Page 48 of An Outlaw’s Desire

“Milady. You know the prisoner?”

“I do.” Her grip on the tome tightened. She did not want either man to be hurt, but especially Pitt. “He is my friend.”

“Friend?”

In truth, far more.

“Run upstairs, milady!” the widower commanded. “Sound the alarm.”

She shook her head. She could not betray Pitt.

“He’s an intruder.”

A hard smile curved Pitt’s mouth as his hands flexed on the weapon.

“Blythe!” Harlow cried.

Pitt lunged.

The widower blocked the strike but staggered back a step. Teeth bared in a snarl, Pitt struck again and again.

Clang. Clang.

The ring of colliding steel echoed in the dungeon.

Hardly daring to breathe, she watched the men fight. They seemed to be well matched. How desperately she feared for Pitt.

With a growl, he pivoted, forcing the widower to move sideways…toward the table. His gaze fixed on Pitt, Harlow stepped back, onto the fallen garments. He wobbled. His free hand flailing, he tried to grab the table and stop his fall.

Pitt slammed his foot into the guard’s chest.

The widower landed on the floor, not far from his colleague. He’d fallen on his right arm. When he tried to push up on his elbow, his face whitened with agony.

Pitt stood over Harlow, the tip of his sword pointed at the older man’s throat. He kicked the man-at-arms’ fallen blade away. It skidded across the flagstones and stopped near chains bolted into the wall.

“The keys to my manacles,” Pitt growled. “I want them.”

Harlow glowered then sucked in a breath.

He was going to shout for help.

Purely on instinct, Blythe rushed forward. She raised the book and slammed it down on Harlow’s head. Eyes closing, he collapsed on the floor.

Pitt whistled. “Crikey.”

Blythe grinned. “A book’s a dangerous thing in a woman’s hands.”

“In your hands, aye.”

She giggled, exhilarated. Never had she imagined she’d render a guard unconscious. Yet, misgiving warned her she was now without any doubt complicit in Pitt’s escape.

Matters to dwell upon later, once he was safely away from the fortress.

Spying the key ring protruding from under the widower’s left thigh, she retrieved the ring and held it up by one finger.

“Free me,” Pitt muttered. “Hurry.”

“I will, if you promise no further harm to these guards—or any others.”