When the Captain spoke next his voice was unexpectedly gentle.

‘You should get some sleep, my lady. You have had a hard day and we'll be back on the road early. I give you my word that you will come to no such harm again.’

The memory of the Captain's body on hers as they had struggled on the ground came back to Aline in a flash, along with the words she had screamed at him and the manner in which he had countered her assumption. He had said she was safe from … that, but could she trust him?

As if he was reading Aline's thoughts, the Captain unrolled the blanket and wrapped it snugly around her shoulders. ‘You need have no fear for your safety in any respect whilst you are in my charge. I will keep you safe.’

AUTHOR NOTE

FALLING FOR HER CAPTOR takes place in an unspecified country, though I have tried to keep as close as possible to an accurate portrayal of life in Medieval Europe.

Women in the Middle Ages were not usually able to inherit titles or land unless they had no living brothers able to take the role. As such, Aline's unfortunate brother had to be bumped off years before the events in FALLNG FOR HER CAPTOR take place to allow her this opportunity.

Of course there were many powerful women who were determined to take their destinies into their own hands—notable examples include Eleanor of Aquitaine and her daughters Matilda and Eleanor of Castile.

Cauterisation of wounds was commonplace, but extremely painful and likely to lead to further infection. Suturing was also carried out, and horses’ hair often took the place of thread. I wish I had known that at the time I wrote the chapter. I'm sure Bayliss wouldn't have begrudged a couple, and Aline's dress might have been saved …

Falling for Her Captor

Elisabeth Hobbes

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ELISABETH HOBBES grew up in York, where she spent most of her teenage years wandering around the city looking for a handsome Roman or Viking to sweep her off her feet. Inspired by this, she took a degree in History and Art History.

These days she holds down jobs as a teacher and a mum. When she isn't writing she spends a lot of her spare time reading, and is a pro at cooking one-handed while holding a book! She is less successful at vacuuming in the same way, and would like to publicly apologise to her husband for the dust.

Elisabeth's other hobbies include skiing, Arabic dance, fencing and exploring dreadful tourist attractions—none of which has made it into a story yet. She loves historical fiction and has a fondness for dark-haired bearded heroes.

Elisabeth lives in Cheshire with her husband, two young children, and three cats with ridiculous names.

This is Elisabeth Hobbes's stunning debut novel for Mills & Boon® Historical Romance!

For all the ladies who helped me cast Hugh.

I hope you're pleasantly surprised. x

Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Epilogue

Copyright

Chapter One

‘This is the third proposal you have rejected this year, Aline, and the fifth in total. When are you going to do your duty and choose a husband as you are required to do?’

The Duke of Leavingham and High Lord of the Five Provinces settled back in his chair with a frown. Lady Aline returned his stare, ignoring the muttering of the assembled knights and nobles. Her eyes fell again on the ornately decorated parchment lying on the table.

‘My lord, if the offer was from the Count himself I would consider it. On behalf of his son, however, my answer is no. The boy is only nine years old!’

‘Most women would consider themselves honoured to be allied with such a wealthy and respected family,’ replied the Duke sternly.

Aline’s cheeks reddened. The room felt much warmer. ‘My lord, the terms of the proposal are generous, indeed, but there are those here who believe rule of Leavingham should not pass to a woman. Would you prefer it to pass to a child instead?’

A shaft of watery sunlight broke through the clouds and Aline’s eyes drifted to the window as she half listened to the murmurs of agreement. She straightened her shoulders and brushed back a strand of ash-blond hair.

‘My lords,’ Aline said, addressing the assembled council, ‘I know I must marry, and I will. If my brother had lived to be heir the husband you chose for me would barely have mattered—however, the man I marry will rule not only Leavingham, but also the whole of the Five Provinces. I will not make that choice lightly.’ Silence hung in the air. Aline walked round the table and knelt. She took hold of her grandfather’s hands and raised her face modestly. ‘Please, Grandfather, don’t force me to accept him.’

The old man peered at her with his lips pursed. Aline held her breath as she stared into the grey eyes so like her own.

‘No, you need not accept this proposal,’ the High Lord said finally. ‘But you are running out of time. You are my last living descendant. When I named you heir I pledged you would be wed by your twentieth birthday. Remember that is barely six months away. I suggest you find any future offers more appealing or I will make the choice for you. You may leave us.’

Aline curtseyed to the assembled men and left the room, her heart beating rapidly at her narrow escape. The atmosphere in the council chamber had been stifling and the unexpected summons had made Aline more agitated than she had expected. She ran up the winding staircase to her chamber and rapidly changed into her riding gown. In the stable yard her groom would be waiting patiently with horses. The prospect of missing one of the few chances for freedom before autumn turned to winter was almost unbearable.

She sped down the stairs and through the smaller of the castle’s two halls, fastening the clasp of her riding cloak around her neck as she went. Rounding a corner, she almost collided bodily with a large man coming in the other direction. She jumped back with a gasp of surprise as his hands reached out to steady her. Sir Godfrey, her friend since childhood, grinned down at her.

‘Very decorous behaviour, Aline! But I doubt your grandfather would approve,’ he remarked.

Usually Aline would respond with a light-hearted retort, but after the morning’s audience she found she could not summon the energy.

‘You know I give him no cause for disapproval,’ she replied defensively. ‘I read all the dusty old histories and treatises on diplomacy I am tasked with learning. I am a gracious hostess and a dutiful, modest lady of court. I play every part he expects. There is nothing he has asked of me that I have not done!’

‘Apart from accept a suitor.’ Godfrey smiled.

‘Men whose proposals speak only of the power they will gain, or the dowry I will provide—’ Aline snorted ‘—and today a child! Would you be so eager in my place?’

The young knight held his hands out in mock supplication. ‘Aline, I’m only teasing. I’m sorry. You’re right to wait for the right man, for you and for Leavingham. Your parents would have been proud of you—your brother, too.’

An ache clawed Aline’s heart at the mention of her family. Six years after the influenza that had claimed them she still missed them dreadfully. Her fingers moved instinctively to the necklace she always wore: a smooth amethyst set into a filigree of silver—the legacy of the mother who had followed her husband and son to the grave after barely a year.

‘You do want to marry, don’t you?’ Godfrey asked, linking his arm in Aline’s as they strolled into the chilly morning air.

Aline shrugged. ‘Whether I want to or not is immaterial. I have no choice. You heard what my grandfather said: I am running out of time. I lost any chance of marrying for love when I became heir. Now all I can hope for is to at least like my husband!’

Godfrey laughed. ‘My wife was not my first choice, but we are happy. You will be, too.’

Aline said nothing, though the prospect seemed increasingly unlikely.

They had reached the archway leading to the stable yard and said their farewells. Aline watched as Godfrey returned to the castle, only slightly regretting that when she had been his first choice she had said no.

* * *

The sky had lightened as Aline made her way round the inner wall to the stable yard and stopped in surprise. Instead of her usual groom, a younger man held the reins of two horses.

‘Greetings, my lady,’ he said with a sweeping bow.

‘Where is Robert?’ Aline asked him cautiously.

The man raised his eyes to Aline’s, pushing a lock of sandy-coloured hair from his face. Now that she had time to study him she saw his face was familiar, and Aline recalled that she had seen him around the stables once or twice over the past few weeks.

‘My name is Dickon, my lady. Robert apologises that he cannot attend you today but an unexpected malady of...how shall I say it?...a delicate nature has left him unable to move far from the privy.’

Aline laughed, instinctively liking him, though doubt crept into her mind. Robert had been her escort for as long as she remembered; he had been the person who’d lifted her onto her first childhood pony and was well trusted to accompany her alone. Riding in the company of this young man would be highly improper. Her grandfather would have plenty to say if he ever found out.

‘I’m not sure... Perhaps we had better not ride today,’ Aline began.

The groom tipped his head to one side and his lips twitched into a half smile. ‘If you wish—though I for one would be sad to miss such a fine day. Especially when I had thought my only company was to be horseflies and the saddle-grease pot!’

A well brought up and respectable lady would send for a maid to accompany them, but none rode as swiftly as Aline did and she so wanted an exciting day. Dickon’s steady brown eyes were watching her earnestly. The memory of the morning’s audience with the council sped through her mind and a spark of rebellion that had been growing since Godfrey’s teasing flared inside her.

‘We’ll go,’ she announced.

Dickon helped Aline onto her grey mare, a broad smile on his tanned face as he put his hand out to steady her. Side by side they trotted through the wide streets of the city to the main gate, talking idly of their plans for the day.

Aline was used to riding far and fast, and she was delighted to discover Dickon well matched and equally fearless. They galloped far across the moorland, daring each other on to greater speeds. By late morning they had come upon a small village, where an alewife stood at her gate, broadcasting her wares. In unspoken agreement the riders dismounted and bought a flagon, drinking down the cool liquid gladly.

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Dickon spoke. ‘If you would care to wait here and finish your drink, my lady, I will buy lunch in the market.’

Aline watched him depart. There was a swagger in his step that caused her pulse to quicken. Unbidden, her mind drifted back to her conversation with Godfrey. Like all highborn women, she knew her husband would be the first man to bed her. In moments of honesty she admitted that she was curious. Sometimes, watching other couples in the court laughing and dancing, she longed so much for someone to seize her up in an embrace that the sensation was almost painful.

She spotted Dickon as he appeared from behind a hut, his saddlebag slung carelessly over his shoulder. Bowing again, he held out an arm for Aline. They walked together through the village, Aline acutely aware of the nearness of Dickon’s body. She was glad when they returned to the horses and she could push such inappropriate thoughts away.

The sun had started to descend before they stopped again. The purple heather had begun to thin and clusters of trees appeared, providing some welcome shade from the sun. Aline had been happy for Dickon to choose the route and they had ridden close to the borders of the province. Now, as she dismounted, Aline’s stomach fluttered uneasily at being so far from the castle with only one groom for security.

After tethering the horses to a tree she scratched them between their eyes while Dickon unloaded his pannier. He handed Aline a goblet of cool wine and she drained it thirstily, pushing her worries to the back of her mind. The day was unexpectedly warm, so they removed their cloaks and sat lazily against the trunk of a tree, sipping the wine and picking at bread and cheese. Dickon was easy company, though the talk never moved much beyond horses and amusing snippets of gossip about the goings-on of the castle staff.

