She ran as fast as her legs could possibly carry her. Her dress and the wide hoop skirt tried to slow her down. The stiff corset squeezed her ribs tightly, making it hard to breathe. But she ignored the discomfort. She lifted the silk skirts high above her knees with one hand and sprinted across the wide road.
She rushed toward the fallen musket, keeping her eyes locked on the weapon.
Up in the tree, the injured assassin realized he had lost his biggest advantage. He pulled the dagger out of his hand with a painful grunt, blood dripping from his palm. He looked down and saw the woman running toward his gun.
He did not stay in the tree. He jumped down from the low branches. His heavy boots hit the dirt road, sending up a large cloud of dust. He landed just a few feet away from the musket.
He saw Camilla reaching out for the long metal barrel.
