Legend Of The Highland Dragon by Isabel Cooper Page B

would be out by now!
    At the bottom of the staircase she turned left, trying to remember her first mad flight through this house—and she did seem to be running for her life every time she came this way. She’d have to have a word with someone about that.
    Another left, and then a right, and oh, there was that room again, down the hall ahead of her. She couldn’t see red light under the door this time. Maybe that was a good sign?
    “Knocking” was an inadequate description for what Mina did next. She banged on the door with all her strength, rattled the doorknob as the men upstairs had done, and finally lifted her voice to shout. “MacAlasdair!”
    Nothing.
    “ MacAlasdair! ”
    Had there been movement from within? She couldn’t tell. Were there footsteps in the hall behind her?
    “ Stephen! ”
    The door banged open. Stephen stood in the doorway, human, alert—and bare-chested. “Good God, Cerberus, what—”
    “Burglars. In your bedroom.” Mina spoke as quickly as she could, gasping for breath between the words. “I think Ward sent them.”
    A short Gaelic oath sprang from Stephen’s lips, and he turned his blazing eyes on her. “Are you all right?”
    “Fine. They never even saw me.”
    “Keep behind me, then,” he said and strode out into the hall.
    Mina followed, though not too closely. Two people were better than one only as long as she didn’t end up a hostage. She’d be close enough to help but not to be in danger. She was also close enough to see the play of muscles in Stephen’s back as he walked. She hadn’t intended that, but it helped her morale.
    Halfway up the stairs, they could hear loud, rhythmic thumping. When they reached the hall, Mina could see the door to Stephen’s bedroom shuddering under blows from the other side. The chair was still roughly where she’d left it, but the edge under the doorknob was beginning to slip.
    Stephen turned his head and flashed her a smile: wide and white, and probably terrifying to anyone who’d come up against him on a battlefield. Then, in one quick and noisy motion, he hurled the chair away from the doorknob, yanked the door open, and burst through.
    Caught in the process of striking the door, Fred and Bill stumbled back away. They recovered more quickly than Mina would have liked, finding their feet and realizing that they outnumbered the new arrival. After a quick glance, they rushed Stephen, one with a knife and one with a short club.
    Stephen moved like a dancing flame, ducking away from the knife and letting the club glance harmlessly off his hip. With an elbow to the face, he sent the man with the club down to the floor. Then he spun around, and his fist smashed into the knife-wielder’s jaw just as his booted foot took out the thug’s legs.
    It took maybe a minute. Mina wasn’t exactly a stranger to fights, having taken George home from the pub often enough before he’d left for the sea. Still, she was now left standing, opening and closing her mouth like a carp.
    Stephen straightened himself up and rubbed absently at his side. “There’s one that could bruise a bit, I’m thinking,” he said. “Not too shocked, are you?”
    “No!” Mina answered, pride putting force into the half-truth.
    “Good. We’ll be needing to tie these up,” said Stephen, “and ask them a few questions before we bring in the police. Best make it quick—and it’ll go quicker with the two of us.”

Twelve
    Once Stephen had a moment to look at the burglars without trying to hit one or the other, they proved to be unremarkable-looking enough. One was young enough to still be spotty; one was old enough to have lost most of his hair.
    Bound with several of Stephen’s cravats—Baldwin was going to have a few things to say about this entire evening—the younger burglar shifted nervously, to the extent that he could, and looked between Stephen and Mina. “What’re you gonna do now?”
    “That depends on you, I should think,” Mina said. Ice clinked