The Passionate Pilgrim. Juliet Landon

as much for their sakes as for her own. Bess’s safety over the next two nights would be a nightmare. They were not where she had left them but farther down the track, waiting within a large group of liveried men and others. Sir Rhyan’s men. Once more, he had taken charge as if her permission was irrelevant.

      “This is intolerable!” She whirled round, reaching out for his wrist to wrench it away from her bridle. “I will not…”

      But her arm was caught and held away in the same iron grip that had left its imprint on her wrist last evening. “You have a responsibility to your servants, do you not?” he said, showing his anger at last.

      “Let me go, damn you!”

      “Do you?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then how can you not allow them safety when it’s offered? Are you so choked with resentment that you cannot accept anything from anybody?”

      Her fury boiled over, incensed by every word of his well-aimed barb, his presence here, his restraining hand on her arm. He would never know in the slightest degree the cause of her animosity. “The only thing you ever offered me, Sir Rhyan, did me more harm than you could ever imagine. You must forgive me if I am less than enthusiastic about accepting anything else until that wound has healed.” She made one last effort to rid herself of his hand, expecting hers to be the last words. But now heads had turned to watch the undignified tussle.

      “Then choose, mistress,” he snarled, releasing her arm but hauling the cob’s head closer. “Either you accompany me in a seemly manner or I leave you here alone with this crowd.” He indicated with his head the sea of faces. “I have your party, you see. They’ll come with me, willing or not.”

      Allene and Bess, Daniel and Pedro were now out of sight, enclosed by his men, quite unaware of their impending separation. She could not afford to lose them and all her baggage any more than she could risk being left to the predictable attentions of so many strangers.

      “Damn you!” she whispered. “You would not do so.”

      “Try me.”

      “Then I have little choice, have I? Damn you to hell!”