Dickon refilled Aline’s goblet once more and she lay back in the warm heather, eyes closed, sleepily enjoying the chance to leave behind her duties and her lessons. Somewhere not too far away a horn sounded and she idly wondered who it might be. She tried to pull herself upright to see but found her body felt heavier than usual. Her head started to swim. She looked up to find Dickon staring at her.

‘It didn’t taste strange in the slightest, did it, my lady?’ Dickon said, his mouth twisting into a smile but his eyes cold.

The look on his face terrified Aline more than anything she had ever experienced. Something was deeply wrong.

‘What do you mean, “taste strange”?’ she asked, alarmed to hear that her voice sounded a long way off and not her own. Dickon leaned over and picked up the goblet from Aline’s side. She flinched as his hand brushed her arm.

‘The wine, my lady. I put rock-poppy juice in your cup. Not the most sophisticated drug, but effective. It paralyses the drinker quickly and sleep follows soon after,’ he explained.

‘What do...?’ Aline tried to make sense of what the man was saying but she was finding it hard to concentrate. ‘What have...you...done?’

‘I just told you—I’ve drugged you,’ Dickon explained matter-of-factly. ‘The Duke of Roxholm has paid me very well to hand you over to him. In a short while a number of his guards will be here to take you to the Citadel of Roxholm.’

He sat back on his heels.

‘I will, of course, try to defend you from their “surprise” attack, but unfortunately I will be no match. I will be found with some minor but alarming-looking injuries, wandering near Leavingham Keep, dazed and with a ransom letter, some time this evening.’

With growing alarm Aline tried again to sit up. ‘You filthy traitor. You will hang...for...this...’ she tried to snarl, though her voice barely broke the silence surrounding them.

Dickon’s response was a smirk. ‘Ah, my lady, so fierce! Do you think I would tell you any of this if I thought there was a chance that might happen? I shall be far overseas by the time your fool of a grandfather has negotiated your return.’ He knelt down beside Aline and spoke softly in her ear. ‘I’m sorry we have to part like this. But, as attractive as you are, the price I was paid is even more so.’

He started to run his fingers through Aline’s hair, pulling the combs out and unwinding the long braid. Aline tried to push him away but her arms felt weighted and numb. She gave a scream that in her head sounded loud and piercing but which came out as half gasp, half sob.

‘Still,’ Dickon continued, as though he had heard nothing, ‘I imagine we have some time before my associates arrive. We may as well say our goodbyes thoroughly. I’ve been longing to do this since I first saw you.’

With one hand pulling at the laces of Aline’s bodice Dickon moved closer, so that his wine-scented breath was warm on her face. Aline had not thought she could be any more horrified, but at his touch she felt as though hot knives were being drawn across her skin. She tried again to scream, but before she could cry out his lips were crushing her own and his tongue was forcing them apart.

Instinctively Aline bit down hard. The groom pulled away with a cry of surprise, a trickle of blood leaking down his chin. He grabbed a handful of Aline’s hair and jerked her head sharply to the side, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Aline cried out at the pain that shot through her head, but again found that her voice was no more than a mewl. She glared at him, her face full of hate but her eyes pleading with him to stop.

‘Lady Aline,’ Dickon reproached her, ‘your modesty is charming but I know you find me desirable. I’ve seen it in your eyes so don’t be coy. We must take our pleasure while we can.’

Dickon moved so swiftly he was astride her almost before Aline realised, one knee forcing its way between her legs, the weight of his body crushing the breath from her chest. His mouth worked roughly down her neck while his arms pinned her own to the ground. By now Aline’s body felt leaden and the blood was pounding in her ears. She could no more fight his assault than she could prevent the wind from blowing.

She made one last futile effort to throw her assailant off, kicking her legs wildly, but the effort sent her head reeling. Her vision began to blur. From what seemed like a great distance she heard the sound of hooves, followed by raised voices. A shadowy figure loomed above them; a dagger glinted at Dickon’s neck.

‘Get off the lady now or I’ll slit your worthless throat,’ a harsh voice snarled.

The pressure of Dickon’s body lifted from her and Aline drew a rasping breath. Two figures spun like puppets before Aline’s heavy eyes: the groom in his rough brown jerkin and a black-clad man. Her last memory was of piercing blue eyes flashing in her direction, before darkness closed over her and she was lost to the world.

Chapter Two

Aline was dragged slowly back to wakefulness from dreams of violence and fear. Her stomach was on the point of revolting, her head felt heavy, and her limbs were tender and bruised. She opened her eyes but closed them again hastily as a sharp spasm of pain burst across her brow. She swallowed with difficulty through a throat that was dry and raw.

A steady rocking informed her that she was in a moving vehicle, though she could not tell what. Gritting her teeth in readiness for the anticipated pain, she forced her eyes open again. It was less painful this time, and when her vision cleared she pushed herself with shaking arms to a seated position. Immediately an icy wave of nausea crashed over her. She lunged forwards and vomited into a bucket that someone had thoughtfully placed within her reach, clutching the rim as her stomach emptied itself violently.

‘Rock-poppy juice will do that to you, milady.’

The voice was male, and at the sound Aline’s memory attacked her with images. Instinctively she hurled herself back into a corner with a gasp, her hands curling into fists.

‘Who...? Where...?’ Aline asked in a voice far from controlled. She bit down hard on her lip in an attempt to control her chattering teeth.

A young man sat on a wooden chest, a short sword lying across his lap. He looked no more than eighteen, his hair cropped short in the manner of a soldier. His face was not the one she feared to see, and Aline felt her legs go weak with relief.

‘Would you like something to drink?’ the boy asked nervously, passing her a leather-covered bottle.

Gratefully Aline gulped the weak ale, taking in her surroundings as she did so. The vehicle was a small cart, long and wide enough for a couple of tall men to lie comfortably. The upper half was covered with fabric stretched over a wooden frame. The only light came from a gap in the rough spun curtains at the rear. It was not the sort of place anyone would think to look for her.

‘You...you aren’t helping me, are you?’ Aline asked, her heart sinking.

‘I’m sorry, Lady Aline, but no,’ the boy replied. ‘We have orders to take you to Roxholm.’

Aline sagged back down onto the mattress as she attempted to make sense of her memories. Her stomach heaved with mounting disgust as she felt again the weight of Dickon’s body on hers and the scraping of his mouth over her throat and breasts. She rolled onto her side and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly about her body with a soft groan.

‘Are you cold, my lady?’ the boy asked kindly.

Aline shook her head, but her stomach lurched and another cold sweat enveloped her. An image flashed before her eyes of two men fighting. Was this boy her rescuer? It seemed unlikely somehow.

The boy stuck his head through the curtains. ‘She’s awake,’ he called.

Presently the cart jerked to a halt. The boy jumped down from the cart, leaving Aline alone. After a few minutes a grey head appeared through the flaps of the curtain and with a curt nod motioned at her to come out.

Aline climbed out on shaky legs to find three men waiting. Two were dressed in rough brown tunics and leather cloaks: the young man who still held his sword, and an older man who must be at least fifty and was holding a crossbow pointed at her. The third man was clad in a black leather greatcoat. He held no weapon but stood with his legs planted apart and arms folded. Dark brown hair fell in a mess of tangled waves about his face, the ends brushing against the collar of his coat.

‘Lady Aline, I was starting to fear you would never wake!’

His voice was deep and unexpectedly refined. When his blue eyes met her own Aline felt a jolt run through her body as though she had been slapped. The memory that had eluded her finally dragged itself into her mind. This was the man who had wrenched Dickon off her.

‘We’re stopping here for a while,’ he said. ‘The horses need water.’ He rummaged in a basket strapped to the cart and produced a small loaf of bread. He held out a chunk in her direction. ‘Eat this—you’ll feel better with food inside you. Stay where you are and don’t move.’

The older guard brushed past her into the cart and returned with the bucket and a bulging sack that he passed to the young guard. ‘Get the chicken plucked,’ he ordered. He walked over to the stream and began to swill out the bucket. The boy stared at Aline nervously, then pulled a scrawny fowl from the sack and turned his attention to it.

Aline sat on the step of the cart and nibbled the bread, surreptitiously studying her surroundings. Faint sunlight barely broke through the trees, so they were deep in the woods, though on a rough track. The sun was low in the sky, so she reasoned they had been travelling for an hour or two. With luck they were still within the borders of Leavingham. Maybe she could hide in the woods and evade discovery, then she might be able to make her way back home, or at least wait until rescuers came. Surely she would have been missed by now? Or would Dickon delay his discovery to allow his accomplices longer to escape?

Aline finished her bread and stood up. She stretched, arching her back and rolling her head. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the young guard had paused in his task and was watching her. She put her hands to her head, as if dizzier than she truly felt, then with a weak cry staggered slightly, allowing her knees to buckle. If she seemed anything other than weak and helpless her plan would not work. The boy dropped his bird and moved forwards anxiously to catch her before she fell. He helped her to sit down again.

She cast her eyes downwards modestly and with a shy smile whispered to him, ‘Please sir...’ a nice touch, she thought ‘...I need to...umm...I have to...the woods...’

The lad’s forehead wrinkled in confusion and then, as he understood what Aline meant, he blushed deeply. He glanced over to where the older guard was filling the bucket in the stream. The man in black was standing by the horses, poring over a parchment, and had his back to them both. The young guard nodded in the direction of the undergrowth. Aline walked to where he had indicated but to her dismay the boy followed close behind.

With her best attempt at an innocent smile she turned to the lad. ‘Oh, thank you, but you don’t have to come with me. I will not faint again. I don’t want you to get into trouble for not finishing your task in time.’

He looked back to where the half-plucked chicken lay and relief crossed his face. ‘Be quick,’ he said.

Aline walked into the bushes, swaying slightly for effect, then lowered herself onto her hands and knees and crawled slowly away. She moved as quietly as possible in what she hoped was the direction they had come from, keeping the track in sight. Every moment now meant the difference between freedom and recapture. If only she could reach a village she might be safe.

Aline crawled to the edge of the woods and then ran along the track. When she reached a bend in the road an idea occurred to her. With fumbling fingers she unclasped her necklace. For a moment she hesitated, clutching her mother’s keepsake tightly, but her necklace was so distinctive that someone searching for her might spot it and know she had come this way. She carefully looped the necklace over a low branch. The silver glinted in the sunlight and surely could not be missed.

