Toby looked at the paper, at the three seals that took away Campion’s wealth, and he looked at the soldier. “She’s no danger to you now. Let her live.”

Devorax put the paper on the table. “You want her to live, puppy?”

Toby nodded.

Devorax looked at him, pretending to think. “She gave up all for you, puppy, what will you give for her?”

Toby was fighting an impotent rage. He was trapped in this room, far outnumbered by implacable enemies. He knew that Vavasour Devorax was passing the time as the tide rose, amusing himself, but Toby could see no course but to play the big soldier’s game.

“I will give whatever you want.”

“Your life, puppy?”

“No!” Campion protested.

Toby frowned at Devorax. “Will she live?”

“She’ll live.” Devorax nodded at the men behind Toby and, at the prearranged signal, they seized him. They were big men, easily overpowering him, and he could only watch as two more of Devorax’s soldiers took hold of Campion. They pulled her upright and led her to the stone wall of the barn. There they stood her, her back to the stones, while Vavasour Devorax, pistol in hand, walked to face her. He glanced at Toby. “I shall count to three, puppy, and then I will shoot your wife. If you wish to stand in front of her then my men will go with you.” He raised the huge pistol, its muzzle a gaping, black hole five paces from Campion. He pulled back the flint. “Do remember, Sir Toby, that your wife is a pauper. She has nothing. You can let her die and you can walk away from here. You’ll find a wealthy bride. There are plenty of young widows in England today.”

Campion looked at the terrible black muzzle. She raised her eyes to stare through one of the high windows of the barn. A single star glittered at her.

Devorax’s voice was harsh. “One.”

Toby shouted. He wrenched with huge strength at the men who held him, but they were ready, they were strong, and he could not release himself to attack Devorax. Ebenezer grinned.

“No, Toby, no!” Campion shook her head. He had pulled his captors close to her.

“Yes.” He smiled at her. He leaned forward and kissed her. Her cheek was cold. He kissed her again on cold, soft lips. “I love you.”

“Two!”

The men holding Toby and Campion had arranged themselves either side of the pistol’s aim. Devorax, fearing perhaps that the bullet might still strike one of his own men, moved two paces closer. The guards grinned. Devorax’s voice grated, “You can walk away, Sir Toby. You don’t need a pauper as a wife.”

Toby ignored the taunting voice. He could not embrace Campion because the guards had his arms held. He leaned forward again and laid his cheek against hers. “I love you.”

“Three!”

Devorax fired. Flame jetted from the muzzle, blossoming filthy smoke. The explosion echoed in the barn, the sound shattering back and forth between the stone walls. Toby, his back to the gun, felt a blow in the center of his back.