Page 61 of An Outlaw’s Desire

Thud.

It landed on the ground by her feet. The dagger, jostled from the pages, fell close by.

Pitt’s pulse sped up, even as his attention snapped back to Sherborne. Blythe wouldn’t have dropped the tome, risked damaging it, unless she had good reason. If only he knew her plan.

Sherborne chuckled. “I do admire the lady. She is as willful as Rosetta. Mayhap I should have tried to marry her instead.”

Pitt pushed his sword a fraction deeper into his lordship’s cloak. “I told you to yield.”

“I offered to spare Blythe. Once Galven has the tome, though, my offer runs out.”

Blythe held the guard’s angry gaze.

“Pick up the book, milady.”

“I cannot. Your sword is in the way.”

Galven’s gaze flickered, as though in acknowledgment she’d spoken the truth. Keeping the blade raised, he shoved his boot against the dagger and kicked it out of her reach.

“I will pick the tome up, then. Do not move. If you do, I will have to hurt you. Understand?”

Perfectly. “Aye.”

She stole a glance at Pitt. He and Sherborne were exchanging heated words. She could only hope that when she acted, Pitt would leap into action as well.

Drawing in slow breaths, she waited. The sword in front of her shifted to the right. She stood still, arms at her sides. Tension coiled inside her like an invisible spring.

Galven slowly crouched.

Wait.

Not yet.

Wait….

His hand closed on the tome. His gaze dropped to the cover for the barest moment.

Now!

She rammed her knee into his bandaged forehead.

He yelped. Toppled backward.

As Galven landed on his arse, Blythe snatched up the book. The guard’s sword clanked on the ground. When he scrambled to pick it up, she rushed forward. Swinging the tome sideways, she slammed it against his head. Groaning, looking dazed, he wavered. She hit him again with the tome, and he slumped sideways, eyes closed, against the wall.

Grabbing his sword—too heavy for her to wield—she dragged it out of his reach, along with the book. Then, she retrieved her dagger, drew the blade, and whirled to face Pitt and Sherborne, locked in a swordfight once again.

Clang.

“Go, Blythe!” Pitt bellowed.

What if he were wounded?

Clang.

“Blythe! Go.”

She didn’t want to. She could summon help, though, then come back—