She walked back towards the undergrowth into the trees, then hesitated. It might be better to stay on the road; there would be less cover but it would be faster to travel and with luck her captors would not suspect her of leaving the forest.

‘I wouldn’t advise heading into the woods, my lady. Who knows what wild animals or bandits you might find there?’

Aline turned at the voice, a yelp of surprise bursting from her. The man in black was leaning against a tree, arms folded. He cocked his head to one side and smiled. ‘A creditable effort, my lady. I’m impressed, truly,’ he said. ‘However, I have orders to obey and I can’t let your escape attempts stand in the way.’

Aline ran.

She hurled herself into the woods without caring which direction, only knowing she had to get away. Branches and thorns tore at her dress and hands. With a stomach too empty and a throat too raw, every breath was becoming harder to take. Her strength was fading, but still she pushed on. Her pursuer stalked after her, moving at an almost leisurely pace and yet gaining ground with every step.

The trees started to thin out and she found herself in a clearing. Frantically she looked around for anything that might serve as a weapon. Her eye fell on a fallen branch and she picked it up, her other hand grasping at a handful of dirt and leaves. As the man came between the trees she held the branch out as though it were a sword.

‘Stay back!’ she shouted.

The man threw his head back and laughed, deep-throated and with genuine amusement.

‘What will you do if I don’t, my lady? Give me a splinter?’

‘I mean it,’ Aline spat, using all her will to keep her voice firm. ‘I’ll scream.’

‘Scream all you like, Lady Aline. The only people who can hear you are my men, and that would hardly be to your advantage.’

He moved towards her and Aline thrust the branch forwards sharply. Her opponent took a step backwards, then abruptly lunged and knocked the branch sideways. Aline threw the handful of dirt in his face, and when he instinctively covered his eyes she ran again.

She had barely reached the other side of the clearing before the man recovered. Picking up the branch, he hurled it hard at Aline. It caught her behind the knees and she jerked forward. Her legs tangled in her skirts and she landed heavily, palms outstretched. Before she could stand the man was on her. He rolled her over and pushed her back, one knee across her stomach, pinning her to the ground. She struggled to push him off, blindly clawing at his face with her nails. Her fingers pulled at the dark mane that flopped over his face, and she screamed all the obscenities she could recall.

Astonishment showed in her assailant’s face at the fierceness with which she fought him. With one fluid movement he twisted to kneel astride her, his legs gripped tightly at either side of Aline’s waist, pinning her firmly. At a leisurely pace he reached a hand beneath his leather coat and removed a knife from the scabbard at his belt.

A sob burst from Aline’s lips at the sight of it. She did not want to die—not here, not like this! But instead of slitting her throat, as she’d expected, the man reached for Aline’s skirt. With one swift movement he cut it open down the side. Aline’s stomach almost revolted as the memory of Dickon’s assault flashed through her mind. She redoubled her efforts to escape, beating against his chest with both fists and flailing wildly with her legs.

‘Don’t touch me!’ Aline screamed, grasping at his knife. ‘I will kill myself before I let you have me!’

Her attacker sat back, genuine surprise flickering momentarily across his blue eyes. His mouth turned down with distaste at the implication of Aline’s words.

‘You rate your charms very highly, my lady! Don’t fear—I prefer my partners to be willing.’

An unbidden sob of relief burst from Aline’s throat and her body sagged.

The man’s smile faded, replaced by a softer expression. ‘I promise you, your honour is safe,’ he said solemnly.

Without waiting for a reply he cut a strip of cloth from Aline’s dress and, lifting the pressure of his body, rolled Aline onto her front. He pulled her hands behind her back and bound them tightly. Though she dug her feet into the ground, Aline was unable to resist as the man put his arms about her waist and pulled her to her feet.

‘Walk,’ he instructed curtly. He gave her a gentle prod in the centre of her back.

Hoping to surprise him, Aline launched her body backwards, knocking him off balance. She lashed out wildly, kicking the heel of her riding boot into his kneecap for good measure, and ran screaming as he doubled over with a satisfying grunt of pain.

She had not run more than six paces before he caught her from behind by the neck of her dress. He knelt down and pulled her backwards against his body, his arm across her chest and throat. She felt the scratch of his beard against her neck. With the blood pounding in her throat, she writhed and twisted against the controlled strength in his arms. She had fought her hardest and he had barely raised a sweat!

The man cut another strip from Aline’s skirt and bound her ankles together. Aline let fly another volley of curses, bucking wildly. In response the man laughed, unwound the cloth from about his neck and gagged her. He sat back against a tree, cross-legged, and folded his arms as Aline lay writhing angrily on the forest floor. She glared at him, hoping hate was clear in her face.

The man did nothing, indifferent to her anger and clearly prepared to wait as long as necessary for Aline to surrender. She lay still as misery crept over her.

‘Good. You are beginning to see sense.’ He unwound himself and heaved Aline over his shoulder as if she weighed no more than a bundle of straw. Whistling to himself, he carried her through the woods to the track, seemingly oblivious to the double-footed kicks she aimed at his chest.

After an undignified journey for Aline they reached the cart. Relief flooded the faces of the two guards as the man in black strode towards them. Aline saw that the young guard sported a livid red mark across his cheek.

‘Duncan, explain,’ Aline’s captor said questioningly. The older guard saluted smartly.

‘He was stupid. He won’t be again,’ he answered gruffly.

‘Then it’s done with,’ the man in black said curtly to the youth. ‘But if anything like that happens again you answer to me.’

The boy cast a reproachful look at Aline, then mumbled an apology. The man in black climbed into the cart and put Aline face-down on the mattress, turning her head towards his.

‘May I suggest you use this time to realise the foolishness of trying to escape, my lady?’ he said. He climbed down from the cart. ‘Move off,’ he shouted, and after a few moments they lurched forwards.

Waves of nausea washed over Aline. She strangled a sob, shut her eyes and concentrated on not vomiting again. She silently cursed Dickon for his betrayal, cursed herself for falling for it and for her clumsy escape attempt, and finally cursed the dark-haired man whose face swam before her eyes.

She did not know how, but she swore that one day the man would pay for his treatment of her, and she consoled herself by picturing myriad deaths and humiliations for the arrogant swine.

Chapter Three

They travelled for what felt like hours. A brief struggle convinced Aline that her limbs were too tightly bound to give her any hope of freeing herself. The repetitive motion of the cart and sounds of hooves made her drowsy, and she kept slipping in and out of consciousness.

She awoke with wet cheeks, realising she had been weeping in her sleep. Now her mind dwelt further on the people she had left behind. When would anyone even know what had befallen her? It could be hours before Dickon returned to the city with his lies.

As much as that, however, she could not stop dwelling on why she had been taken. But for the gag in her mouth the lack of knowledge would have made her scream. Was she a hostage? The notion seemed ridiculous. There had been peace for many years, so why would the Duke of Roxholm risk disrupting it? But it had to be that, she told herself. Any other alternative was far too horrific to contemplate.

The movement of the cart stopped abruptly and Aline became alert once more. It was colder now, and the muted light coming through the curtains told her night was beginning to fall. They had been travelling for hours, so it was little wonder her body ached from lying on the rough mattress. Her throat felt rough and sore and she would have begged willingly for a drink. Her fingers were cold and numb, though wriggling them caused sparks of pain to shoot up her arms from where the ropes bit tightly into her wrists.

From outside the cart came voices and the clattering of equipment as the men set up camp for the night. Aline tried to twist her body round to see what was happening but all she succeeded in doing was covering her face with her hair and catching her skirt on a loose piece of wood. After minutes of fruitless attempts she gave up and lay still. Her throat tightened at the prospect of being left like this all night and she forced herself to breathe slowly. Finally, as her composure began to crumble, she heard somebody climb inside.

The person came closer and Aline gave a muffled cry as hands touched her shoulders. She was lifted briskly by the arms and pulled to a seated position against the side of the cart, with her legs curled underneath her. Loose strands of hair fell in front of her face, tendrils sticking to the saltwater tracks on her cheeks. The itching irritated her. That it was evidence she had been crying infuriated her even more. She wiped her cheek across her shoulder to move the hair from her eyes and saw who had lifted her upright.

The man in black sat back against the opposite side of the cart, too tall to stand upright. Aline studied her captor properly for the first time. He was well built, and she estimated no more than ten years her elder, though lines were starting to show on his brow and round his eyes. He sat silently, elbows on his knees and chin on his hands, returning Aline’s gaze.

Eventually he cleared his throat and spoke. ‘Forgive me for not introducing myself before, Lady Aline. I am Hugh of Eardham, Captain of the Guard of Roxholm.’

He paused, as though he expected a response, though what did he expect her to do, given that she was bound and with a gag in her mouth? Aline thought scornfully.

When no reaction was forthcoming he continued. ‘I think it is important that we reach an understanding that will make the journey easier for everyone, so let me explain your situation. A message was sent back to Leavingham with your horses and the body of your groom. It states very strongly that the High Lord must take no action until he receives further communication or you will forfeit your life.’

He paused to let his words sink in, watching Aline closely.

‘If we have an easy journey it will take us several days before we rendezvous with the rest of my men. Now, I can untie you, and let you travel the rest of the way in comfort, but only if you give your word not to make things difficult for us. Otherwise you will remain as you are. The choice is yours.’

Aline glared at him, any number of sharp responses coming to mind. But her arms and shoulders ached from the unnatural position they had been forced into, and the gag dug into the sides of her mouth. Knowing she had little choice, she nodded. The Captain leaned forwards and removed the cloth from Aline’s mouth. As he came close she caught a mixture of scents: horse, leather, and something musky that made her catch her breath.

Drawing his dagger, the man reached around and cut the bindings on Aline’s hands and feet. Red weals stood out on her skin, stark against the pale flesh. She rubbed her arms to dull the pain as feeling came rushing back into them in sharp bursts.

The Captain stuck his head out of the cart and called for wine. Presently someone passed a wineskin through to him and he held it out to Aline. She tried to take it but her hands were numb and she winced in pain, her fingers unable to grip properly. Seeing her discomfort, the Captain knelt next to her and held the wineskin to her lips. It was an unexpectedly kind gesture and Aline paused, suspecting trickery of some sort.

‘It is only wine, I promise you. See?’ the Captain said. He took a deep draught himself, then held it so she could drink. ‘Here...not too fast.’

