control. She whirled right into Jack's arms. They collided with great speed, tumbling head over heels into a pile of hay. Marcie let out a scream of delight.
It was then Cole Coachman came charging into the stable. A fire-breathing devil he appeared. He took one look at Marcie lying in a heap in the hay, and immediately charged toward Jack.
"Unhand her, you scoundrel!" bellowed Cole Coachman.
Marcie sat up on her elbows, blowing a red curl from her eyes. "Cole, no!" she cried, realizing his intent. "Jack did me no harm! He—"
But she was too late.
Cole Coachman yanked Jack to his feet, then, just as quickly, delivered a clean punch to the man's whiskered jaw.
Jack fell back, out cold.
Chapter 8
Cole certainly hadn't intended to resort to fisticuffs, but good breeding and common sense fell to the wayside the minute he'd found Marcie being mauled in the hay by some thieving highwayman.
Seeing her caught beneath the man's bulk, her hair in wild confusion and her skirts hitched up and showing a shocking amount of trim ankle caused Cole's blood to boil, and his indignation to mount to terrifying heights. How dare anyone lay a hand on his Mistress Mischief?
"Get to your feet and face me man to man!" Cole said in a murderous tone. "I am far from finished with teaching you a lesson you'll not soon forget."
A horrid hush filled the stable as the highwayman failed to move. Indeed, every person present stood stock-still, scarcely breathing and waiting to see what would transpire.
Everyone but Marcie.
"Save your breath, you odious coachman!" Marcie snapped at Cole. "My friend isn't about to be standing up to you anytime soon, nor anyone else for that matter. You've knocked him senseless, you have, and for naught!"
Cole gaped at the too lovely Miss Marcie. "For naught?" he sputtered. "For naught?"
"That is exactly what I said. Have you lost your hearing as well as your good sense?"
Thunderstruck, Cole watched as Marcie unwrapped a much-worn scarf from about her neck, a scarf she'd somehow obtained since Cole had last seen her, then cradled Jack's head upon it. She gently patted the man's weathered cheek, trying to rouse him with both her soft touch and a few whispered words.
A small-framed youth broke free of the circle of bystanders behind Cole. He scurried past Cole with frightened haste, then kneeled beside Miss Marcie.
"He dead?" the boy asked.
"I should hope not," said Marcie, shooting an angry scowl in the general direction of Cole.
Cole watched in dismay as the others soon crowded round the lovely miss and her fallen highwayman. One by one they crouched down beside the two, all of them holding vigil over the threadbare thief.
Cole felt very much the villain. And to think, not a minute ago, he'd come raging into the stable, imagining himself to be the white knight rushing to his damsel's rescue. This damsel obviously needed no rescue. It was on the tip of Cole's tongue to utter an apology of sorts, but Jack took that moment to come round.
"What hit me?" he muttered.
Cole felt the weight of too many eyes upon him. For the very first time in his life, he wished the earth would open up and swallow him into its dark, dank depths.
Miss Marcie turned her attention back to the highwayman. "I fear it was our own Cole Coachman. He did not break your jaw, did he, my friend?"
The highwayman had the good humor to smile. "Naw. My jaw is as sturdy as a tree trunk, mistress."
Cole heard her sigh of relief, a sound which managed to cause him much discomfort. So she'd come to care for the highwayman, had she? Was now addressing him as "my friend," was she? Now how the devil had that come about? Cole felt an unexpected prick of pain pierce the nether regions of his hard heart.
"Perhaps we should summon a physician," said one of the men crouched about Jack.
The highwayman shook his head, winced, then replied, "No need... that is, if Cole Coachman isn't set on making mincemeat of me."
Again, too many
It was then Cole Coachman came charging into the stable. A fire-breathing devil he appeared. He took one look at Marcie lying in a heap in the hay, and immediately charged toward Jack.
"Unhand her, you scoundrel!" bellowed Cole Coachman.
Marcie sat up on her elbows, blowing a red curl from her eyes. "Cole, no!" she cried, realizing his intent. "Jack did me no harm! He—"
But she was too late.
Cole Coachman yanked Jack to his feet, then, just as quickly, delivered a clean punch to the man's whiskered jaw.
Jack fell back, out cold.
Chapter 8
Cole certainly hadn't intended to resort to fisticuffs, but good breeding and common sense fell to the wayside the minute he'd found Marcie being mauled in the hay by some thieving highwayman.
Seeing her caught beneath the man's bulk, her hair in wild confusion and her skirts hitched up and showing a shocking amount of trim ankle caused Cole's blood to boil, and his indignation to mount to terrifying heights. How dare anyone lay a hand on his Mistress Mischief?
"Get to your feet and face me man to man!" Cole said in a murderous tone. "I am far from finished with teaching you a lesson you'll not soon forget."
A horrid hush filled the stable as the highwayman failed to move. Indeed, every person present stood stock-still, scarcely breathing and waiting to see what would transpire.
Everyone but Marcie.
"Save your breath, you odious coachman!" Marcie snapped at Cole. "My friend isn't about to be standing up to you anytime soon, nor anyone else for that matter. You've knocked him senseless, you have, and for naught!"
Cole gaped at the too lovely Miss Marcie. "For naught?" he sputtered. "For naught?"
"That is exactly what I said. Have you lost your hearing as well as your good sense?"
Thunderstruck, Cole watched as Marcie unwrapped a much-worn scarf from about her neck, a scarf she'd somehow obtained since Cole had last seen her, then cradled Jack's head upon it. She gently patted the man's weathered cheek, trying to rouse him with both her soft touch and a few whispered words.
A small-framed youth broke free of the circle of bystanders behind Cole. He scurried past Cole with frightened haste, then kneeled beside Miss Marcie.
"He dead?" the boy asked.
"I should hope not," said Marcie, shooting an angry scowl in the general direction of Cole.
Cole watched in dismay as the others soon crowded round the lovely miss and her fallen highwayman. One by one they crouched down beside the two, all of them holding vigil over the threadbare thief.
Cole felt very much the villain. And to think, not a minute ago, he'd come raging into the stable, imagining himself to be the white knight rushing to his damsel's rescue. This damsel obviously needed no rescue. It was on the tip of Cole's tongue to utter an apology of sorts, but Jack took that moment to come round.
"What hit me?" he muttered.
Cole felt the weight of too many eyes upon him. For the very first time in his life, he wished the earth would open up and swallow him into its dark, dank depths.
Miss Marcie turned her attention back to the highwayman. "I fear it was our own Cole Coachman. He did not break your jaw, did he, my friend?"
The highwayman had the good humor to smile. "Naw. My jaw is as sturdy as a tree trunk, mistress."
Cole heard her sigh of relief, a sound which managed to cause him much discomfort. So she'd come to care for the highwayman, had she? Was now addressing him as "my friend," was she? Now how the devil had that come about? Cole felt an unexpected prick of pain pierce the nether regions of his hard heart.
"Perhaps we should summon a physician," said one of the men crouched about Jack.
The highwayman shook his head, winced, then replied, "No need... that is, if Cole Coachman isn't set on making mincemeat of me."
Again, too many
Similar Books
