“I can't let you take her.” Kiernan took a step left and forward.
“You want her dead?” the man demanded.
Kiernan angled his head slightly. “I don't think you want to kill her.”
“I’ve done many things I didn't want to do,” Robbie replied.
“That’s right, m’lord,” said Alan Hay. “We’ve done many a thing we didn't like. Don't think we won't do so again.”
“Aye,” Kiernan agreed, taking another step forward and to his left, “but I don’t think one of them was murder.”
The man’s hold on Phoebe tightened and she wondered if Kieran had miscalculated in assuming the man’s conscience was free of murder. Kiernan took another step forward, and Phoebe’s assailant shifted to the right.
“You aren’t like the duchess,” Kiernan said. “She is the one capable of hurting innocents, not you.” When the man made no reply, Kiernan went on. “It’s a hard line to walk, seeking justice against one so powerful.”
“Watch him, Robbie,” Alan called. “You have them right where we want them. Don't be taken in by his soft manner.”
“We haven’t a prayer in heaven,” the man said as if he hadn’t heard Alan.
“Aye,” Kiernan agreed. “You haven’t a prayer of committing murder. But justice is another matter.”
Robbie laughed bitterly. Alan opened his mouth to say more, but Mather shoved the barrel of his pistol against the man’s temple. Robbie retreated a step. Alan looked at him, and Phoebe read the message conveyed in his eyes: take no prisoners. She shifted her gaze to Kiernan and sent him her own message: be ready. Surprise flickered across his face and his eyes narrowed in a command to remain still, but she jammed her elbow into the ribs of her captor and shoved the gun barrel pressed against her neck heavenward.
No shot rang out as she broke free. Kiernan leapt forward. He caught her, pushed her aside, and lunged for Robbie. Kiernan rammed his fist into Robbie’s jaw. Robbie staggered back, arms flung out to his sides like a rag doll. Kiernan drove his left fist into the man’s abdomen. He doubled over and the gun jettisoned forward. Kiernan swung again and hit beneath Robbie’s jaw.
Phoebe leapt to her feet. “Stop him!” she yelled.
No one moved and she realized they had no intention of interfering. Kiernan grabbed Robbie by the collar and dragged him to his knees. Phoebe stumbled forward, latching onto Kiernan’s arm as it reared back for another blow. The force of his strength dragged her forward and she dangled at his side before his muscle relaxed enough that her feet touched the straw laden floor. He looked at her as if trying to recognize her.
“You'll kill him,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he answered just as quietly.
“But the pistol wasn't loaded.”
Doubt crossed Kiernan’s features.
“He intended no harm,” she said.
Kiernan’s fingers slowly unclenched as he lowered his arm and looked at Robbie. Utter silence reigned in the stable until Kiernan turned to Phoebe and said, “A simple request, Heddy. Stay in the stall.”
“I didn't leave it.” She released his arm.
His lips pursed and he gave a grim shake of his head. “You're splitting hairs.” His gaze abruptly shifted onto the men, “Mather,” he called. “Tie them up.” Then he swung her into his arms.
Phoebe cried out and threw her arms around his neck. Kiernan strode through the stall door and lifted her over the Dutch door through which they had entered and set her down. He vaulted over the door, then grasped her arm and pulled her toward the kitchen door of the inn. Once inside, he paused to open a drawer and rifled through it until he produced a wad of twine.
Phoebe’s pulse jumped. “What are you doing?”
Kiernan again swept her off her feet and stalked from the kitchen.
"Put me down," she ordered, but he didn't slow his march down the hallway. Phoebe thrashed, but his hold tightened so that she felt as if bands of steel crushed her against stone—stone that smelled of sandalwood and man, and radiated a warmth that brought a rush of heat to her stomach. "Sir," she managed, but only the powerful thump of his heart answered as he took the stairs two at a time.
At her room, he threw open the door, crossed to the bed, and tossed her onto the mattress. She bounced and tried to gain her balance, but Kiernan grabbed her hands. He hesitated, and relief shot through her at the thought he had come to his senses. But he released one hand and snatched a napkin from the nightstand, then wrapped it around her wrists in one quick motion.
“You can't be serious!” she cried, but his gaze remained fixed on winding the twine around her napkin-protected wrists.
Phoebe jerked her hands, but Kiernan yanked the knot closed too quickly.
“That hurts,” she cried.
He made another knot and yanked harder.