Aline sipped the cool liquid slowly, conscious of his eyes on her and unsettled at the way his gaze made her heart thump.

‘You knew all along I had gone,’ she said accusingly. ‘Were you just toying with me?’

The Captain shook his head. ‘Not toying,’ he said. ‘I was curious to see what you would do. I meant it when I said I was impressed. It took courage to do what you did. No one is coming for you, however, so while I commend you on your ingenuity in leaving this—’ he drew Aline’s necklace from the pouch at his waist and let the chain dangle between his gloved fingers ‘—it was futile.’

Until that moment Aline had held on to the hope that she might be rescued. Now that hope vanished completely. Everything she had tried to do had been in vain. Her eyes began to prickle and she blinked furiously, determined not to let the tears spill once more.

With his eyes never leaving Aline’s, her captor gathered up the chain and slipped it away. His eyes travelled downwards to take in the state of her clothing. Aline blushed at how dishevelled she must look: her bodice was still unlaced from Dickon’s attack and her shift had slipped to show more of her flesh than was seemly. The telltale heat of a blush coursed over her neck and cheeks. She hoped it was not noticeable in the fading light.

‘Take a few moments to compose yourself, then join us,’ the Captain said. ‘Duncan can find you some salve to ease the pain in your wrists and Jack is cooking dinner. He makes a better cook than he does watchman. If you have any need to attend to that which you did not take care of earlier you can use the bucket round the side of the cart. You will have your privacy, but don’t even think of sneaking off or I’ll truss you like a chicken and leave you in here until we get to the citadel.’

With a curt nod of the head he left her.

Aline quickly relaced her bodice and pushed a stray comb back into her hair, then climbed from the cart to locate the bucket. They had stopped in a clearing close to the river. Aline knelt on the bank, washing her hands and face in the cool water and rubbing salve over her wrists. Standing up, she noticed the Captain watching her and she frowned. Did he think she was about to jump in and swim for freedom?

The men continued to set up camp while Aline watched from the low step at the back of the cart. The older man, Duncan, produced thick blankets from one of the boxes in the wagon. Wordlessly he passed one to Aline as she sat hugging her knees to her chest. The night was cold, and she shivered in spite of the warm blanket. Though she had been asleep or unconscious for most of the afternoon she felt fatigue start to creep over her and she stifled a yawn.

The Captain strode over and Aline eyed him coldly. Before she could protest he had taken hold of her hands. He pushed her sleeves up, running his thumbs lightly over the flesh.

‘Is this less painful now?’ he asked brusquely.

Aline nodded. The salve had eased the sting and the redness had all but disappeared.

‘Good,’ he said.

Abruptly he left her, and walked round to the front of the cart, then returned bearing a set of iron cuffs linked with a long chain. Aline drew an angry breath as she realised their purpose. He passed the chain through the spokes of the cartwheel, then fastened the manacles round her wrists. The chain was long enough to give her freedom to move close to the fire or lie down, but ensured that she could not try another escape attempt.

‘So men of Roxholm break their word quickly!’ she spat at him.

‘I plan to sleep tonight—not sit up making sure my charge doesn’t walk away again. You will have your liberty in the morning,’ he answered.

The condescending tone of his voice made Aline’s blood boil but she bit back a retort, knowing that there was nothing to be gained by provoking him.

‘I want my necklace back,’ she demanded instead.

The Captain shook his head. ‘No. I think I’ll keep that for the time being. Maybe if you behave yourself over the next few days...’

The Captain was still holding on to her wrists, so she pulled her hand away from his sharply. He gave a deep, appreciative laugh, as though he respected her rebellion, and bowed before leaving her. Aline pulled fretfully at the cuffs, eventually succeeding in easing her sleeves under the metal. The material provided some shield from the sharp edges, leaving the only injury to Aline’s pride.

The night wore on slowly.

The three men sat close to the fire, playing dice and sharing a jug of ale. They ignored Aline, who sat watching from her position on the step, thinking miserably of home. Later Jack brought her a bowl of surprisingly good stew, thick with barley and sorrel. Her appetite returned with a vengeance and she ate greedily. The boy hovered over her, smiling shyly at how well the meal was received. His eye was beginning to turn a lurid colour from the thump Duncan had given him.

‘You should find some comfrey for your eye...it must hurt,’ Aline told him.

The boy gave her a rueful smile and brushed a hand across his swollen cheek. ‘If you had succeeded in escaping we would all have been dead men—the Captain included. I think I got off lightly really.’

They both looked over to where the Captain sat cross-legged and his meaning was clear. Aline shivered and followed his gaze. The Captain had removed his leather greatcoat and was clad in a light tunic. He wore a look of intense concentration on his face as he sharpened his dagger in slow, methodical strokes. An odd fluttering curled about Aline’s stomach as she noticed the way his muscles moved. A traitorous voice whispered in her mind that if he ever smiled properly this man would be very handsome. She mentally hushed the voice, annoyed that she had noticed at all.

The Captain became aware that he was being watched and turned to stare at Aline. She held his gaze boldly. He put down his whetstone, picked up a rolled blanket and walked over to where she sat.

‘May I join you, my lady?’

Aline shrugged, a twinge of embarrassment causing her heart to miss a beat. He took her empty bowl and gave it back to the young guard with a jerk of his head.

‘Thank you, Jack,’ he said pointedly.

The lad took the hint and went back to his companion. Aline moved to turn her back on the Captain, disinclined to talk, but the question that had gripped her heart since she had awoken got the better of her.

‘What does the Duke want with me?’ she asked, trying to keep the anxiety from her voice.

The Captain folded his arms across his broad chest and shook his head. ‘That I cannot tell you, I am afraid. My lord has not shared such information with me.’

A thought that had been shouting for Aline’s attention resurfaced. ‘You said a message was sent with the body of my groom. What happened to him?’

‘He betrayed you and tried to violate you, but you care how he died?’ The man raised his eyebrows in surprise.

‘I didn’t say I cared. I said I wanted to know what had happened!’ Aline snapped.

Her fury must have hit a target because the Captain’s expression softened, then became serious.

He sat down next to her on the step, his shoulder brushing hers, and set his jaw. ‘As you must have guessed by now, he worked for my lord. He had been a groom in the citadel, then a criminal under sentence of death. He was offered a pardon in exchange for working his way into your household and bringing you to us.’

‘What had he done?’ Aline asked. Her hands curled into fists at the thought of how easily Leavingham’s security had been breached.

‘His crime? I am not sure. I did not play any part in choosing him,’ the Captain explained. ‘My only part in the affair was to meet him and escort you to Roxholm. We were to send him back to Leavingham alive, but battered. He had to keep up his story of heroically defending you against us.’

He paused and a strange look crossed his face that Aline did not fully understand. She wondered briefly if he was holding something back.

The Captain continued his tale. ‘He must have believed he was a dead man once his task was done, or maybe he took exception to my timing, because he produced a knife and attacked me. I had to act in self-defence. I do not regret his death, though, given what he was preparing to do. Neither should you.’

Aline exhaled deeply and her shoulders sagged as she felt the tension leaving her. ‘Thank you for telling me,’ she said. ‘And thank you for...’ Her voice tailed off as her mind played out the memory of Dickon’s mouth and hands roaming across her unwilling body. Her mouth twisted into a grimace.

When the Captain spoke next his voice was unexpectedly gentle. ‘You should get some sleep, my lady. You have had a hard day and we’ll be back on the road early. I give you my word that you will come to no such harm again.’

The memory of the Captain’s body on hers as they had struggled on the ground came back to Aline in a flash, along with the words she had screamed at him and the manner in which he had countered her assumption. He had said she was safe from...that, but could she trust him?

As if he was reading Aline’s thoughts, the Captain unrolled the blanket and wrapped it snugly around her shoulders with a smile. ‘You need have no fear for your safety in any respect whilst you are in my charge. I will keep you safe.’

He walked back to the fire, wrapped his own blanket around his body, and lay down, arms crossed over his chest. He was soon snoring gently, as though he had no cares in the world, and as though he had not just calmly told her of the death of a man and left her chained in the dark!

Aline climbed off the step and lay on the bedroll placed for her on the ground. His body had been warm next to hers and the air was chilly in comparison. She wrapped her blanket tighter and curled into a ball, hating him and doubting she would find such peace herself that night.

Chapter Four

As Aline had expected, she slept badly that night. The blanket did little to keep out the chill and damp and she lay awake, resentfully watching the silhouettes of the sleeping men round the fire. Every time she almost found a comfortable position the manacles dug into her wrists and dragged her back to consciousness, and more than once she found herself stifling a scream of frustration. As a result, her slumber had been light, every sound waking her in a fog of confusion. A soft grey dawn was already replacing the moonlight before exhaustion defeated her discomfort. Unable to keep her eyes open any longer, she fell dreamlessly into a true sleep.

A gentle pat on the shoulder roused Aline to consciousness. She lay with her eyes closed, ignoring it as best she could. A slightly harder shake of her shoulder caused her to let off a stream of angry obscenities.

She opened her eyes to find Jack staring at her, open-mouthed. She glared at him through her tangle of hair and his face took on an injured expression. A stab of remorse pricked Aline’s conscience, quickly replaced by irritation for being soft-hearted. Didn’t she have every reason to curse? She was stiff and cold, never mind being held against her will. The lad really should learn not to take things so personally.

She sat up, wrapping the dew-damp blanket around her shoulders, and rubbed her eyes sleepily.

The Captain strolled over to where Aline sat. He knelt down facing her, unlocked the cuffs and gathered up the chains. ‘Time we were moving, my lady. I let you sleep as long as I could.’

‘How kind of you!’ Aline looked him up and down with exaggerated care. His hair was damp and he had changed his tunic for a fresh one, over which he wore a sleeveless jerkin of soft leather. He looked well rested and Aline immediately hated him for it. ‘Did your consideration extend to bringing some clean clothes for me?’ she asked haughtily.

The Captain had the grace to look uncomfortable. ‘Alas, no. Though there is fresh water if you would like to wash before we leave, and Duncan will find you some breakfast.’

Aline longed for a bath, but had to content herself with a quick rinse of her face and teeth in cold water. She pulled the comb from her hair and plaited it into a long braid. Duncan brought her over a hunk of bread and a mug of warm, honeyed ale. The bread was old, but dipped in the sweet liquid it was possibly the most welcome meal she could remember.

