Poison or Protect by Gail Carriger

Author:Gail Carriger [Carriger, Gail]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Novela, Fantástico
Publisher: ePubLibre
Published: 2016-06-21T04:00:00+00:00

Preshea had kept to the duke’s right so that her sidesaddle pointed her whole body in his direction. Consequently, all she need do was push forward off her mount, grab onto as much of Snodgrove as she could, and drag him to the forest floor.

Which is what she did.

He bellowed at her in annoyance.

The shot reverberated through the air.

Preshea was pleased. She and Snodgrove were safe between their two horses while bullets whizzed overhead.

Until the duke’s horse bolted.

Her own mount, sweet-tempered and placid, rolled his eyes to the whites and shifted from hoof to hoof, but otherwise stayed still.

Preshea cast herself over the duke, shielding him with her body. Well, or some of him; he was a deal taller than she.

She heard Miss Pagril give a cry and shifted to see the girl’s horse bucking before taking off pell-mell. Miss Pagril stuck like dried porridge even as the beast leaped fallen trees in a wild gallop.

Lord Lionel gave a cry and took off after her, no doubt intent on effecting a rescue.

Gavin was off his mount, hand tight up the reins at the shaggy head. His horse must have seen action, for the gunshot had barely rattled him.

“Preshea!” Gavin cried.

“We’re fine. That rocky hill, there. A rifleman. Go!”

Sensible man, he took her word as truth and, dropping the reins, ran up the promontory. Or perhaps it was simply that a soldier found it easiest to obey orders? That impressive physique of his wasn’t for show, either. Once he got moving, he was fast!

“Are you injured, sir?” Preshea asked the duke, evaluating him for blood and finding none visible.

He attempted to sit up.

“No. Stay down for now.” She pressed a firm hand to his back.

“What are you about, woman?” He wasn’t hurt to be so grumpy. “What on earth is that?”

Preshea had out her pistol. Hadn’t even realized she’d drawn it. She kept it hidden away in a special pocket in one of her petticoats. It was a tad indelicate to get at and occasionally bruised her leg if she wasn’t paying attention when twirling, but she preferred not to go without.

No pretty pistol with gilt metalwork and mother-of-pearl handle for Preshea. She favored a six-shot revolver, no frills, no decoration. It was viciously practical, hard steel with a plain rosewood grip. Preshea was no expert markswoman and no gun fancier to care for looks. She wanted something light enough to carry and small enough to hide, which shot a bullet in the direction she aimed, and was easy to clean afterwards. She didn’t use it much; hers was not a directly confrontational lifestyle.

She held it now, comforted by its presence and pleased to see respect in the duke’s eyes.

“You do realize, Your Grace, that not everyone likes you?”

“Are you one of those people?”

“Don’t be absurd. Even if I were, hired gunmen are not my cup of tea.”

“Well said.”

There was a shout from Gavin and another shot, followed by some crashing, and then a howl of rage.

Preshea glared at the duke. “Get off the path, and for God’s sake, stay down.

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