eyes wide and unblinking.

Logan’s voice continued, deep and authoritative, “You’re going to collect your friend there and disappear back into the trees . . . after you return my knife to me, of course. I’m rather fond of it.”

Nodding, Dixon turned to Ansel, grimacing as he pulled the knife free of his shoulder. Ansel cried out and pressed a hand over the gushing wound. Cleo almost felt sorry for him in that moment—until she recalled that he’d threatened to blow her to bits all over the road moments before.

Dixon wiped the blade clean and then offered the dagger back to Logan.

“Very good.” Logan secured the knife. “Now, toss down the rest of your weapons. Including Ansel’s blade tucked away inside his boot.”

“Bastard,” Ansel growled as Dixon removed his blade and tossed it to the ground, followed by his own knife.

Logan ignored him and stepped forward to kick the weapons farther away from the men. “Cleo, gather those up.”

She quickly obliged, collecting the two knives in her hands. Rising again, she watched the drama unfolding in front of her, marveling that Logan had thrown a knife into her attacker across goodness knows how far a distance. She tried to imagine Thrumgoodie defending her in such a manner and nearly snorted at the implausible image. She quickly chased the thought away. She didn’t have Thrumgoodie in her life anymore, so there was no point comparing him to Logan. Or pondering his inability to protect her. That’s not why she’d wanted to marry him in the first place.

And yet a man capable of protecting her wouldn’t be remiss. She had never considered that benefit to having a strong, virile man in her life. Perhaps he could give her stepfather the thrashing he deserved. Of course he had to care enough about her to do that, and nothing indicated Logan’s feelings for her ran that deeply.

Her gaze devoured the sight of Logan standing with his legs braced, looking so powerful, so strong, in the middle of the road. She filled her lungs with an exhilarated breath. It was a heady sight.

“We’ll be keeping these,” Logan announced, waving the confiscated pistol and motioning to Cleo with his other hand, indicating the knives she held.

“What are you going to do to us?” Ansel gasped.

“What should I do?” Logan straightened his arm, aiming directly for the man’s face. “What would you do?” Tension radiated from every inch of him.

Cleo reached out and rested a hand on Logan’s arm, squeezing the tightly corded muscle there gently, hoping to ease him. She whispered his name, drawing his attention. Logan’s gaze slid to her and the barely leashed anger there shook something deep inside her. “Don’t.”

Saving the life of the man who’d been ready and willing to end her life didn’t matter. Logan, however, mattered. She didn’t want him to dirty his hands this night. Not for her.

With the barest nod, Logan looked back at the unsavory pair on the ground. “Count yourself lucky I don’t leave you in pieces all over this road as you threatened to do to her.”

A shuddery breath spilled from her.

At those final words, his voice trembled slightly. From rage or emotion, she wasn’t certain, but he made his point.

With his face twisted in pain, Ansel muttered some bitter-sounding words of gratitude.

Dixon nodded anxiously, his stocky frame lifting Ansel with ease. “We’ll be going. Won’t bother you again, sir.”

Cleo watched as the pair disappeared into the trees.