Bradford let out a groan and grabbed Caroline by her hips. "I take it you weren't hurt," he remarked with a grimace that alarmed Caroline. She reached up and brushed her hand against the side of his head.
"Are you all right?" she asked. The fear sounded in her voice, and Bradford realized she was more frightened by his possible injury than what had just happened.
He had to brush her hair out of her face in order to see her. "If you don't remove your knee, I'll soon be a eunuch," he told her in a whisper.
Milford heard the comment and let out a chuckle. Caroline blushed and then groaned again, when Mil-ford's boot whacked her.
Milford apologized while he got the door opened and then climbed out. Bradford protected Caroline's head from Milford's boots as his friend swung up and through the door. He then lifted Caroline and Milford pulled her through the opening.
The carriage was on its side and Caroline circled it to look at the destruction as Bradford climbed out.
One look around told Bradford that they were in the heart of London's lower side. A crowd was already gathered, but they were all gawking at Caroline instead of the carriage. Bradford muttered something under his breath to Milford and then walked around the side of the vehicle and pulled Caroline next to him.
Caroline noticed then that both Milford and Bradford still held their weapons. It dawned on her that the danger hadn't passed quite yet.
Bradford saw the sign to a rather infamous looking tavern halfway down the street and said to Milford, "Take Caroline inside while I find someone willing to go for assistance."
Milford nodded, and Caroline was suddenly dragged next to him and pulled along. She glanced back at Bradford and was about to call a word of caution but changed her mind. She didn't want any of the seedy-looking people staring at them to know she might be concerned over safety. That just might put ideas in their heads.
"The Mischief Maker," Caroline announced when she read the sign hanging lopsided over the door to the tavern. "What an odd name. Are we to go inside and make mischief then?" she asked Milford. Her voice was shaky and her legs had started trembling, and she knew she was finally reacting to the accident.
Milford proved to be a calming influence. He smiled, gave her shoulder a hearty squeeze, and then saw the door opened for them.
"Lady Caroline," Milford said in a very formal voice, "I am about to introduce you to the art of slumming. Are you eager for your first lesson?" he asked, grinning that rascal's grin Caroline had grown quite fond of.
"Immensely," Caroline answered, smiling in return. She walked inside the smoke-filled room and felt at once out of place. Her fine gown and fur-lined cape provided a severe contrast to the gray and brown peasant garb the occupants wore.
The room was only half filled and Caroline estimated that no better than fifteen patrons were staring at her. Milford nudged her forward until they were standing at the far end of the bar's railing. She realized his intent then. He eased her into the corner so that her back was protected, and then took his place standing in front of her.
The owner of the disreputable establishment finally finished with his leering and requested their order. Milford told the man that two brandies would do for now, and since he was in such a jovial mood, he would like everyone to have a drink on him.
The silence before Milford's statement that he would buy a round of drinks had been unnerving. A shout of acceptance went up and yells for ale and whiskey echoed around Caroline.
"That was a clever move on your part, Milford," Caroline praised. "You have made possible enemies friends in the space of bare minutes. You are to be congratulated." Caroline was forced to give her compliment to Milford's shoulder, as he refused to turn and look at her. He had put his pistol away but his stance suggested that he was still quite ready to do battle.
"I'm almost sorry for it," Milford admitted with a chuckle in his voice. "Lord, it's been years since I've been in a good brawl."
Caroline smiled but the smile vanished when the door to the tavern was thrown open and a motley group of four evil-looking men barged inside. "You may still get your wish," Caroline whispered as she observed the men staring at her.
A hush descended as one of the men, a tall man with a huge belly who looked as if he hadn't bathed in a decade, slowly began to advance in their direction.
"Let's have a look at the lovely you've got hidden," the man demanded. He reached out to push Milford aside as soon as he had made his statement, but Milford proved unpushable.
"Stay right here," Milford told Caroline with a sigh of resignation. And then he was in the thick of it. Milford's fist connected with the foul man's jaw and he went reeling backward. The man's friends immediately entered the fight.
Caroline watched, horrified, as she ducked flying glass and bodies. The odds were terribly uneven, and she had the real worry that Milford would be injured.
The owner of the tavern decided to grasp his opportunity and reached out. He pulled on Caroline's hair, trying to drag her around the corner of the bar toward him. She yelled and immediately wished she hadn't, for her voice interrupted Milford. He turned to look at her, leaving himself quite vulnerable.
"Watch what you're doing!" Caroline yelled as she picked up a full bottle of whiskey from the bar and whacked the tavern owner. The odious creature went down with a crash, and Caroline hurried to move behind the bar. She decided that Milford needed a little help and began to throw bottles at the men trying to best him.
Her aim wasn't terribly accurate, and one man made it all the way to the bar and half over before she could hit him hard enough to stop his advance. He collapsed with a loud moan, draped over the rail.
Several of the other patrons had entered into the battle and Caroline wasn't sure just who was on whose side. All the bottles were gone from the ledge behind her and Caroline had to look below for more ammunition. She shoved the cashbox out of her way and found a new arsenal. The owner must have had to deal with trouble in the past, for there were several long, curved knives, two loaded pistols, and a club that was entirely too heavy to lift, let alone swing.
Caroline chose the pistols. She placed one on the bar and held the other in her hand. The odds had just turned in Milford's favor, she decided, though from the way he was trying to take on three men all at once, Caroline didn't think he realized it.
The glint of steel caught Caroline's attention. A man standing in the far corner lifted his arm and was about to throw a knife at Milford's back. Caroline immediately fired. The knife dropped and the man screamed his outrage.
The fighting stopped and everyone, including Mil-ford, turned to look at the man clutching his hand.
And then everyone turned to stare at Caroline and she felt that she should offer some sort of explanation. "Knives are not allowed in this brawl," she announced in a prim, dignified voice. Her intent was clear. She picked up the second pistol and looked at Milford. "Well?" she asked when he continued to gape at her. "Are you going to get on with it or shall we leave?"
Milford let out a growl, grabbed two men by their necks, and slammed their heads together. They both went down just as another lunged forward. And all the while, Caroline waited patiently for it to be over.
It happened sooner than she had expected. The door to the tavern pounded against the wall, tearing from its hinges. The sound might not have been sufficient distraction to the fight in progress, but the roar coming from the man looming in the doorway certainly was.
Bradford looked ready to kill. Caroline was thankful that he was on their side. "You took your sweet time!" Milford yelled between punches.