Chapter Fifty

CHAPTER FIFTY

An owl hooted in the velvety black night sky. The stars were out but the little light they provided barely filtered through the dense foliage of the forest. The scent of evergreen and leaves lingered in Daphne’s nose. She could barely hear over the sound of her own heartbeat. It throbbed in her ears, momentarily blocking out all other noise.

And then she heard them. Heavy footsteps thundering through the underbrush behind her. Thank heavens. She nearly sagged with relief. The sound surely heralded the return of her friends.

But how many and who?

What if only one of them had lived? What if Rafe was dead? What if the Frenchmen decided to call her bluff and run? Her breathing was fast and shallow. Her arm ached but she kept the heavy pistol trained on her enemies.

“Grey?” Rafe’s voice rang out.

She nearly sobbed with relief. Rafe was alive.

“I’m here,” she called.

Rafe’s footsteps changed direction and he came running. By the time he arrived she realized Grim and Salty were both with him. Thank heavens.

“Are you hurt?” she called.

“Salty’s been shot but he’s all right.”

Daphne took a deep breath. Her prayers had been answered. Thank God they were all alive. “I have something to show you.”

The footsteps halted as all three of her friends ran into the clearing. Their faces were black with soot. They stopped short when they saw Daphne and the Frenchmen. The Frenchmen stood by the small fire, their hands in the air. Salty and Grim immediately pointed their own pistols at them.

Daphne could see Rafe’s smile flash in the moonlight. “You caught them. All of them. You did it, Grey.”

“Yes,” she said with her own smile, tossing her head. “I did.”

Rafe leveled his pistol on the men. His nostrils flared and his eyes took on a hard, icy sheen. “By order of the King of England, you are all under arrest for the Earl of Swifdon’s murder.”