Duncan Blake froze in place when a sword touched his throat.

“Wait! This isn’t what it looks like,” he stammered.

“Oh?”

The woman’s reply held a little curiosity. But Duncan could tell from her voice she didn’t believe a word he had said.

Duncan’s eyes cut to the right at the obaho man he had run through with his rapier. Shifting his grip, he managed a better hold on the dead man’s collar. Strain temporarily eased from Duncan’s arm allowing him to keep the weight of the dead man from running Duncan into the sword at his throat.

Lifeless eyes in the wolf-like face of the dead man stared at Duncan accusingly. Duncan looked away, down to the sword at his neck. He shuddered then frowned.

There were four bodies on the ground. This one Duncan held up made five. He only remembered five freebooters raiding the pyreshaw carriage when he charged in to stop them. Also, he only recalled dispatching two of them.

Remembering his lessons that a clear minds made better choices than ones in a babbling panic, he blinked then took a slow, steadying breath. Maybe this person just got the wrong idea about what happened? They could have been inside the pyreshaw, which meant they couldn’t have seen everything going on outside. Duncan cleared his throat. It was time to try negotiation.