Stolen Heiress. Joanna Makepeace

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.

      Chapter Three

      Clare struggled to keep her fears under control as her captor led her along the woodland paths. Already she was convinced she was totally lost even if she were able to evade her guards. Her heart was beating painfully as she realised that allowing Bridget to remain with the members of her wounded escort had left her completely compromised. She gave an inner laugh. Bridget’s presence, as she had been at pains to point out to Robert Devane, would hardly have proved any real protection but, though the girl was feckless and often silly, Clare was missing her now sorely.

      The men did not speak but pushed steadily on, sure-footed, the leader clearly knowing his way. Clare stole a glance at Robert Devane, who rode serenely beside her. She had noticed that he was still limping when he walked to her in the woodland glade and she wondered how well her treatment had progressed. She knew, only too well, that the very real danger of such a deep wound was the possibility of infection setting in. If that occurred, the patient either lost a limb—or his life.

      The man in the lead paused and turned. Robert Devane shortened the leading rein of her palfrey and rode in close.

      ‘We are very near to our destination now,’ he informed her coldly. ‘When we arrive I want your promise that you will make no attempt to escape, otherwise I must keep you pinioned.’

      She looked back at him proudly. ‘I shall give you no such promise, Master Devane,’ she said icily. ‘I am completely at your mercy and expect no soft treatment from you.’

      ‘Nor will you get it, Mistress Hoyland,’ he returned, but without rancour.

      He was smiling and she had no way of knowing whether there was malice in the words or merely an amused rejoinder.

      A hut loomed up before them suddenly, almost hidden by the dense foliage. It was a poor place of wattle and daub with a roughly constructed and warped door of split logs. Smoke was escaping from a hole in the ill-thatched roof.

      The hut had obviously been used occasionally by some woodcutter or charcoal burner, Clare thought, for it was hardly substantially built enough for winter weather. She shivered inside her fur-lined cloak and was glad of its warmth and the protection it afforded her from Robert Devane’s eyes observing how she was trembling.

      One of the men slipped inside and, almost instantly, a woman emerged, big, raw-boned, unfriendly looking. She stood, arms akimbo, regarding Clare stonily as Robert Devane lifted her down from her palfrey.

      He greeted the woman cheerily, ‘Ah, Margery, as you see, we have a prisoner. This is Mistress Hoyland. I wish you to keep a very close watch on her.’ He gave a brief bubble of laughter. ‘Especially since she decided to dispense with the services of her maid. Didn’t trust the lass to our menfolk.’ He looked over at them jovially. ‘A sentiment I can well understand. But now she is without chaperon and will need you to act as such.’

      The woman addressed as Margery looked even more sourly from her master to his prisoner.

      ‘And she is the prize, is she? What of her uncle, Sir Gilbert?’

      ‘Had left her on the road to our mercy, gone on to London about his own concerns.’

      ‘What you’d expect from a Hoyland,’ the woman spat out vituperatively. ‘Has no care for his own womenfolk nor any respect for others.’

      Clare felt herself going even paler and, stiffened from her ride, almost fell as Robert Devane’s supporting arm was withdrawn from round her waist.

      The woman stood aside as the prisoner was marched through the hut doorway.

      ‘So you intend to hold her for ransom instead of her uncle?’

      Clare was sure that the woman was a servant yet her familiarity of expression showed she had been close to Robert Devane over a number of years. Clare’s eyebrows rose as she stared at her. Was she his mistress? No, Clare decided, unlikely, the woman was now revealed as much older than her master and by no means comely. She was strong, though, and Clare doubted that, in any trial of strength with the woman, she would come off best. Margery, whoever she was in the Devane household, was trusted and her strengths well known.

      Her hostility towards Clare probably proceeded from the attack on the manor. Had she lost some kin in