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Riding in silence, she enjoyed the spicy, clean scent of the wood. The trees were like old friends, and she felt safe here among them. She knew every path here, all the places where the animals lived, and all of its hidden jewels.
Her chest tightened yet again. Don’t be ridiculous. You’d have left it all behind anyway, had you married him.
Soon the wood thinned, and she gazed out at the barren hills sprawled out before her. Glancing back, she looked on the trees one last time. Good-bye.
The wind was gentle, if a bit cool, as she let Primero find his way across the wold. The clouds were low but not threatening. The season for snow had passed. That was something to be thankful for, at least. She’d not prepared for inclement weather.
When the terrain opened and the little valley appeared before her, she smiled. She would be cozy enough tonight with a proper fire, and tomorrow would be the first day of her new, free life.
Suddenly, Primero snorted and tossed his head. “I know. I’m tired, too, but we must get inside before it gets dark, and I still need to gather firewood.” She touched his flanks with her heels and urged him forward again. He complied, albeit with strange hesitancy. But when he got to the entrance to the path down into the dell, he again balked.
Tired and heartsore, she lost patience. “Primero! What is the matter with you?” Sliding off, she took his reins and led him down on foot. He snorted and dug in his hooves, only moving forward when she tugged.
A moment later as she neared the end of the path, she suddenly understood his reluctance. There just ahead in the clearing stood a man. A very rough, unsavory-looking sort of man.
Cursing under her breath, she began to back away as quietly as possible, withdrawing the pistol from the waist of her breeches and cocking it. Behind her, Primero began to stamp and snort. Turning to quiet him, she marked that his eyes were wide, the whites showing as he sidled nervously.
Without warning, he suddenly reared up on his hind legs and let out a loud neigh, startling her so that she released his reins. There behind him on the path, she saw another man.
Shouts erupted on all sides.
Taking aim at the one blocking the path back up, she fired. Screaming, he clutched his arm—but he did not fall. Hands reached out, snaring in her cloak, tearing her away from Primero, who was doing his best to attack the man attempting to grab his reins.
The one on the path, the one she’d shot, lifted his uninjured arm and took aim at Primero with the pistol in his hand.
Her heart froze. “Run Primero! Run!”
At her cry, the horse rose up on his hind legs and whirled, striking out at the man with the gun, his hooves slashing the air and causing him to back away. Losing balance, the ruffian fell into the dirt just as Primero came crashing back down. The man rolled in the nick of time, just avoiding having his head smashed in as the horse lunged past and back up the path.
One of the other men started after him, but the one who held her shouted for him to stop. “Leave be! He’s gone. Too bad, that. Nice bit o’ horseflesh, that was. Would have fetched a fair price, and we’ll never know what might have been in the other bag. But we have one, at least, and her. Cease your struggles, girl,” he commanded. “There’s no escaping now.”
She answered by tucking her chin and biting his forearm with all of her might while kicking him viciously with her booted feet.
Howling, he only crushed her to himself rather than letting loose. “And that’ll earn you nothing but trouble!” he warned, taking his other hand and cuffing her across the top of her head. “Quiet now, I say!”
Knowing it was useless, she stopped. Better to conserve her strength in the hope of having a better opportunity.
“Right pretty, she is,” said another, coming close and taking her chin in his hands. “We’re going to be good friends, you an’ me.”
His gap-toothed leer wrought panic in Victoria’s heart as she remembered Julius’s warning. God help me! “I am Lady Victoria Lennox, daughter of the Duke of Richmond,” she announced in her haughtiest tone, trying to sound unafraid. “Touch me, and you’ll hang so high the crows won’t be able to find your rotting corpse for the clouds.”
“Oh? A toff, are we?” said the man holding her. Loosing her, he spun her about and grabbed her arm to prevent her from escaping. “What you doing out her
e all alone then, eh?”
“Riding, obviously,” she sneered.
He slapped her. “We’ll have none o’ your heighty ways here, miss. You’re in no position.”
Cheek still stinging, she glared at him.
Looking her up and down, he nodded approvingly. “Aye, you’re a toff, all right. None but a toff would speak so. You’ve just bought yourself a bit o’ time.” Turning, he summoned one of the others. “Tie her up. Take her to the cottage and watch her until I can decide what to do with her. And Horse”—he shot the man a hard look—“you’re not to touch her, you understand?”
“Aye,” grumbled the other man as he came forward with a length of rope.
She had no choice but to let the leering blackguard bind her wrists and lead her down into the cottage. As she entered, she marked with sadness and anger that its homey familiarity had been shattered by the intrusion of these barbarians. They’d made themselves quite comfortable with her blankets and all of the other comforts she’d smuggled in over the years.
She sat down by the cold hearth. “It’s cold in here.”
