The bandits shouted for them to come out. Thomas reached beneath his seat and withdrew a polished rosewood box. When he opened it, Sophia quickly clamped her undamaged hand over her mouth lest she loose the cry of denial hovering there. Two dueling pistols lay in the velvet-lined interior. She opened her eyes wide and shook her head despite the knot throbbing at the back of it.
He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Do not be afraid, my love."
She glimpsed the gentle man she first met. The one she chose to love. The one she chose to marry. Then he was gone. Replaced once more by the cynical drunkard she was desperately trying not to loathe.
"I am not completely useless, despite what you think."
Tucking the pistols into the deep pockets of his coat, Thomas opened the carriage door and slipped out into the early-evening air. Sophia slid the curtain open a sliver. Her husband introduced himself with his full title, probably in the hopes of intimidating the men with sheer status alone. The darkness about the periphery of her vision cleared. Two men in filthy kilts stood within her view. Their casual stance, confident and full of ease, twisted her stomach. Their laughter in response to her husband carried an ugly edge and only served to deepen her unease. The smaller man gripped a knife, the blade held upward, hidden by his arm. The larger held a dull black pistol much like Thomas's in appearance. Her nose crinkled; a soft breeze carried the scent of unwashed bodies.
A flash of movement caught her eye. Another man in the trees. There was something about him, something so tantalizingly familiar she tweaked the curtain open farther. He turned away and disappeared into the underbrush, but there was something about his bearing that prodded at her memory. A flash of brightly colored dresses and well-dressed men danced through her mind's eye—her brother, Devlin, and his wife, Cilia, arm in arm, hurrying across a ballroom, their faces pale and their expressions serious. Tears burned her eyes; she missed her family terribly. Two years. Devlin and Cilia's twins would be so big now. Her husband's voice drifted to her from somewhere beyond the small slice she could see. She shook her head to banish the memory. She needed to focus.
"Where is my driver? I demand you release him at once so we may be on our way." His aristocratic tones wavered when his demand brought forth a fresh spate of laughter.
"Yer mon decided tae fight back." The large black-haired bandit grinned and nodded toward a spot on the far side of the carriage. "Ma guid friend, Ewart, cut the fight oot o' his belly for him." His bearded companion brought out the blood-coated knife he had partially hidden and laughed as he waggled it in Thomas's direction.
His brogue had thickened, but Sophia was certain the dark-haired man was the one who shouted for them to stop earlier. Her heart ached at the thought of what the brigands had done to their poor driver. Though even the idea of drawing life energy from either one of these men was repugnant, she felt she had no choice but to try. Given the chance, they would kill her and Thomas. She stretched out her senses until she could feel the pulsing tingle that always signaled when she reached the source of another's life force. It was the dark-haired highwayman she reached for first. His energy writhed beneath her touch, calling to mind the night crawlers her brother used to chase her with when they were young. She shivered and pressed on, for despite the blood on Ewart's knife, she felt certain the greater danger lay in the larger man.
Never before had she attempted to draw energy from two people. Her heart raced. What she was about to do was incredibly reckless. Her knuckles clenched until they were white. Thomas made more demands, which she thought was a sure way to bring forth the bandits' wrath. She closed her eyes as she tested the limits of her abilities, and reached for Ewart while holding tight to the larger man's energy. All of her thoughts were focused on maintaining control; her timing would be vital. As soon as she held both men's life forces securely, she opened her eyes and reached for the carriage handle. A shot split the air. She flung the door wide, searching for her husband.
"Thomas!"
She tightened her grip on the energy of the two men and leaped from the carriage to see Thomas fall gracelessly to the ground, clutching a heavily bleeding wound in his thigh. His usually impeccable appearance was disheveled; his hair hung down into his eyes, which were pinched with agony. Sweat already beaded and trailed down his face. A large dark patch expanded rapidly beneath him, despite his efforts to stop the flow. Sorrow convulsed her forward before a terrible rage rushed in to draw back her shoulders and firm her spine. Thomas was not supposed to die this way. He was supposed to change. He was supposed to become the man she married once more before the thin thread of love she held for him disappeared. They were on their way to his home in Scotland to make things right. She would not let him die.
"Not this way." Her voice cracked.
Sophia turned to the highwaymen. Framed by the lush beauty of the forest, the men's vile natures were more profoundly exposed in contrast. Both appeared stunned by her sudden appearance. Their surprise worked to her advantage as she drew on their combined life force to funnel into Thomas. She dismissed them from her mind when their knees began to buckle and turned her attention to her husband once more. Furious desperation sharpened her abilities. He would not die. Not when she needed him to live. They could fix everything, each mistake, every sharp word, if only he lived. After several frantic minutes, he looked up into her eyes. His features mercifully free of pain, he smiled.
"I do love you. Please forgive me, Sophia. I am so terribly sorry." His voice came out softly, filled with love and regret, and then he exhaled his last. With nowhere else to go, the energy she continued to draw filled her. The lump on her head disappeared along with all of the half-healed bruises and abrasions on her back and the ache in her wrist. She turned to face the men she was stealing life from. Both had fallen to their hands and knees, looking somehow shrunken, less than they had been only minutes before. A raw, primal scream rose up and roared out her throat.
