fired in unison.
What about Chloe?
The burn of smoke and bitterest guilt throbbed in her lungs. If anything happened to her maid, how could she forgive herself?
Rarely had she felt confidence in Miles. Maybe not ever. At that moment, however—unable to do anything else—she put her faith in her husband.
Please, Miles. Save her too.
As if hearing that silent plea, Miles handed his rifle to Adam. Bent low, he skittered through the fighting and returned to the carriage. Frenzied flames ate through canvas and leather and wood. Opaque smoke billowed heavenward. A raider without a horse charged behind him.
“Miles!”
But her warning went unheeded. The raider launched onto Miles’s back. A wickedly curved knife flashed in the sunlight. Viv’s heart lurched. She sank into the dirt, all strength gone from her trembling thighs.
Menacingly huge but wearing a placid expression, Mr.Kato grabbed the raider with the ease of a mother lifting a newborn. He handled the man with no such care, flinging him against the carriage where he landed in a dusty heap.
Miles was safe. For now.
He reached the carriage door just as Chloe tumbled out. She hit the dirt on all fours, covered in soot and ash. Sparks and debris from the coach rained down and ignited Chloe’s dress. Miles simply swatted the flames, then rolled her onto her back. Mr. Kato stood nearby with a wide stance, his fists at the ready. Adam and the blond tradesman joined him as Miles gathered Chloe in his arms. The trio covered his retreat toward the safety of the boulder.
Viv couldn’t breathe as they crossed the field of battle, just willing them to be safe. Her tongue tasted sour, like unripe plums. But her gaze alit on a sight that exchanged fear for vitalizing anger. Haverstock, that fawning toad, cowered beneath the luggage wagon. Had he really been so spineless as to abandon the coach before a woman? Was that what constituted civilization in Cape Colony?
Not for every man, because Miles arrived at last. Breathing hard, eyes wild, he handed Chloe into Viv’s awestruck keeping.
“Stay low,” he said simply. “I’ll come back for you both.” The raider must have made use of that curved knife, because blood trickled from a gash on Miles’ss collarbone.
She smoothed hair back from her maid’s black-streaked face, but Viv couldn’t look away from her husband’s injury. “You’re hurt.”
“When I’m done pretending to be a soldier, you can pretend to be my nurse.” He turned back toward his peculiar little army. “Capital work, men. Now we end this!”
Viv stretched, arching her back as far as her corset and stiff muscles would permit. She smelled of smoke, sweat, and the primal perfume of a hard, hot wind. Two other women sat with her in the lengthening shadows behind the way station. Each tended to patients injured in the skirmish. Coated in dust and soot and muted expressions of shock, the women appeared unnaturally identical. Viv assumed she would look little different.
Chloe lay curled on her side against the corrugated iron wall, head in Viv’s lap. Disheveled brown hair lay against her ashen cheek. A good, sweet girl, she deserved a life among people who cared for her, protected by a system of rules that meant never needing to dive from a burning stage in the midst of a gun battle.
Whatever morbid thrill Viv had experienced in surviving their ordeal was gone. Only lethargy remained. Her whole body felt sloppy, reeling in this quiet moment after a storm of violence. One coach was burnt and another lay tipped on its side, its axle cracked in two. Fatigued resignation slackened the survivors’ faces as they slogged through appointed tasks.
Exhausted, she watched Miles help redistribute luggage and passengers to the four remaining vehicles. His ragged shirt was a mess of dirt and blood, open at the neck, sleeves jerked up to his elbows. Sweat gleamed on his tanned skin. Ifshe stood closer, would she see little rivulets dripping down the
What about Chloe?
The burn of smoke and bitterest guilt throbbed in her lungs. If anything happened to her maid, how could she forgive herself?
Rarely had she felt confidence in Miles. Maybe not ever. At that moment, however—unable to do anything else—she put her faith in her husband.
Please, Miles. Save her too.
As if hearing that silent plea, Miles handed his rifle to Adam. Bent low, he skittered through the fighting and returned to the carriage. Frenzied flames ate through canvas and leather and wood. Opaque smoke billowed heavenward. A raider without a horse charged behind him.
“Miles!”
But her warning went unheeded. The raider launched onto Miles’s back. A wickedly curved knife flashed in the sunlight. Viv’s heart lurched. She sank into the dirt, all strength gone from her trembling thighs.
Menacingly huge but wearing a placid expression, Mr.Kato grabbed the raider with the ease of a mother lifting a newborn. He handled the man with no such care, flinging him against the carriage where he landed in a dusty heap.
Miles was safe. For now.
He reached the carriage door just as Chloe tumbled out. She hit the dirt on all fours, covered in soot and ash. Sparks and debris from the coach rained down and ignited Chloe’s dress. Miles simply swatted the flames, then rolled her onto her back. Mr. Kato stood nearby with a wide stance, his fists at the ready. Adam and the blond tradesman joined him as Miles gathered Chloe in his arms. The trio covered his retreat toward the safety of the boulder.
Viv couldn’t breathe as they crossed the field of battle, just willing them to be safe. Her tongue tasted sour, like unripe plums. But her gaze alit on a sight that exchanged fear for vitalizing anger. Haverstock, that fawning toad, cowered beneath the luggage wagon. Had he really been so spineless as to abandon the coach before a woman? Was that what constituted civilization in Cape Colony?
Not for every man, because Miles arrived at last. Breathing hard, eyes wild, he handed Chloe into Viv’s awestruck keeping.
“Stay low,” he said simply. “I’ll come back for you both.” The raider must have made use of that curved knife, because blood trickled from a gash on Miles’ss collarbone.
She smoothed hair back from her maid’s black-streaked face, but Viv couldn’t look away from her husband’s injury. “You’re hurt.”
“When I’m done pretending to be a soldier, you can pretend to be my nurse.” He turned back toward his peculiar little army. “Capital work, men. Now we end this!”
Viv stretched, arching her back as far as her corset and stiff muscles would permit. She smelled of smoke, sweat, and the primal perfume of a hard, hot wind. Two other women sat with her in the lengthening shadows behind the way station. Each tended to patients injured in the skirmish. Coated in dust and soot and muted expressions of shock, the women appeared unnaturally identical. Viv assumed she would look little different.
Chloe lay curled on her side against the corrugated iron wall, head in Viv’s lap. Disheveled brown hair lay against her ashen cheek. A good, sweet girl, she deserved a life among people who cared for her, protected by a system of rules that meant never needing to dive from a burning stage in the midst of a gun battle.
Whatever morbid thrill Viv had experienced in surviving their ordeal was gone. Only lethargy remained. Her whole body felt sloppy, reeling in this quiet moment after a storm of violence. One coach was burnt and another lay tipped on its side, its axle cracked in two. Fatigued resignation slackened the survivors’ faces as they slogged through appointed tasks.
Exhausted, she watched Miles help redistribute luggage and passengers to the four remaining vehicles. His ragged shirt was a mess of dirt and blood, open at the neck, sleeves jerked up to his elbows. Sweat gleamed on his tanned skin. Ifshe stood closer, would she see little rivulets dripping down the
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