Stolen Heiress. Joanna Makepeace

to the girl, seemingly unafraid, who managed her palfrey skilfully despite its continued nervous sidling. She was dressed in mourning in a black fur-lined frieze cloak, suitable for travelling, and her black hood, drawn up against the winter chill, covered her simple white linen coif.

      He said, his ill temper mounting at the unexpected turn of events, hardening his tone, ‘Where is your uncle, mistress?’

      Her shoulders rose and fell only slightly. ‘He is on his way to London, sir, though why his whereabouts should concern you, I have no idea.’

      His blue eyes were staring at her accusingly. ‘He left you to travel without his protection?’

      Her chin lifted a trifle. ‘He accompanied me as far as Lutterworth and then took the Watling Street road to London.’ She hesitated for a fraction of a moment then, feeling she needed to make some excuse for her uncle’s conduct, added, ‘I understand he had urgent business at Westminster.’

      ‘Here’s a pretty pickle,’ Silas murmured at Rob’s ear. ‘What do we do now? Do you want me to deal with the rest of the escort? Master Rob, we should be moving off the road.’

      Rob nodded in irritation. His gaze passed to the little knot of defeated Hoyland men-at-arms who had gathered defensively close together and were clearly concerned about their own fate. As yet they had made no attempt to go to the help of their injured comrades.

      Rob waved a hand towards Diggory and Sym who were still mounting guard over the prisoners.

      ‘Get them into the wood. Is that fellow dead?’ He looked dispassionately at the still figure of the sergeant in the roadway.

      ‘Aye, Master Rob, it would seem so.’ Sym’s voice revealed no hint of sympathy for the victim. There had been too many dead men left to rot at the Devane manor.

      ‘Well, get the body into the wood and bury it. I know the ground is hard but do your best, cover it with brush-wood if necessary. Secure the horses and pinion the wrists of those prisoners on their feet, but first let them tend to their wounded.’

      His hand was still holding the palfrey’s leading rein and he made to draw the horse under the cover of the trees.

      Clare addressed him coldly. ‘I trust, sir, that you don’t intend to butcher my unarmed men or me?’

      He swung to face her and she saw that his expression was granite set.

      ‘If my men did so, mistress, I could not find it in my heart to blame them. Men died in plenty at my manor, aye, and women, too, some most unpleasantly.’

      He saw her grey eyes widen and a shadow of fear crossed her proud face. The maid, now on foot and gripping tightly to the panier on one of the sumpters, gave another shrill scream which was instantly halted as her mistress turned her imperious gaze upon her once more.

      Clare did not resist as he led her horse under cover some quarter of a mile into the wood where woodsmen had fashioned a clearing.

      He held up his arms commandingly to lift her down. For the length of a heartbeat he thought she would refuse to obey, then she allowed herself to be lowered to the ground and moved a fraction from him. Diggory had brought up the struggling maid who, once he released her, ran, panting and sobbing, to her mistress’s side and clutched desperately at her cloak.

      ‘Mistress Clare,’ she gulped. ‘Oh, Mistress Clare, whatever is to become of us?’

      ‘I do not know,’ Clare replied woodenly, ‘but I do know it will not improve our prospects for you to continue to give trouble and cry like that.’

      The wounded had been conveyed into the clearing by the survivors and laid down upon the grass. Without seeking permission from Rob, Clare went instantly to them and knelt by them. She made a perfunctory examination, then said quietly, ‘They do not appear to be too gravely hurt. None of the arrows have damaged vital organs, but they should not be left long in this bitter cold without help. I ask you again, sir, what are you going to do with us? I understand, from your question earlier, it was my uncle you sought.’

      ‘It was indeed, mistress. He and your brother were responsible for the raid on my manor and, since Sir Peter is dead and cannot be called to account, Sir Gilbert alone must answer to me for his actions.’

      ‘Then you will let us proceed on our way to Coventry?’

      ‘Coventry?’ He raised one eyebrow in surprise. ‘You go to join the Court at Coventry? Was that in hope of seeing me hang, Mistress Hoyland?’

      ‘It certainly was not, sir. I was already well aware of your escape and I thanked God for it. As you have said, too many men died in that fruitless attack on your home and I would not have had your name added to the list, whatever your crimes against the King’s Grace.’

      He was leaning against a tree bole, watching her as she still knelt by the wounded men. He was silent for a moment then he said, ‘You are right when you say too many men have died, but there is still a debt to be paid. You understand that?’

      She rose to her feet and calmly dusted herself down. ‘These injured men are hardly responsible, Master Devane. They did but obey orders even if these men, personally, were involved in the raid.’

      ‘Naturally. I hold the Hoylands responsible.’

      He saw her wince at the implication but still she showed no fear.

      Rob turned to Piers who had come up, soft-footed as a cat, as usual.

      ‘We shall not want to be hampered by these men. If we take the horses as planned I think we can allow them to remain here.’

      ‘Pinioned?’

      Rob hesitated. ‘Mistress Hoyland warns me of the danger to them of leaving them tied here in these bitter conditions, particularly the wounded men. When we have left, they can seek help for their injured companions in Brinklow. They will be on foot and unable to pursue us.’ He turned and whispered so that Mistress Hoyland could not overhear him. ‘They cannot know of our hiding place.’

      ‘And the women, mon ami? Since Sir Gilbert is not here—the demoiselle would bring a considerable ransom in his stead, n’est ce pas?’

      Rob turned and regarded her slowly. He could tell by the very rigidity of her stance that she was struggling to maintain a semblance of courage. She lifted one hand to push back a lock of brown hair, which had come loose from its pins when she had stooped to see the wounded men. He rubbed one side of his nose thoughtfully.

      ‘We’ll take her to the hut,’ he said at last, ‘and consider, later, what is best to be done.’

      ‘Did I hear the demoiselle say she was bound for the Court of le roi in Coventry?’

      ‘You did.’

      ‘Then, mon ami, naturellement, a courier will have been sent in advance to announce her arrival. She will be sought for—assiduously—is that not how you say it?’

      Rob grimaced ruefully. ‘Doubtless she will, especially when the men have reported her disappearance, that is.’ He gave a slow smile. ‘I think, Piers, these men will not be anxious to return to their service. Sir Gilbert Hoyland is no man to cross, I am sure, and will deal harshly with any he deems to be inefficient or to lack courage. These fellows will know well enough they will be blamed. I think I can guarantee they will disappear into the countryside. I can only hope they take their injured companions with them. This will give us a breathing space.’

      Piers shrugged and looked towards the tethered horses. Left to his own devices, he would have made very sure there was no pursuit, but Messire Robert Devane was often unpredictable and prone to unfortunate scruples.

      He moved off to see that the prisoners were informed what was to happen to them. They were all young, the dead sergeant being, apparently, the only experienced man in the company. Piers Martine considered Sir Gilbert Hoyland a fool to have trusted his niece to such an undisciplined rabble.

      Clare Hoyland drew a hard breath and marched