Stolen Heiress. Joanna Makepeace

he said brutally.

      ‘But you said—it was my uncle you expected…’

      ‘It was, but you, too, are a Hoyland.’

      She gave a sharp exclamation. ‘You intend to hold me prisoner?’

      ‘You have guessed it, mistress.’

      ‘You will hold me for ransom? But, my uncle…’

      ‘Will pay it gladly,’ he mocked her. ‘I have not yet decided, mistress, but, for the present, you will come with us and without protest.’ He glanced towards the band of prisoners. ‘If you resist, it may rouse some core of chivalry in those youngsters there and I am sure you realise that could only end in their deaths.’

      She inclined her chin and her single word was a trifle breathy. ‘Yes.’

      He turned from her. ‘Then that is settled.’

      She called back to him. ‘Sir?’

      ‘Madam?’

      ‘You intend to let the men go free?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Will you let my maid go? She will only hinder us and—and she will prove difficult to handle.’

      His eyebrows rose again in some amusement.

      ‘You would go with us unchaperoned?’

      Colour flooded her face, now pale with suppressed fear.

      ‘For her good—yes, and—’ it came out in a rush ‘—if you mean me harm or—humiliation—I do not think her presence would deter you.’

      He threw back his head and the laugh echoed in the little clearing.

      ‘You read the situation correctly indeed, Mistress Hoyland.’

      He looked towards the maid who was still hysterical with fear. Certainly the girl would be of little use to her mistress in her present state.

      ‘Yes, she may go, but I hope and trust she will fare better with those of your men than she would have cause to fear mine.’

      ‘She will have to take that chance,’ Clare said evenly.

      He moved from her then to give orders for their departure and she went to the frightened girl.

      ‘Bridget, you are to go with those men to the nearest inn at Brinklow. I do not think they will harm you. They fear Sir Gilbert’s anger too much.’ She drew a swift breath. ‘At least I believe you will be safer with them. These ruffians cannot be trusted.’

      ‘But you, mistress?’ Bridget’s lips rounded into an ‘o’ of shocked horror. ‘I should not leave you.’

      Clare forced a confident smile. ‘I do not think I am in any real danger. Master Devane, for all his piratical ways, is a gentleman. We must hope and pray that that is the case. In all events it would do no good for both of us to be endangered and I can trust you to raise the alarm. I do not know where I am to be taken, but my uncle’s men must be alerted and, doubtless, they will search these woods and the surrounding district so there is every chance I shall be found.’

      The girl drew a quivering breath. ‘Yes, mistress.’

      Clare gave her a little push in the direction of the Hoyland prisoners and turned resolutely to Robert Devane, who was striding purposefully back towards her.

      ‘You must mount up, now, mistress, we are ready to set off.’

      The Frenchman, whose bold dark countenance and mocking grin she distrusted most, brought up her palfrey. Robert Devane prepared to lift her to her saddle and she flinched from the feel of his two strong hands upon her waist, but knew it would be useless to protest. Better Devane than his foreign henchman.

      He settled her comfortably and handed her the reins. She resisted the urge to kick her horse into a canter and make for the road. It would be useless, she knew and shuddered inwardly at the thought of an arrow between her shoulder blades. She had seen how proficient these men were with their weapons. They were ruthless. Her uncle’s conduct had made them desperate and she must pay the price.

      She waited docilely while the little troop mounted up behind her then, with Robert Devane’s masterful hand upon her bridle rein, she allowed him to lead her along the forest track.