The Captain left Aline unrestrained, as he had promised, and she dozed, soothed by the rocking of the vehicle as it sped along.

During the afternoon she sat towards the back of the cart, staring out through the curtains. Duncan and Jack alternated between driving the cart and riding the brown mare but the Captain rode his own mount possessively. The animal seemed remarkably suited to his owner: a chestnut stallion with glistening flanks and an assured gait that Aline could not help but admire.

They kept to forest tracks as much as possible, though as the ground became swampier they were forced back onto roads. Any hope Aline had of being able to attract aid was soon dashed, and pangs of homesickness gripped her as they left her home further behind.

Whenever passing through settlements was unavoidable the Captain would hitch his horse to the cart, climb inside and sit opposite Aline, his dagger unsheathed, ready should he need to silence her. He would hold her gaze intently. as though he were a cat watching a mouse, his blue eyes boring into her. After the third time he paused as he climbed out, and gave Aline an unexpected smile.

‘I trust that you are not finding the journey too disagreeable, Lady Aline?’

It was the first time he had spoken to her since setting off other than to issue terse instructions. Caught unawares, she felt disinclined to be sociable with him. ‘Would it matter if I was?’ she replied bitterly.

The Captain looked taken aback by the venom in her voice, his smile vanishing instantly. He nodded curtly before climbing down. Aline watched him with curiosity through the opening, wondering why her reaction had surprised him.

It was late afternoon before the Captain signalled the cart to stop. Other than the chunk of bread at sunrise and an apple at midday Aline had eaten nothing, and her stomach was starting to complain. Jack walked over, carrying a bag, and handed it to her. She examined the contents: a bundle of rosemary, mushrooms and a handful of onions. He produced a knife and held it out expectantly.

‘Isn’t it enough that you have kidnapped me without expecting me to cook for you?’ Aline said haughtily, pushing the bag back at him.

The Captain looked over from where he was unsaddling his stallion. ‘If you don’t help then you don’t eat. Though I suppose a lady as fine as yourself has little experience of such menial tasks.’

Aline bit back her first impulse to retort angrily and smiled sweetly, replying in a voice that dripped honey. ‘On the contrary, my grandfather ensured that my education covered a wide variety of subjects, Captain. He said a true leader should be able to serve his people in any way. So do not assume I am unskilled because I am well born simply because you are not.’

She sat down, drew her legs under her gracefully and began speedily to peel the onions. The Captain pursed his lips and Aline couldn’t tell whether he was angry or laughing as he hefted the saddle over his shoulder and walked off.

Jack cooked dinner, frying the vegetables then simmering them in ale, and the four travellers sat together, eating companionably.

‘Particularly well-sliced onions, my lady,’ the Captain remarked drily, tipping his mug of ale at her in a salute.

Despite herself Aline smiled back, and returned the gesture with her own mug.

That night, when the Captain took her hand and affixed the manacle to her wrist, Aline stared into his eyes, refusing to look away.

‘You know I have to do this,’ he told her.

Was that a hint of apology in his voice? Aline wasn’t sure. She nodded silently as she held out her second arm. The Captain ignored her hand and instead fixed the other manacle round the wheel of the cart. The act left her with double the freedom she had had the previous night. Aline looked at him quizzically.

‘It’s colder tonight, Lady Aline. You should sleep closer to the fire,’ the Captain explained. He held his hands out to help her stand.

‘I can manage without your help,’ Aline said stiffly, pulling herself to her feet.

The Captain rolled his eyes and dropped his arms, though he picked up her bedroll and moved it closer to the fire.

‘Sleep well, my lady,’ he murmured softly, before walking to the far side of the fire.

Aline drew her blanket around her shoulders. She stared into the flames until her eyes began to sag and slept peacefully for the first time in two days, the voices of the three men lulling her to sleep.

* * *

It came as a surprise to Aline that the fear and anger she had been feeling was gradually being replaced by boredom. For much of the next day Aline dozed on the straw pallet. It was late afternoon when the cart drew again to a halt and she woke to the sounds of an argument.

‘...wasn’t here before.’

‘That was nine days ago. Things change, Jack. So, it appears, must our plans!’

Aline listened for more but the voices moved further away.

Duncan pushed his head through the curtains and beckoned Aline out. About half a mile ahead was a fair, with stalls and tents covering the route through a small hamlet. The Captain was standing by his horse, adjusting the saddle. In brief terms he explained to Aline that Duncan and Jack would be stopping to replenish supplies. He walked the horse closer to Aline.

‘You and I will be taking a detour, my lady. I can’t run the risk of you drawing attention to us. Mount up.’

He offered his hand for Aline’s foot. She pointedly ignored it, instead gathering her skirts in one hand and reaching her foot into the stirrup. She swung her leg over the horse with ease and settled herself into the saddle. With one hand she patted the animal’s neck to calm him.

‘You may lead on,’ she instructed.

The Captain let out a bark of a laugh. ‘This fellow is far too good to waste on a walk. We ride together.’

Before Aline could protest the man swung up behind her, reaching around her waist to take the reins. He wheeled the horse around and set off at a trot across the marsh.

Aline sat stiffly, holding on to the front of the saddle. She was acutely aware of where the Captain’s arms brushed against her body, and the way his breath touched like feathers on the back of her neck. Trying to avoid more than the minimum contact with him, she found herself unable to catch the rhythm of the animal and once or twice slipped sideways in the saddle. The third time it happened the Captain caught her with one hand round her waist before she fell.

‘Relax—he’ll pick up on your fear,’ he instructed her.

Aline bristled at the implication. ‘I’m not scared of the horse,’ she snapped, glancing over her shoulder. ‘I could ride him perfectly if I was in command of him and not sharing a saddle with you.’

‘So what are you scared of?’ the Captain asked, smiling.

Aline twisted around in the saddle to face him. Could he really not know?

‘I was drugged and nearly violated by someone I thought I could trust. You pinned me bodily to the ground and drew a dagger on me. You left me bound and gagged for hours, then chained me to a cartwheel like an animal.’ Her voice began to crack and all her frustration, fear and anger threatened to overwhelm her. ‘I am here against my will. I have no idea what awaits me at the end of the journey and you feign puzzlement that I am uneasy with such...such...closeness!’ she said angrily.

The Captain pulled the horse to a stop and dropped the reins. Slowly and with care he drew his arms away from Aline and let them fall to his sides. He looked at her, his eyes narrowing as though he suspected trickery.

‘What that brute tried to do to you was deplorable. I meant what I told you before. You are under no threat from me, or my men.’

Aline raised her eyebrows.

He tilted his face down and then he shook his head. ‘Lady Aline, any man would freely admit you are a very attractive woman, but I’m no defiler. You have my word that all we are doing now is riding.’

Aline looked up into the Captain’s eyes. Her throat tightened as she stared into the icy blue depths. A fluttering in the pit of her stomach whispered that it was not fear that sent her stomach tumbling at his touch, but rather some new sensation she was reluctant to name.

‘Thank you,’ she said hesitantly.

The horse tossed its mane, impatient at the delay, and the riders both looked away. The moment had ended almost as soon as it had begun, but something had taken place that Aline did not quite understand.

The Captain reached round Aline once more to take the reins. He was careful to avoid touching her more than he needed to, and Aline smiled to herself at the small gesture. She buried her hands in the horse’s mane to hold on and adjusted her seat. She had been on horseback since an early age, and riding was one of her greatest pleasures. She soon found herself rising and falling to the rhythm, responding to the movements of the man and the creature.

As they reached open ground the Captain gave a jab with his heels. The horse surged forwards and broke into a gallop. Aline held tighter, and in her admiration for the animal almost forgot where she was and with whom she was riding.

Once they had bypassed the village Aline supposed that the Captain would head back to the road as quickly as possible. However, he seemed in no rush as he headed further away, spurring the horse on even faster than before. Twice they jumped a stream, and Aline laughed unconsciously with exhilaration. She was genuinely sorry when they finally joined up with the road. They slowed to a trot and continued until they reached a small clearing. The Captain brought the horse to a standstill and dismounted. He held out a hand to Aline. She hesitated momentarily then took it and climbed down.

‘We’ll camp here tonight. Jack and Duncan should be along soon with supplies,’ he told her.

Aline found a flat rock and sat down, her legs outstretched. The Captain reclined on his elbows, his long legs crossed at the ankles, watching Aline as she rewound her dishevelled hair. He opened his mouth to speak, then looked away. Aline felt no compulsion to speak, though her earlier anger had subsided. If he wanted to make idle conversation then let him be the one to start it.

Finally he spoke. ‘His name is Bayliss. The horse, I mean. In case you were wondering.’

‘Oh,’ Aline replied, nodding. Impulsively she added, ‘Thank you for telling me. Next time you take me for an unwished-for expedition I’ll know what to call him.’

‘Oh, now, Lady Aline!’ the Captain exclaimed, sitting up. ‘Don’t try to deny you enjoyed this afternoon! You might dislike my company, but I’m a good enough judge of horsemanship to see that you were having a wonderful time!’

He caught sight of the smile playing on her lips and his eyes lit up as he realised she was teasing. Aline saw she had been right: when humour took him he was handsome.

They were both lost in their own thoughts, but peaceful in each other’s company, when the cart drew near and stopped. The Captain walked round to the back and began to investigate the contents of the boxes and bags it contained. Once he had gone, Jack pulled a bundle of cloth from the bench underneath the driver’s seat.

‘My lady, we saw this and I thought you might like it,’ he said as he offered it to Aline, his cheeks flushing.

Aline unfolded the cloth to reveal a deep blue dress with wide sleeves and a belt of brown leather. Red embroidered flowers decorated the neck and sleeves. Aline ran her fingers lovingly over the stitching.

‘I’m sorry, it isn’t as fine as you’re used to,’ he stammered, blushing even redder.

‘Jack,’ she said, standing up and taking his hand, ‘thank you. It’s beautiful.’

At that point the Captain came from the back of the cart. He pulled up short at the scene in front of him, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Aline dropped Jack’s hand guiltily.

The Captain’s glance fell on the dress, lying over Aline’s arm. He pulled it from her and held it up. Then he turned to the youth, an expression of disbelief on his face.

‘Jack? Do I understand clearly what you have done? We are in the process of abducting the heir to Leavingham, trying to be discreet, and you go buying her a dress?’

