The Wolf's Promise. Claire Thornton

      His heart thudded in startled alarm. He flung up a protective arm to his face, squinting into the glaring light and black darkness ahead, unable to see how many people confronted him. He had heard nothing to warn him of their presence.

      He struggled to see beyond the lantern light, remembering all the stories Sir William had told him of smugglers beating or even killing anyone they believed to be a danger to them. Was he going to be battered to death without even seeing his attackers?

      ‘I’m sorry, my lord,’ said an apologetic voice, ‘but I’m afraid I can’t let you go any further.’

      ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ the Earl rasped, more angry than frightened. ‘Who are you?’

      He heard someone chuckle in the darkness behind the lantern.

      ‘No one important.’ The voice sounded like that of a young man—pleasant, educated and confident. ‘In case you can’t see it, my lord, I should warn you that there is a pistol levelled at your heart. It will be better for both of us if you don’t make any sudden moves.’

      ‘You damn murderer! You’ll swing for this!’ Lord Ellewood grated furiously.

      ‘I haven’t murdered anyone yet,’ his opponent pointed out mildly. ‘I would infinitely prefer it to remain that way—but the matter lies in your hands.’

      The Earl’s first moment of surprise and fear had passed and he began to relax. As far as he could tell, the other man was alone, and he didn’t seem to have any immediate plans for violence.

      ‘What do you intend to do with me?’ he asked more temperately.

      ‘Nothing,’ said the young man. ‘We could discuss the weather—it’s remarkably dry for the time of year, don’t you think? Or you could tell me the latest scandals from London—and when the conversation begins to pall, you will be free to go back to the Manor.’

      ‘What if Sir William catches up with us first?’ the Earl enquired politely.

      His eyes were beginning to adjust to the lantern light which was not, in fact, all that bright, and he could discern the dim outline of his waylayer. The young man was bare-headed in the wind. He was also tall, but he seemed to be lightly built and Lord Ellewood felt confident that, if an opportunity arose, he would be able to turn the tables on his opponent.

      ‘He won’t,’ said the young man confidently.

      ‘What have you done to him?’ the Earl demanded angrily, taking a hasty, unconsidered step forward as he spoke, suddenly afraid for his friend.

      ‘Stand still!’ Unexpected menace in the assured voice brought the Earl to an abrupt halt. ‘Thank you. I believe I’ve already mentioned I’m not partial to murder.’ After his initial sharpness, the young man sounded friendly again, and almost reassuring. ‘But I’ve no doubt Sir William will find tonight’s chase more exhilarating than the average foxhunt.’

      The Earl drew in a deep breath, allowing the sudden tension to ease from his body.

      ‘You’ve sent him on a wild-goose chase?’ he said at last.

      ‘As you say,’ the youth agreed. ‘Until your arrival I thought I’d lost the toss, but now I see I was mistaken,’ he added politely.

      The Earl grunted, unimpressed by the implied compliment.

      ‘I’m sorry to detain you in such an inhospitable place, my lord,’ said the young man apologetically. ‘If you had gone with Sir William you would have been a great deal warmer! But I won’t keep you much longer. If you wish, you can retrace your steps now.’

      ‘That’s hardly more enticing than my current situation!’ Lord Ellewood retorted.

      The young man laughed.

      ‘I don’t suppose it is,’ he admitted. ‘Allow me to make some amends.’

      He put the lantern down, balancing it carefully between two tufts of grass halfway up a dune. The Earl’s eyes narrowed speculatively, wondering if this would be a good moment to spring at his companion—but the pistol continued to point steadily at his heart. The young man was both watchful and cautious. It seemed increasingly unlikely that he would make a mistake.

      He delved in his pocket with his free hand.

      ‘Catch!’ he said, and tossed something to the Earl.

      Lord Ellewood barely had time to react. He fumbled the catch and nearly dropped the flask.

      ‘Brandy?’ he asked dryly, unscrewing it.

      ‘What else? I’m not particularly fond of it myself, but it might compensate for the bitter wind around your ears,’ the young man replied. ‘You’ve had an unrewarding night, my lord.’

      ‘I’m not so sure.’ The Earl swallowed a mouthful of fiery spirit. ‘At least I can claim to have bandied words with a smuggler…’

      ‘Free trader,’ the young man corrected him pleasantly. ‘Sir William bandies words with us all the time—but not usually in circumstances of much benefit to him.’

      A sudden gust of wind blew up a swirl of dry, gritty sand from the dunes. The mare snorted and reared backwards, lunging away into the darkness.

      Startled, the young man turned his head—and the Earl seized the brief opportunity. He leapt towards the smuggler, knocking him to the ground without difficulty.

      The pistol fired, but the Earl had already thrust it to one side. He was heavier than his opponent, and he’d had the element of surprise in his attack. He had no doubt that the youth had pulled the trigger involuntarily as he fell backwards.

      They struggled among the dunes in an untidy confusion of flailing limbs. It was far too dark to see his opponent and Lord Ellewood fought by instinct, trying to subdue the youth without inflicting real damage. But the young man was strong, and agile as an eel. He twisted and broke free with a powerful lunge, disappearing among the shadows of the dunes.

      The Earl sprang to his feet, drawing his sword instinctively as he glanced around, alert to any indication he was about to be attacked from the darkness.

      The lantern was still resting undisturbed between the tufts of grass, sending its pale beam of light towards the sea. The wind hissed through the dunes, but the Earl could hear no other movement from the shadows surrounding him.

      The mare had bolted, frightened by the pistol shot and the noise of the fight.

      The Earl backed away, his boots crunching on the shingle as he returned to the firm sand of the seashore. He wasn’t a coward, but he had no desire to run onto an unseen blade among the dunes.

      Then a dark shape rose silently from the shadows, sword in hand, and sprang towards him.

      It was an untidy fight, illuminated only by the distant stars and the inadequate lantern. Twelve years earlier the Earl had served in the America Wars. He had both training and experience on his side, but his opponent was familiar with the ground and very, very fast.

      Even so, the young man was soon outmatched. There was a sickening slither of steel, his sword was wrenched from his hand, and he found himself flat on his back in the sand.

      ‘Now I’ll see you!’ the Earl growled, his blade at his defeated opponent’s throat. ‘Get up! But be warned—if you make one false move I’ll run you through!’

      The young man got to his feet displaying neither fear nor panic. He was breathing quickly from his exertions, but otherwise he was as much in control of himself now as he had ever been. The Earl smiled grimly in the darkness, aware of a certain measure of respect for his opponent. Smuggler or not, the youth had fought bravely and bore himself well in defeat.

      ‘I must take a few more lessons before I cross swords with you again, my lord,’ he said boldly.

      ‘You’ll not have the opportunity.’

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