Good God, how many were there?

There was a cry—Samuel, I think—and the door slammed open.

In hurtled Mulholland, gun raised, Pritchard close behind.

21

With startling speed, Mulholland took in the armed situation and stopped abruptly, aiming his pistol at Evan.

“Cover Kent,” he barked at Pritchard, who swung his gun toward the Runner.

“My lady, they have forced their way in,” Weatherly reported, coming to a halt just inside the door with Samuel at his back—blood upon his face—brandishing a vase from the hall table. “Two others downstairs.”

“Is anyone injured?” I was glad my voice did not waver.

“Samuel received a facer, my lady, but no other injury.”

“Keep back, then!” I eyed Samuel sternly. He clearly wanted to avenge himself, but Mulholland was capable of anything to capture his quarry. Or kill his quarry. The thought brought a swamping wave of terror. I drew a breath and forced it back. This was not the time to show fear; not in front of Mulholland.

Miss Grant had come to terms with the situation and backed up against the wall. Sensible. My sister still stood behind Mr. Kent. For the moment, it was a stand-off: Mr. Kent would not shoot because Julia stood behind him, Evan would not shoot because I stood beside him, and Mulholland would not shoot—I guessed—in case he shot me or Julia. Quite the hanging offense. Not to mention the fact that once a shot was made, there would be no time to prime another.

And so I asked, “Why have you forced your way into our home, Mr. Mulholland?”

Mulholland eyed me over the barrel of his pistol. “We’re not playing that game anymore, Lady Augusta.” He glanced at Mr. Kent. “I saw you were here. But this is my tap. Get on your horse.”

Kent kept his gun trained upon Mulholland. “No, this is my tap. I got here first.”

Tap? It must mean arrest. At least I hoped it meant arrest and not kill. Had Kent meant to arrest Evan all along?

Mulholland sighed. “Don’t make me throw you out, Kent. I’ve been given the word and you don’t want to be around for the end.”

“What do you mean?” Kent asked.

“He means he has been given the order to kill me, not arrest me,” Evan said, his voice and aim still steady.

“Who gave that order?” Kent demanded.

Mulholland sniffed. “Don’t matter. This is way beyond you.”

“Have you got a writ to that effect?” Kent asked.

“I don’t need a writ,” Mulholland said. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll cut out and leave me to it.”

“Michael?” Julia said.

“Stay behind me, Julia,” Mr. Kent said, the familiarity bringing a raised brow from Mulholland.

I did not like how much this man observed—too sharp by half.