The Final Storm

16. Long Live the Rebellion!

Before anyone could react, he grabbed Mr Ambrose by the shoulders and dragged him into a big, manly hug, which just so happened to push my husband's nose straight into the other man's armpit.

Oh. Dear me.

Quickly, I ducked out of sight behind Karim, just in case our new friend had more hugs in store. Plus, I did not want to be in line of sight of Mr Ambrose once he was free from the enthusiastic, manly embrace.

"Forgive my overeager friend," one of the two remaining men spoke up as he stepped forward with an awkward smile. "He can get a little, um...carried away now and then. We all lost a lot at the hands of those damn redcoats, and seeing other people willing to rise up and fight against them must fill his heart with joy."

"It's all right, I understand. So..." With a raised eyebrow, I gestured at the devastated surroundings. "What happened here?"

"That? Oh, we found a few Brits hiding in this place with some horses." Grinning widely, the man cracked his knuckles. "So we took care of them."

"D-did you now? How wonderful. Great job!"

"Ha, yes! We took care of them all right!" The big man released Mr Ambrose from his hug, only to throw an arm around his shoulder before my poor husband could escape and drag him over towards us. "We sliced them and diced them, and then turned what was left of them to charcoal! Just like we're gonna do with any Britons we get our hands on!"

"Um...hear, hear!" I did my best to give him a cheery, decidedly non-British smile. "That must have been fun. It's always a boring day when you don't get to squash a Briton."

"Well said!" The big man let go of Mr Ambrose to slap me on the back, nearly sending me flying face-first into the bushes. "And speaking of squashing Britons..."

"Um, yes?"

I really hope he isn't going to say what I think he's going to say.

"We heard there's a rebel army gathering up at Delhi. We're heading there to screw up those bloody Brits! Want to come along?"

Thank the Lord! Not us! He's not talking about us!

"I love screwing Britons," I told him without hesitation, eliciting a choked sound from Mr Ambrose. Somehow, I managed to keep a straight face. "In fact, I do it on a regular basis."

"Ha!" The big bugger slapped me on the back again so hard he nearly broke my spine. "Great! Those bastards deserve it!"

"I...I couldn't agree more," I wheezed.

"Hey, Krish!" Gesturing at the last member of their trio, the big man steered me forward. "Where did you stash the horses we got from here?"

"Just a few dozen yards away, behind those bushes."

"Then go get 'em and saddle up! We're heading to Delhi. We have redcoats to kill! Death to the British!"

I tried to put on as convincing a smile as I could. If it was anything like the one on Adaira's face, it left something to be desired. "Yay! Death to the British!"

***

"Death! Death to those British bastards!"

Panting, Captain James Carter threw himself around a corner—just in time to avoid the two bullets that whizzed past his head. Without bothering to look back, Carter aimed over his shoulder and fired. Anyway, the point wasn't to hit his pursuers but to keep them at a distance. Unfortunately, one gun against three regiments wasn't a particularly threatening deterrent.

"Would you like to give the next speech, Your Lordship?" he panted, gifting the man running next to him a faux-cheerful smile. "The crowd seems eager for your appearance."