Page 11 of Captured By the Werewolf Highwaymen

“Can’t do that,” Gideon answered. “If we move Hugh too soon, he’ll get worse. We have to stay put until tomorrow night.”

“Fuck,” Cyrus growled.

Clara flinched. It was one thing to hear the men use profanity in playful banter, but entirely unpleasant when the gang leader used it.

“Language.” Desmond’s gaze flicked to Clara.

Cyrus rolled his eyes. “We’re taking over her fucking house. She better get used to how we talk.”

“He won’t be healed enough to move by tomorrow night,” she ventured.

Cyrus snapped his fingers at her. “You. Mrs. Ballantine.”

She clenched her teeth at the way he’d sneered her name. “Yes?”

“Make sure he stays alive for the next four and twenty hours or else you won’t.”

“Don’t threaten her,” Desmond rumbled.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want. And I want to get some sleep after this dung heap of a night. I’m commandeering one of the bedchambers.” With that, Cyrus stalked off, Liam close at his heels.

Desmond and Gideon watched him go, both of them wearing troubled expressions.

Once his footsteps faded away, Clara sagged with an exhalation. “Is he…always like that?”

“He didn’t use to be,” Desmond said pensively. He glanced at her. “You look near ready to drop where you stand.”

“I’m alright.” Even as she spoke, her legs wobbled beneath her. Exhaustion pulsed through her in heavy waves.

“I’ll take first watch with Hugh,” Gideon volunteered. He grabbed a chair from where it stood against the wall and dragged it next to the bed, then dropped into it fluidly.

“Is there anything you need to get you through the night?” Clara asked. “Food? Drink?”

Gideon gave her a gentle smile. It was astonishing, how handsome these highwaymen were. Most likely, their female—and likely male—targets swooned at the prospect of being held up by such attractive thieves. The broadsheets would delight in publishing rousing, romantic ballads about them.

Well, except for Cyrus.

“My thanks for your concern,” Gideon said gently.

His deep gaze held Clara’s, and a shiver of awareness glided along her limbs and settled warmly in her belly.

“Of course,” she said, breathless.

“However,” Gideon said, “I’ve no appetite at the moment, and Hugh’s drunk enough for both of us.”

He nodded toward the slumbering Scotsman, who was more passed out than asleep.

“Just the same,” she pressed, “if you require anything to eat, you’re welcome to the larder. No need to ask for permission.”

“Don’t I get the same offer?” Desmond asked with mock-affront.

“First watch always gets special consideration,” she answered.

Desmond sighed, then used the flame of the candle to light another taper. He came around the bed to stand beside Clara. He placed his free hand on her elbow, and she started at his touch.

“Come, Clara,” he said gently. “To bed.”

“With you?” She had no looking glass to prove it, but surely the color leeched from her face.