‘I thought... I didn’t... She needs...’ the boy spluttered, his voice beginning to crack.

‘No! You didn’t think,’ the Captain bellowed, bundling the garment and throwing it to one side.

Furious at his behaviour, Aline stepped in front of Jack protectively. ‘He didn’t mean any harm,’ she declared, in as firm a voice as she could muster.

‘Stay out of this, my lady!’ the Captain shouted.

He tried to sidestep round her, but she moved again to stand in his way.

The Captain balled his fists and Aline feared he might strike her. She drew a sharp breath.

At the sound he ran his hands through his hair, gripping his skull. He gave a growl. ‘Save me from soft-hearted women!’

‘Captain...my lord...I—’ Jack protested, but the Captain cut him off with a wave of the hand and a snort of annoyance.

‘What did he call you?’ Aline interrupted in astonishment.

The Captain’s eyes blazed as he looked at her. ‘Nothing you were intended to hear, my lady. Though I am sure Jack will be more than happy to answer your questions in my absence. I’m going to scout the area. We’re in wolf country now.’

He turned and stormed off through the trees, swiping at the undergrowth with his fist.

Duncan ambled up the road. He rolled his eyes at Jack.

‘I told you he’d do that.’

Aline stooped to pick up the dress and turned to Jack, who was standing as though rooted to the ground. ‘Jack, you called him “my lord.” What did you mean?’

The two men exchanged a glance.

‘Duncan, tell me!’ Aline ordered. ‘Please,’ she added.

Jack opened his mouth but Duncan spoke first. ‘Of course there is no reason why you should know, but I’m surprised he hasn’t told you. He calls himself Captain but he’s really Sir Hugh of Eardham. He’s Duke Stephen’s cousin, and second in line to the throne.’

Chapter Five

Sir Hugh! Aline winced as she thought how she had taunted him by calling him common born.

Duncan smiled at her expression.

‘You didn’t suspect? Ha! He’ll be most put out when I tell him his innate nobility didn’t shine through,’ he crowed.

‘And who are you two? The Lord Chancellor and the Keeper of the Duke’s Keys?’ Aline asked witheringly, still not entirely sure she was being told the truth.

The old man snorted. ‘No, my lady, just a couple of soldiers looking for a quiet life.’

‘He really is a knight, though,’ Jack added.

Given the temper in which the Captain had stormed off, Aline was amazed at how indifferent the two men seemed. Just who was this man who hid his rank and title and whose men seemed unconcerned at his anger?

‘Lad, best get that fire started before the night draws in,’ Duncan barked to Jack, and the boy scurried off.

The old man ambled over to the large rock and sat down, leaning his back against it. He cocked his head towards Aline, who followed and sat alongside him. She folded the blue dress neatly and laid it on the rock, the joy of it crushed by the quarrel. Duncan was following her actions carefully and she gave him a sad smile.

‘He’ll not mind when he’s had the time to stamp his mood off,’ the old man said.

Aline didn’t need to ask who he meant. They watched as Jack expertly struck a spark with a flint and blew on the flames until they caught.

‘Sir Hugh’s mother and Duke Stephen’s father were brother and sister,’ Duncan offered, although Aline had not asked. ‘Lady Eleanor fell in love with her father’s steward and they married, despite the difference in rank. Oh, I know what you’re thinking,’ he said, with a wave of his hands to forestall Aline’s interruption. ‘It sounds unlikely, but somehow they persuaded her father. I think he knew he’d never get any peace from Eleanor until he consented, and of course she was only a daughter. She certainly passed on her strong will to her son!’

It was on the tip of Aline’s tongue to ask from whom the Captain got his bad moods, but she held back, eager to hear the rest of the tale.

‘Until he was seven Hugh was the only child born to either side of the family. His aunt had baby after baby, but none of them survived more than a few weeks. Duke Rufus—that’s Stephen’s father—adored his nephew. He decreed that Hugh would become Duke and he was raised as such.’

‘The son of a steward?’ Aline asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

‘Aye, that might be strange, but some would say a granddaughter taking the throne would be unusual, too.’

Aline conceded the point with a smile.

‘When everyone had given up hope Stephen was born, and overnight Hugh lost his position.’

Aline’s heart gave a twinge of sympathy for the disinherited boy. ‘As I gained mine when my brother died,’ she commented. ‘A birth or a death can change so many lives!’

She watched as Jack finished preparing dinner and buried the pot in the flames. Rummaging in the back of the cart, he produced a bottle of wine and three mugs. He broke the wax seal, poured a good quantity into the pot and joined Aline and Duncan. The three companions sat together, peacefully drinking, watching the sun as it set behind the mountains and listening to the distant howling of a pack of wolves.

The old man continued his tale. Aline learned how everyone had naturally expected Duke Rufus to focus all his affection on his heir. There had been surprise and pleasure when he had continued to treat Sir Hugh as a second son. The boy had had the finest tutors, travelled to other provinces and inherited his mother’s land and wealth. The two children had grown up as brothers.

‘Rufus died two years back and Stephen became Duke,’ Jack interrupted.

Jack and Duncan exchanged a glance, and the younger man suddenly looked wary. ‘There were those,’ the old man said darkly, ‘who would have preferred his older cousin to take the throne as he had once been expected to.’

Aline would have pressed Duncan for more information, but the peace was broken by the return of Sir Hugh.

He strode into the camp and inspected the horses, pausing to stroke Bayliss’s soft nose and scratch the carthorse behind the ears. His hair was damp with sweat and he held his jerkin under one arm; his tunic was unlaced at the neck. He had obviously been walking hard.

Determinedly ignoring Aline and the men, he walked to the fire and prodded a couple of stray branches back with his foot. He took the lid off the cooking pot and sniffed the contents, then gave them a stir. Seemingly satisfied, he found himself a cup from the cart and finally joined the three by the rock. His face was stern as he held his cup out to Jack, who filled it.

Eventually he looked at Aline and spoke. ‘I see you aren’t wearing your new dress,’ he remarked, raising his eyebrow.

The statement was so unexpected that Aline burst out laughing. She shook her head, ‘No, Sir Hugh, I am not.’

At the mention of his title the Captain looked sharply at Jack, who paled, then at Duncan, who merely shrugged.

‘Jack, I should have brought your old mother instead of you. She’d have kept a confidence longer,’ Sir Hugh remarked sternly, though Aline saw an unexpected glint of humour in his eye. Sir Hugh’s gaze travelled to the folded dress. ‘I would have chosen green,’ he said, half under his breath.

He refilled his cup and held out the bottle to Aline, who declined.

‘Jack, you’ve got a kind heart but a soft head. Fortunately it seems your gift-buying did not attract any suspicion so we can sleep easily tonight.’ He turned his attention to Aline, his clear blue eyes regarding her carefully. ‘I know that is no consolation to you, Lady Aline. I’m sure you would much rather a rescue party was heading this way. But if you give me your word you won’t try to leave I will allow you to sleep unchained tonight. Can I trust you?’

Aline nodded and Sir Hugh smiled, his blue eyes crinkling. He walked to the cart and withdrew the crossbow from the rack underneath.

‘For the wolves, my lady,’ he explained. ‘They won’t often approach travellers this low down, but I saw their tracks and it’s best to be prepared.’

Feeling uneasy, Aline drew a blanket around her and watched the fire until the sky turned black.

* * *

Aline woke with the sun on her face and stretched drowsily, enjoying the warmth, not quite remembering where she was until the sound of voices dragged her back to reality.

Sir Hugh wandered over with a smile.

‘I hope you’re a good walker. Once we get high the cart will need to be as light as possible and we’ll be on foot. Today we cross the mountains and enter my lands.’

‘Your lands or the Duke’s, my lord?’ Aline asked, raising her eyebrow archly. It was the sort of barbed quip she might make to Godfrey, but the flash of hurt and anger that crossed Sir Hugh’s face made her regret it instantly.

‘No... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...’ she began, but he turned and walked off without a word.

‘That was unkind, Lady Aline,’ Duncan said reprovingly.

He was sitting by the cart and Aline had not noticed his presence. Her cheeks flamed as she stared after the departing Captain, shame at her words flooding over her. He had been friendly, and for no good reason she had rebuffed his attempts.

Duncan came to stand by her side. ‘I know you’d not think it, given the way you’ve met him, but he’s an honourable man and plays the hand he’s been dealt as best he can,’ he said. ‘In fact, my advice is that you’ll have an easier time in the citadel with him on your side.’

The thought of everything that implied hit Aline like a fist to the chest. ‘I didn’t ask for advice, Duncan,’ Aline said sharply, biting down the fear, ‘and I don’t need anyone to protect me.’

Duncan folded his arms and stared at her. ‘The advice was freely given, my lady, and don’t be foolish— everyone needs allies.’

Aline stared at the Captain, now pacing back and forth next to the cart like a restless animal. His dark hair was swept back off his face and three days’ growth of beard lent him a rakish air. His expression was belligerent and his reaction stung her unreasonably. So what if his smile caused her throat to tighten? He was rude, bad-tempered and seemed to have no awareness of how to behave towards a lady.

‘Trust him? I doubt it very much!’ she muttered under her breath, wrapping her arms tightly about herself.

By late morning they’d reached the foot of the low mountains that acted as a natural border between the provinces. The road became a steep uneven track, which made for slow progress. As Sir Hugh had predicted, the single carthorse struggled to pull the cart, and the other two were hitched to the front to help, Sir Hugh muttering about how such a task was beneath Bayliss. The travellers loaded themselves up with as much baggage as they could carry and pressed on.

Aline walked between Jack and Sir Hugh, determined to keep up with the pace the men were marching at. Her dress caused her to stumble on more than one occasion, which added to her misery.

‘Lady Aline—wait.’

Aline was lost in thoughts of home, and the voice made her jump. Sir Hugh had not addressed her directly since her joke had misfired. He was still clearly offended as he had spurned all her attempts to make conversation.

‘Let me,’ he said.

He lifted the pack Aline had been carrying and hefted it with ease onto his back, along with his own.

Aline started to speak, but he cut her off curtly. ‘Don’t thank me. I want to reach our destination before midnight and we won’t if you hold us up.’

He strode on ahead, leaving her standing.

‘I wasn’t going to thank you,’ Aline called after him. ‘I was going to tell you not to treat me as though I am incapable!’

