Page 23 of Captured By the Werewolf Highwaymen

There was a price for this, and he hovered in the doorway.

Cyrus watched Clara tending Hugh, a scowl creasing his face. The leader of the highwaymen would have also been considered handsome, fair and lean as he was, except he never regarded her with anything but barely veiled hostility, and violence glinted in his cool blue eyes.

Behind him, as always, was Liam. He ran one of his massive hands over his gleaming, smooth head, looking warily back and forth between Cyrus and Clara.

Navigating this treacherous sea strained all of her capabilities. After giving Hugh what she hoped looked like a reassuring smile, she edged around Cyrus and Liam, but not before grabbing her book. Desmond was quick to follow her, as was Gideon.

Cyrus jerked his head at Liam, who went into the Blue Bedchamber. Once Liam was inside, Cyrus closed the door to the bedroom. He, Desmond, Gideon, and Clara all stood in the hallway.

The blond man glowered at her. “How does Hugh fare?”

“There’s a small infection, and a touch of fever.” It astonished her that her voice only shook a little when she spoke directly to him. She added quickly, “I can treat both, however.”

Cyrus made a disgusted noise. “Bloody Scot is more trouble than he’s worth. Getting shot like a damned dolt.”

“If there’s a fault in any of this,” Desmond said curtly, “it’s yours. We never fire our pistols unless fired upon. But you broke with standard procedure.”

Clara’s brows climbed. They didn’t fire their weapons unless someone shot at them first? She had no idea what sort of highwaymen they were.

“Not my responsibility,” Cyrus fired back, “if Hugh can’t adapt with changing circumstance.”

“Circumstance you caused,” Desmond replied, cold. “There’s a coachman dead at your hands.”

“Which is why we need to move on from here,” Cyrus said. “We should go. Today.”

“Hugh can’t be transported,” Clara said, then shrank when Cyrus glared at her.

“Hugh stays behind,” the blond man snapped.

“Abandon him?” Gideon’s eyes widened.

“He’s slowing us down,” Cyrus clipped, “and we could get pinched.”

“Absolutely not.” Desmond’s words were definitive. “Hugh is pack, and pack stays together.”

Clara frowned. What an odd word to use—pack.

“He’ll hold out until tonight,” Gideon insisted.

Clara shook her head. One night wouldn’t heal Hugh, but they kept insisting he only needed to get through the next twelve hours.

With another sound of disgust, Cyrus stalked away. He went into one of the bedchambers and slammed the door behind him.

“Do you think Hugh heard?” Gideon murmured to Desmond.

“I can’t see how he wouldn’t.” Desmond shook his head. “Cyrus was never much for discretion.”

They stood in awkward silence. Their leader’s belligerent temperament was a live fuse on the verge of detonating.

“I need to go to the glasshouse,” Clara said in the quiet.

“Hardly seems the time to arrange flowers,” Desmond noted.

“I grow medicinal plants,” she replied tartly. “They’ll help Hugh’s recovery.”

She walked briskly along the corridor, then down the stairs. Both Desmond and Gideon trailed after her, which wasn’t a surprise. Privacy for her ended in the middle of last night, when they’d appeared at her door and demanded entry. Everything she’d carefully constructed for herself no longer existed, but, hopefully soon, her life would return to normal.

Her steps didn’t slow. Yet, she didn’t know if she wanted her life to return to the way it was.