An Impetuous Abduction. Patricia Rowell Frances

his mouth, watching her from the corner of his eye. When he had swallowed, he took a swig from a jug which he had placed on his other side.

      Phona eyed it enviously. The day and the pasty had left her very dry. He had almost set the bottle down again when he turned suddenly to glance at her. “Are you thirsty? I have only ale, and I doubt that young ladies care much for it.”

      “I have never drank any.” She considered the jug. “But I am exceedingly thirsty.”

      “I doubt you will find it to your liking, but you are welcome to have some.” He paused thoughtfully. “Just don’t have too much. It will go straight to your head if you have never drank it.” He handed her the bottle.

      Phona sipped cautiously—and made a terrible face.

      The man laughed. “As I thought.”

      “Don’t be so hasty.” She reached for the bottle as he took another swallow and set it aside. “I am quite parched.” She managed a larger drink this time.

      He grinned, his strong teeth glinting in the dark beard. “Pluck to the backbone.”

      Phona did not know how to answer that. She was not feeling very plucky. She ate her pie silently, occasionally sipping from the jug. The ale was not as strong as wine, but Mama only allowed Phona a tiny taste of any form of spirits. Soon she could feel a pleasant warmth steal through her limbs.

      She reached for the bottle again, but Hades moved it away. “I think not. We still have a long ride ahead of us, and I don’t want you incapacitated.” He glanced at the sky. “The moon is coming up, but so are the clouds. We must hurry.”

      He repacked the remains of the meal and disappeared into the bushes while Phona strolled about the clearing to stretch her muscles. And clear her head. The ale had, in fact, made her a bit dizzy. As well as bone-weary.

      But for a strong application of resolution, Phona would have wept. The thought of more riding was almost more than she could bear, but apparently she had no choice. Therefore, bear it she would. And without showing any weakness to the rogue.

      He was gone longer than she had expected, but made no explanation when he returned. She suspected he had scouted their back trail for pursuit. Evidently, he had found none.

      Another disappointment.

      He approached her and touched her cheek lightly. Phona jerked back, but he simply declared, “You are getting cold.” Untying a roll from his saddle, he shook out a cloak and put it around her shoulders. He helped her to mount, and this time she did her part. If she became too much of a problem, he might leave her here, or even… Phona did not want to remain here alone.

      Not alive, and certainly not dead.

      Leo glanced back at the girl as they climbed the bank onto the old trail. She had uttered not a word, but he could see her swaying in the saddle. Her little mare looked no better. He felt very thoroughly the cad she had called him. A marauder, returning to port with his prize in tow.

      And quite a prize she was. Beautifully made. Impressive mettle. He found the task of making himself forget the feel of her warm, soft body struggling against his to be more than he could manage. As was trying to forget that he had her completely under his control. To remember that he was a gentleman. Leo did not feel like a gentleman.

      Leo did not want to be a gentleman.

      He sighed as a large drop of rain splashed on his forehead. The rest of the ride could only get worse. The wind whipped his cloak around the lady’s small body, all but pulling her off her horse. Another drop followed the first, and suddenly the rain swept over them.

      Hastily dismounting, Leo hurried back to his hostage. When he lifted his arms, she all but fell into them. “Come, we still must travel a bit farther. You will ride with me.”

      She stumbled, and Leo slipped an arm around her. She was shivering, her teeth chattering. If he didn’t get her to shelter soon, she would be ill.

      He made the mare fast to a lead rope, and with his help the girl managed to get herself onto the front of his saddle. Leo swung himself up behind her and flung the cloak over both of them. Cradling her against his chest, he tucked the cloak in well and pulled a fold of it over her head and face.

      Leo tugged the brim of his hat low against the wind and rain and kneed his black into motion. The mare resisted for a moment and then, resignedly, followed. Thank God for his own stalwart mount, rawboned and homely, but strong as the capstan for which he was named.

      Alone Leo might have made the ride back to his haven in half the time with naught more than moderate weariness, but the business with the girl had taken its toll—not the physical struggles with her so much as the sense of responsibility, the worry over her future.

      And his, come to think of it. Even for him—nay, especially for him—absconding with a nobleman’s daughter might have severe consequences if he were found out.

      He guided his small cavalcade onto a track almost too faint to be seen. They wound their way up along the side of a steep, heavily wooded gorge. The stream at the bottom roared along noisily, full and fresh and joyous with the rain.

      Leo himself might wish for a little less of it. The water trickled down the back of his neck and blew into his eye. Small branches swiped at his face and dumped their burden of droplets into his beard. At least the downpour would erase all sign of their passing.

      Coming to a spot where the stream joined another, Leo urged his mount across the rising water and onto the point of land between them. The black put up a token protest, but splashed through and plodded upward along the trail, head held low. In the shelter of his body’s heat, the girl had ceased shivering and seemed to be sleeping. Thank God for that.

      Leo always felt a thrill as the stone walls rose out of the trees and rocks and dark. Tonight he also felt exceedingly thankful. They rode into the courtyard through the arch in the wall and across into the stable. At the sound of the horseshoes clopping across the cobbles, the girl roused and sat straighter.

      She gazed about her, craning her neck to look up into the oak-beamed rafters high above them. A horse whickered a soft, sleepy greeting. “Where are we?”

      “In my stable.” Leo pulled the cape free and swung down to the hay-strewn floor.

      “I can see that,” she snapped at him and tried to slide off the tall black and stand. Her knees failed to hold her, and she wound up in a heap in the straw. She swallowed a startled cry and, clinging to the stirrup, struggled bravely back to her feet.

      The attempt again proved unsuccessful. Leo caught her as her legs threatened another collapse and eased her onto a box of tack. He quickly realized that would not answer, either. She began to list slowly to starboard, her eyelids fluttering closed. He grasped her shoulders once again and was trying to decide how to proceed when a welcome voice spoke at the stable door.

      “See to the lass. I’ll tend the horses.”

      Leo gathered the girl into his arms, careful not to touch her with the hook, and carried her into his house.

      No one had slept in the chamber in perhaps a hundred years, but when Leo had decided to use the place, they had cleaned it along with the rest of the ancient lodge and furnished it with new bedding.

      The rotted bed curtains and other draperies they had burned, saving one fine, ancient tapestry which had defied the damp and dust. Other than that, only a low chest, a screen and a pair of heavy carved chairs remained to soften the stone walls.

      Making the long climb up the stairs, Leo laid the girl on the tall bed. He next set about kindling a fire in the big fireplace, fumbling in the dark for the flint. Thank goodness they had already brought up wood against an emergency.

      When the fire at last took hold, he walked back to the bed and gazed again at his guest, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Apparently asleep or unconscious, she was shaking again. No wonder in that; the room was little warmer than the rain-drenched night. Somehow he must get her out