He turned back to look at her and cocked his head. ‘Then we can all walk faster, my lady.’

His lips curled into a smile and Aline could not tell if it was mocking or not. She stalked past him with her head high and a flounce of her skirts. After that Aline caught him looking at her more than once with something in his expression that she could not identify.

The temperature increased hourly. They’d reached the high point by mid-afternoon, but as they began their descent down through the pass it became uncomfortably hot. The travellers were all irritable and bickering at the slightest provocation when they came upon a tarn, deep and clear, set into an outcrop on the hill. The pool looked so invitingly cool that Aline longed to dive in.

Clearly Aline was not the only one who found the water calling to her, because with Sir Hugh’s consent the men stripped off their shirts and boots and plunged into the water. Aline stood by the cart, enviously watching.

Duncan waded to Sir Hugh. The men had a brief exchange, then Duncan climbed onto the bank and escorted Aline down to the water, suggesting she swim, too. She had a brief internal battle about the appropriateness of undressing in front of her captors and almost refused.

‘We’ll close our eyes while you get in!’ Jack yelled good-heartedly.

Aline laughed, her resolve wavering. She glanced at Sir Hugh, but he had turned away and was wading to the middle of the lake in confident strides. In the end the overpowering heat and the need to wash away the grime of the past three days won out over modesty. She discarded her boots and thick stockings and then, turning her back on the swimmers, unlaced her bodice and slipped out of the torn and filthy dress. She quickly waded into the shallows in her undershift.

Ah, the water was wonderful! Revelling in the sensation of the cool water around her body, she unwound her hair from its braid. Closing her eyes, she lay back and floated. For the first time in days she felt peaceful, forgetting her captivity and the man who waited at the end of the journey.

* * *

Sir Hugh stood waist-deep in the tarn, watching his prisoner as she lay in the water. Her pale hair drifted around her like a cloud of smoke and her face was serene. It had been an impulse to let the men cool off and a risk to allow Lady Aline to do the same. But then, what harm could it do? The journey had been difficult and she seemed exhausted—a marked contrast to the spirited woman who had so fiercely fought him. Since that first escape attempt she had caused no difficulties, and the likelihood of her attempting anything reckless was slight.

Though he would have denied it utterly, if questioned, he had developed a grudging respect for the woman. Most fine ladies—and if it came to that some men he could name—would have crumbled in such circumstances, but she remained unafraid. Even her swipe at his position had shown spirit.

His mind drifted back to his first sight of her, lying barely conscious and helpless against the odious bastard he’d dragged off her. His fists clenched in anger as he remembered the obscene propositions the groom had made regarding the unconscious woman. Hugh’s temper had flared, and when the brute had lunged at him with the knife he had lashed out. The blow he’d delivered had sent the groom’s head back against a tree trunk with a crack of the neck, his body falling lifeless to the floor. Seeing it again in his mind’s eye, he knew he had been right not to trouble her with those particular details.

Aline was standing now, with her back to him, running her fingers through her dripping hair. Hugh could not tear his eyes away from her. The fabric of her shift clung to her slim form, outlining the contours beneath, yet temptingly veiling them. It had been weeks since he was last with a woman, and he was shocked at the way his heart leaped as he imagined his lips travelling down the slender curve of her spine. The memory of their struggle on the forest floor was vivid. He felt himself stirring at the thought of her body held fast against him, not fighting to escape but with desire matching his own.

She’s not for you, he told himself sharply.

He dived under the water and swam a few strokes, hoping the chill would bring him to his senses. Surfacing, he threw his head back to shake the water from his eyes. A ripple of surprise coursed through him as he saw Aline was watching him intently. For a moment they held each other’s gaze. A deep blush began to spread across Aline’s creamy throat and she glanced away hurriedly. This was too much! Could the woman see inside his very thoughts?

Feeling unexpectedly self-conscious, Hugh strode to where Aline stood and grasped her tightly by the arm.

‘Out!’ he commanded. ‘We move on in ten minutes.’

She made no protest as he hauled her back to the cart. He left her stroking Bayliss while her shift dried in the heat and strode back to the water’s edge. He sent Duncan over with Aline’s clothes, unable to look at her himself.

‘Just keep your head down,’ he heard Duncan advise her. ‘Whatever is eating him will pass soon enough.’

Hugh pulled on his boots roughly, refusing to think about the tears that had brimmed in Aline’s grey eyes. He insisted that they must get through the mountains and down to a more sheltered area before they stopped for the night. ‘The weather is closing in and I have no desire to get caught in a storm without cover,’ he snapped.

They travelled silently after that. Aline walked the other side of Jack and kept her eyes fixed on the path, which suited Hugh fine. Once they were on flatter ground, and Bayliss and the mare were unhitched from the cart, he brusquely ordered her into the cart and they sped on their way.

The sun had set by the time they stopped in the shelter of a high rock face. It was still not far enough, but the horses were beginning to stumble on the loose ground. Duncan went to gather wood for the fire, and Jack began preparing dinner. Hugh made some unnecessary adjustments to Bayliss’s bridle and saddle, checked the contents of the seat box and kicked the wheels of the cart before he finally admitted to himself there were no more pretexts for ignoring Aline.

‘Will you come out, please, my lady?’

There was no response. Hugh cleared his throat and stopped himself in the act of smoothing his hair back. He was about to stalk off when Aline climbed through the curtains. The sight stopped him in his tracks. Her hair was free over her shoulders and she had changed into the blue dress. It was too loose, but Aline had gathered it at the waist with the belt and the billowing folds hinted invitingly at the contours beneath. The wide neckline revealed the delicate hollow where neck met collarbone, soft and oh, so tantalising.

Hugh’s scalp prickled and his stomach flipped. He knew he was staring, and that she was waiting.

‘Lady Aline,’ he began hesitantly, feeling as awkward as a youth propositioning his first bar wench, ‘I ask forgiveness for my behaviour earlier. I was rude and it was unwarranted.’

Before Aline could speak a soft whimper of terror broke the silence. They exchanged a glance of alarm. Hugh took Aline by the arm and pulled her round the corner after him.

They both stopped short at the sight before them. Jack had been skinning and boning a brace of rabbits and the scent of blood had attracted a wolf. The animal must have been starving and desperate, because the rangy beast had crept closer into the camp and had now backed Jack against the wall of rock. It paced back and forth in front of him, snarling. Whenever the boy made a move it snapped its teeth and pawed the dirt.

‘Get back inside,’ Sir Hugh ordered Aline. He pushed her towards the cart before turning to Jack. ‘Throw it the bloody rabbit!’ he ordered.

The boy was frozen to the spot. He stood holding the carcass as if in a trance, not even aware of the crossbow that lay on the log next to him. The animal was confused by the shout and turned; emitting a low growl, as if unable to decide which man seemed the most likely threat. It turned back to Jack and bared its teeth, transferring its weight as though preparing to attack.

Sir Hugh took his dagger out of its sheath and with a roar crossed the ground between them. He made a feint at the animal. It turned and tensed, then leaped forwards, hitting him square in the chest and sending him flailing painfully to the ground.

Chapter Six

Above all else there was the smell: an intensely sweet stench of blood and rotting meat. Then there was the heat: the wolf’s breath, wet and overpowering on his face. A small part of Hugh’s mind was amazed that it had registered such an irrelevant detail at such a time, as though his mind was storing up memories while it still had the chance. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, almost obliterating the shouts of alarm and the whinnying of horses that seemed to come from a great distance. The wolf snarled and snapped viciously at his face, its weight pinning him down. Claws scratched at his torso through the thin shirt and he felt searing pain.

Hugh covered his face with his left arm, the leather sleeve of his greatcoat offering some protection. With his right hand he swiped out blindly with the dagger. The animal’s fur was too thick to penetrate and the blade had little more effect than a feather. Enraged, the wolf shook its head with a force that knocked the dagger from the man’s grasp. Hugh dug his heels into the ground and twisted his body, his hand reaching desperately towards where the dagger lay but falling short. The creature lunged down at him again with a snarl, its grey muzzle wrinkled and teeth bared. Hugh felt a dull pain rip across his chest and he bellowed with shock and anger.

The pain was not yet intense; he knew that would come later—if he survived the attack. He was dimly aware of wetness down the side of his neck, which he knew instinctively must be his blood. At the scent of the blood the beast raised its head and gave a deep, triumphant howl. Waves of panic coursed through Hugh’s body. He abandoned his hunt for the dagger and pushed his hands against the animal’s chest with the strength he had left. His arms felt heavy and he could barely make his fingers work as they brushed through the wiry fur. The edges of the world became a grey blur. A thought passed through his mind: What a stupid way to die.

He closed his eyes, bracing himself for a final assault.

No pain came. Instead he felt heaviness as the animal slumped onto him. It twitched frantically, then lay still. A moment passed as Hugh’s brain caught up with the sensations he was feeling. He opened his eyes and craned his neck. The wolf was lying across his body, a crossbow bolt protruding from one eye. Spittle and blood dripped from its open jaws. He raised himself up onto his right elbow but it gave way immediately and he felt the first true pulse of agony course through his body.

Hugh collapsed back onto the dirt, his head spinning, and turned to look in the direction the bolt had come from. Instead of Duncan or Jack, as he was expecting, Aline stood white-faced, with the crossbow reloaded and now aimed menacingly at his heart.

This was the final straw, and a wordless exclamation of disbelief burst from Hugh’s aching lungs. He closed his eyes, blood loss and pain making him light-headed and hysteria in danger of consuming him. In a moment of clarity he was struck by the absurdity of the situation. His own men were next to useless in a crisis and a woman, his prisoner, who for some reason had saved his life, was now threatening to end it.

* * *

Despite Sir Hugh’s order Aline had stayed outside the cart. She had watched transfixed with horror as the wolf attacked.

Jack had still been frozen to the spot, his earlier whimpers replaced by a keening cry of, ‘No...no...no...no...no!’

Hugh’s shriek of pain had broken the trance they’d both been under. At the same time as Jack picked up his boning knife Aline had snatched the crossbow from where it had been lying. Breathing slowly to steady her nerve, she’d taken careful aim and fired. With trembling fingers she’d slid another bolt into place and wound back the string, but there had been no need. Her aim had been true and the beast lay dead.

