An Impetuous Abduction. Patricia Rowell Frances

conversation of Old Ned, her presently evaded groom. Which was infinitely better than going to the little party of young ladies and their mothers to which she and Mama had not been invited.

      Mama would have the vapors. Again.

      Except that Mama was already having the vapors over the crushing snub dealt her by Mrs. Rowsley. Phona sighed. “I love Mama, Firefly. You know I do. But sometimes I become very out of patience with her.” And with cautions and admonitions.

      Turning Firefly toward the distant hill, Phona gave her a tap of the crop and cantered across the rolling green landscape, enjoying the warm sunshine on her face and the crisp spring breeze streaming through her hair. She skirted scattered clumps of vegetation, drawing in the fragrance of early flowers emanating from them, and guided her mount around the numerous rocky outcrops. They jumped the drystone wall separating the Hathersage property from the neighbor’s and pulled up.

      Finding herself at the foot of a steep incline dotted with large boulders, Phona slowed her mount to a walk as they began the ascent. As she neared the top of the hill, strange sounds began to drift to her on the wind.

      Clanks and thumps. The jingle of harness and the creak of cart wheels. Coarse voices calling to one another. What in the world? There should be nothing here but open countryside.

      Phona reined in. What must she do about this unexpected development? She certainly could not risk encountering a group of rough men by herself. She should turn back. But what were they doing on the far side of that hill? Perhaps she could find a spot to peek over the ridge without being seen. Of course, if she did, they might—

      How long her prudent self might have debated with her more adventurous one, Phona never learned. Suddenly the sound of hoofbeats erupted just above her. She looked up to see the stranger on the tall, rawboned black burst over the crest, galloping straight at her, wild hair flying from under the hat. A glimpse of a scowling, dark-bearded visage ended the argument in a heartbeat.

      “Run, Firefly!” Phona tugged her mare’s head around and kicked her sharply into motion. The steep slope forbade the pell-mell gallop her pounding heart demanded. A misstep on the rugged terrain would likely result in a broken leg for her mount or a broken neck for herself.

      And certain capture.

      Steady, steady. Every sense clamoring for precipitous flight, Phona forced herself to control her horse.

      Oh, God. The noise of the chase was growing louder.

      And closer.

      He would be on her in seconds. She must find a way…

      A copse of trees rose in front of her. If she could cut through them, perhaps she would gain some time, and even possibly lose her pursuer. Her little mare dived into the shelter as if she, too, feared for her life. They leaped over small bushes and fallen branches and careened between the trees.

      Branches clawed at her face and raked her hat off her head, the scarf all but strangling her before giving way. Seeking protection from nature’s assault, she leaned closer to the mare’s neck, keeping her body as low as possible. The sound of the following hooves faded a bit.

      Could it be that the man hesitated to squeeze his big, ugly horse through the narrow spaces? Fortune was favoring her at last. Phona angled away from where she had entered the grove. If she could make her way back to her own land, the ground was easier, and she had known it for a lifetime. She could not imagine that he would hound her all the way to her home.

      Phona and the mare emerged from the trees. She glanced to the right, and despair welled up in her. Whatever its deficiencies of appearance, the stranger’s black must be a powerful beast. It had circled the grove in the time it took for her to go through it.

      The next few minutes would be a head-to-head race. One which her small mare could hardly hope to win. Doubts notwithstanding, Phona turned down the hill and gave the horse her head.

      The contest ended in moments. Thundering hooves pounded up alongside her, and a hard arm circled her waist. Phona fought to keep her seat, but found herself dragged, kicking and trying to scratch, onto the saddle in front of the stranger. His other arm wrapped around her, capturing her arms and clamping her tightly against him. A hand closed over her mouth.

      An angry whisper sounded in her ear. “Listen to me and listen well. As you value your life, do exactly as I tell you.”

      Phona turned to look over her shoulder at the menacing face. All dark. Not only did a thick brown beard cover the lower portion, but a black patch hid one eye. She stifled a gasp.

      A rough hand grasped her chin. “When I drop you, lie as you fall. Lie as if you were dead. Do not move! Do not even breathe until I return.”

      In the distance, Phona heard another set of hoofbeats closing on them. Oh, Lord! What now?

      Her captor let out a roar and pulled her head sideways, his callused fingers sliding across her skin. And dropped her. As she hit the stony ground, Phona heard another voice shouting, “Is she dead?”

      “Aye,’ ardesty, she’ll talk to none.” The dark stranger turned his horse back the way he had come, putting it between her and the other speaker.

      Dear heaven! He had feigned breaking her neck! Who were these people? Phona took the hidden moment to shift her head to an awkward angle, then lay motionless.

      Her attacker spoke again, in a Cockney accent. “Ye best get that load ’andled and get the ’ell out of ’ere before they come lookin’fer ’er. When her mount comes in without the chit aboard—”

      The second man uttered a word Phona had never heard before and added, “These bloody hills will be swarming with searchers. Come, man. Move your arse!”

      As they galloped away, Phona opened her eyes just enough to confirm something that she could hardly credit. The arm which had removed her from her mount so efficiently ended not in a hand, but in a sharp, black iron hook.

      As he watched the departing convoy disappear into the next dale, Leo kept a wary watch. He could not quite see the girl where she lay on the far side of the trees, and he knew his confederates would leave a lookout in their wake to watch their back trail. He prayed he had frightened her sufficiently to keep her still. If she tried to run, the sentry might very well see her, and if he did, she would die.

      Or the sentry would.

      Or Leo would.

      After an agonizing wait, he finally saw the scout ride away after his party. He eased his mount down the side of the hill and around the grove. The girl still lay where she had dropped, ringlets of auburn hair flung out around her, her head turned at a very strange angle. Ye gods! Surely he had not actually killed her!

      Leo spurred to her and leaped out of his saddle. Going to one knee, he gently shook her shoulder. “Miss Hathersage?” She did not respond. Perhaps she had fainted from fright. He shook her a bit harder. “Miss! Can you hear me?”

      Still no response. Just as panic was about to descend on him in full force, he noticed the infinitesimal movement of her breast, rising and falling as she breathed. Thank God! Sliding his left arm under her shoulders, he lifted her to a seated position, careful not to touch her with the hook. Her head lolled like a rag doll’s. He used his good hand to feel the bones of her neck. They seemed sound enough—

      At a rattle of stones below him on the hill, Leo sprang to his feet and yanked the pistol from his belt, dropping the girl to earth once again. This time he heard a distinct “Ow!” and glanced down in time to see her roll to her feet and bolt down the slope, making for the sound he had heard.

      “God confound clever females!” Leo jammed the pistol back into his belt and gave chase. Now he could see that her mount, rather than racing off to her stable, had wandered quietly back to her mistress. Had it not kicked a stone in its path, he might never have known it was there. The aggravating wench had simply waited her chance to make a run for it.

      And she was fast. For a girl. But there was nothing