Page 67 of The Iron Earl

It wiggled, forcing the brutal clamp he held onto apart, until her fingers could entwine with his. The blood pumping in his veins pulsated, angry against her hand.

Shocked at her own actions, she stared at their tangled hands. Her white kidskin-gloved fingers stark against his skin.

She stared until his right arm twitched and he brought their clasped hands closer to his torso, holding the back of her hand to his belly.

Evalyn braved a glance up at Lachlan’s face. The fury that etched such deep lines into his forehead relaxed ever so slightly. Through his fingers, she could feel his frantic heartbeat slowing—just a touch—enough.

He looked down at her, the blue streaks in his hazel eyes glowing bright. At her, he wasn’t angry.

Her head cocked to the side. Gratitude? Was that what she saw in his eyes?

He held her look for a moment that stretched into infinity. He was losing himself in her again. Losing his anger.

Astonishing.

Her hand against his and he could calm—which calmed her.

His stare only broke when the crowd around them erupted in jeers and they both looked forward.

The next witness was making his way to the front of the court. A short man, slightly rotund, with a thick mop of dull brown hair dipped forward, bowing before the row of judges. He turned to the side.

Heaven to hell.

Mr. Molson.

Her breath stopped, her heart freezing in place.

No. Not here. Not in the room with her.

She ducked her head to the right, hiding behind the man sitting in front of her. She edged one eye to the left, searching Mr. Molson’s profile, unable to believe it was him.

What in the hell was he doing here? Doing here as a witness?

She saw the man wrong. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t.

She leaned slightly to her left, her eyes frantic. Hawk nose that curled down into a point. Eyebrows that were as bushy as his hair, running in one long line across his forehead. Thin lips that always snaked over the crudest words when he cornered her.

There was no mistaking him.

“Mr. Molson, you are the person in direct charge of the men that were evicting the Wilson family, is that correct?” the head judge asked.

“It is.” Mr. Molson looked out to the throngs of people in the assembly room, a sneer on his face.

Evalyn jerked, ducking her head down, shrinking, hiding the best she could manage in the second row. Blast it. Why had they sat so close? She should have insisted on the back of the room. She should have never come to the trial. What had she been thinking?

Her husband glanced down at her, his eyebrow cocking at her jerky movements.

Words. Words from the judge and Lachlan’s attention turned back to the front of the room. Words she couldn’t hear, couldn’t understand for the terror seizing her body. Terror that cut all breath from her lungs.

Out. She needed out.

The crowd erupted around her, jeering, and she jumped.

Escape.

Now was the time.

She ripped her fingers from Lachlan’s hand and tucked her head, struggling to her right along the bench, her hands clawing the wooden seat until she reached the man at the end. She stumbled past him—over him—pushing at the man’s shoulders as she lurched to the door.