Now she stood stiffly, holding the weapon at arm’s length, uncertain what to do. A noise behind her made her jump. She turned her head, though she kept the bow aimed at the man on the ground. Duncan had returned at the commotion and stood red-faced and panting at the edge of the clearing, his short sword drawn. Jack stood with his knife outstretched, still holding his rabbit, trembling and close to tears.

Aline stared at the Captain, who now lay laughing uncontrollably under the body of the wolf. For a moment she considered the likely outcome if she did shoot him. She walked slowly towards him, still holding the crossbow at chest height. Sir Hugh’s face changed as she stood over him, doubt and possibly fear in his eyes, his hysteria over as quickly as it had arisen. His chest rose and fell heavily, the muscles straining with exertion.

‘What will you do now, my lady?’ he asked, his voice hoarse and slurred. ‘What purpose would it serve to kill me? Even if my men don’t execute you immediately, how long do you think you would last on your own in the wilds?’

Aline looked deep into the eyes of the man who had captured and humiliated her. With her sweetest smile she aimed her bow and pulled the trigger.

The bolt thrummed close to the Captain’s head and stuck in the ground by his ear. Aline had the satisfaction of seeing him jerk in alarm. She lowered the bow and held out a hand; he took it, grunting as she helped him up.

No sooner was he on his feet than his legs buckled underneath him and he slumped forwards with a groan. Aline caught him in her arms. but could barely support his weight. She let the crossbow fall and awkwardly lowered the man to the ground. She cradled his head in her lap as Jack and Duncan rushed forwards to haul the body of the wolf away to the edge of the clearing.

‘Get some torches lit,’ Sir Hugh ordered weakly, ‘and bring one over here. I need to see how bad this is.’

A warm stickiness was starting to soak through Aline’s bodice. She tensed, alarmed at how clammy her dress felt. Sir Hugh had been such a short time in her arms before he fell. The man’s injury must be serious if the blood was soaking through his clothing so quickly!

Duncan brought a torch and cautiously peeled back the Captain’s coat and tunic, both now crimson and sticky. Duncan swore, Jack made retching sounds, and Aline blanched as the flickering light revealed the terrible state he was in.

There were scratches covering his torso, but these were nothing in comparison to those on his chest. Where the wolf had razed him with its claws the wound was shallow, but long. It stretched from his shoulder to finish just over his heart, three ragged gashes in all. The Captain pressed his good hand tightly down to try and slow the blood oozing out. From the controlled sound of his breathing Aline could tell he was fighting hard to remain alert, but she knew he could pass out at any moment.

‘Get one of those bottles of whisky quickly and start a fire, Jack,’ Duncan rasped. ‘I’m going to have to cauterise that before he dies from the loss of blood.’

Sir Hugh let out a deep, wordless moan of protest and closed his eyes.

‘What can I do to help?’ Aline asked.

‘Hold him. Comfort him as best as you can, my lady,’ Duncan said kindly. ‘I don’t know if you understand what is going to happen here, but I have to seal the wound. Be warned: when the knife touches he’ll be in terrible pain—more than he is in now. You’ll have to be ready. Can you do that?’

Aline nodded dumbly. Sir Hugh began to shake, whether from the knowledge of what he faced or from loss of blood Aline was uncertain. She reached down and smoothed his matted hair back from his face with a trembling hand, then stroked his face gently. She made vague shushing sounds, as though she was comforting an injured animal or a child.

Jack ran across with the bottle of whisky and a leather strap from the carthorse’s halter and wrapped it around a thick twig. Duncan picked up the fallen dagger and poured some of the liquor over the blade, then took it to the fire. He balanced it in the flames, his face solemn as he prepared for his task. When he was satisfied the blade was hot enough he nodded to Jack, who held the bottle for Sir Hugh to drink from, then tipped more of the liquid over the injured shoulder and chest.

Sir Hugh swore as the sharp spirit flowed over his injury. Again Jack gave him the bottle, and Hugh took a couple of deep gulps. As an afterthought Jack took a swig, passed it to Duncan, and then to Aline, who took a hesitant drink, glad to feel the sharp warmth in her stomach.

Duncan carried the dagger over and knelt astride his captain. He nodded his head and Jack pushed the leather-wrapped wood between Sir Hugh’s teeth, then leaned across his legs to restrain him. Aline laced her fingers through Sir Hugh’s, noting with alarm how cold they felt. She moved his hand away from the wound and gave a reassuring squeeze, which he answered almost imperceptibly with one of his own.

‘Ready, lad—my lady?’ Duncan asked. ‘I’m going to count to three, then I’ll do it. One...two...’

Without waiting for the third count Duncan pressed the knife against the largest laceration on the Captain’s chest. He held it for a couple of seconds, then quickly removed it. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, assaulting Aline’s senses. Sir Hugh bit down on the wood but could not prevent himself from letting out a groan, more animal than human, deep in his throat as his skin blistered.

His hand gave a spasm and his fingers squeezed Aline’s so tightly she cried out. His body jerked, then fell still as he collapsed into a deep faint. Bile rose in Aline’s throat and she let out an anguished sob, while Jack leaned away and vomited loudly. Duncan removed the wood from the unconscious man’s mouth and inspected his handiwork, then smiled grimly at a job well done.

‘You both did well. Two more to go,’ he told them. ‘I need to reheat the blade. Too cool and it won’t seal the edges.’

‘You can’t do that again!’ Aline blurted out. ‘He’ll never survive another shock like that!’

‘I don’t have a choice,’ Duncan told her gently. ‘If I don’t then the blood loss will end him anyway. How else can I close the wounds?’

Aline looked down at the unconscious man, his face pale and drawn, knowing the old man was right. Then from nowhere a memory surfaced of a visiting doctor from across the seas. He had amazed the whole court when he’d sewn together a deep cut in the leg of her grandfather’s favourite horse.

She looked up with bright eyes and asked, ‘Do you have a needle?’

She explained her idea to Duncan, who spat out a loud protest. Aline’s angry retort was cut short by the slight movement of the head in her lap. Sir Hugh gave a guttural sigh and opened his eyes to see his soldier and his prisoner staring at each other angrily.

‘Is it over?’ he whispered huskily through cracked lips.

‘Hardly started,’ Duncan raged. ‘This madwoman wants to sew you together like—like a tapestry!’

Again Aline explained her plan, ignoring the snorts from the old soldier behind her. Sir Hugh lay silently as she spoke, all the while looking up at Aline.

‘Please, let me try?’ she asked.

Sir Hugh held her gaze for what felt like hours before nodding slowly.

‘I’m going to need warm water and clean cloths,’ Aline ordered.

Jack hastened to fill the pot and set it onto the fire. Duncan walked to the cart and pulled a leather roll out of a box, grumbling all the while under his breath, then returned bearing a selection of needles and tools.

Leaving Sir Hugh lying alone, Aline retrieved her old dress from the cart. As rapidly as she could she cut it into strips with the dagger, unpicking the thread that decorated the bodice. She returned to where Duncan and Jack had positioned her patient. They had moved him against the cartwheel and sat either side, supporting his weight. With a lurching heart Aline saw that the only way she could reach the wound was to kneel astride the reclining man.

She gathered her skirts and moved as carefully as she could into position. She reached a timid hand to his smooth chest, feeling for the torn flesh.

Sir Hugh managed to smile weakly despite the pain. ‘There are some advantages to being mauled, I see.’

‘You flatter yourself, Captain,’ Aline said in a voice lighter than she felt. ‘I prefer my companions to be less bloodstained!’

The man’s face darkened as he obviously recalled when he had said something similar and he looked away.

Aline’s slim fingers probed the area where the skin was torn. She noted with relief that the blood no longer flowed so quickly. She had sounded more confident than she felt when describing the procedure; now, faced with actually doing it, she was beginning to lose her nerve.

‘This is going to need a lot of stitches and it needs to be well cleaned. Are you sure you want me to do this?’ she asked cautiously.

Sir Hugh nodded, his eyes half-closed. Aline took a deep breath and began.

She dipped the strips of dress into the hot water, ignoring the sting in her hands. She cleaned what blood she could from round the wound, ignoring the wincing this caused. Jack passed the whisky bottle to Aline, who drank deeply, then held it to Hugh’s lips. Her hair fell across her face and she paused, twisted it into a roll and secured it with a strip of skirt. Knowing she could put the moment off no longer, she took a deep breath and pushed the needle through Hugh’s skin. He jerked and let out a growl, but did not pass out again.

The needle was blunter than Aline would have preferred, and sewing the wound took what seemed like hours. It turned out that skin proved a lot tougher to pierce than tapestry cloth.

The sky was almost pitch-black by the time she was finished. Hugh had remained still after the first few stitches and contented himself with groaning or swearing depending on the depth of the stitch. Now Aline knotted the final thread with a sigh of relief. The Captain had lost a lot of blood, but with luck he would survive if he kept the wound clean. She used the remaining strips of dress to wrap the wound as best as she could, winding it across Sir Hugh’s chest and behind his shoulder.

Duncan brought a pile of blankets from the cart and rolled two up for a pillow, then covered Sir Hugh’s legs with another, fussing around him until the Captain waved him away irritably. Duncan patted Aline on the shoulder and gave her a smile of approval, then moved off to tend the fire. Jack went to the cart and returned with another bottle of whisky.

The four sat together, passing it between them, any hostility gone for now. They talked over events until they had pieced them together. Though Sir Hugh was exhausted, and weak from the loss of blood and his exertions, he had revived sufficiently to join in the conversation.

Aline was unused to drink that strong, but the warmth spreading through her body was far too comforting for her to care, and she soon found her head spinning. Jack made a further, slightly wobbly trip to the cart and returned with another bottle. He warned her in a slurred voice it was his own brew and would be ‘very, very much too strong for a woman.’

Her pride stung, Aline snatched it from his hand. Tilting her head back, she drank defiantly, conscious of Sir Hugh’s soft laugh as it caused her to cough abruptly and made her eyes water.

* * *

The night wore on and peace descended on the camp. Everyone became preoccupied with their own thoughts as the drink took effect. Duncan sat cross-legged with his back to the cartwheel next to Hugh, singing the same song over and over—something about cheeses and a maiden, though he seemed to know only half the words and was humming the rest. Jack lay on his back a little way off, hiccupping and ranting to the stars about how he should have followed his father into the ironmongery trade.

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