A single tear, utterly unexpected, slipped down Bliss’s cheek, leaving a chilly trail. The wind was rising, and it nipped at her through her clothes.

When she heard the horses in the distance, Bliss was relieved. Jamie had been worried about her after all. He’d organized a search party.

The fact that the riders were coming from the wrong direction didn’t strike Bliss until she found herself face-to-face with a half-dozen bearded strangers. Their leader wore a hat low over his eyes and a sheepskin coat.

Too late, Bliss realized what a terrible mistake she’d made by leaving the safety of Jamie McKenna’s side. She retreated a step, meaning to turn and run, but the man at the front of the pack had snatched her off the ground before she’d even completed the thought.

She landed in the saddle in front of him with a painful thump, and her precious satchel toppled to the ground, forgotten.

“You’d better let me go,” she warned, operating on sheer bravado. “My—my husband will come looking for me.”

“Will he now?” the ringleader taunted, the smell of him filling Bliss with sickness and fear. “When he does, love, he’ll find you some the worse for wear.”

Bliss knew it was hopeless to struggle. The stranger was holding her in an inescapable grasp, and he’d spurred his mount to a brisk gallop. Even if she managed somehow to free herself and jump, she would almost certainly be trampled to death by the horses following behind.

Chapter 4

THE MAN WHO HELD BLISS CAPTIVE SMELLED INCREDIBLY BAD. OF course, she reflected, the blighter’s personal hygiene was the least of her worries: she was being carried off into the night by a band of no-gooders, after all. She was cold, and she was weary.

And she was scared—oh, so very scared. Even a lifetime of marriage to Alexander Zate would have been preferable to the experiences that probably lay ahead of her now.

Unless she could escape.

Too soon, the riders reached a camp, hidden away in what appeared to be a canyon. There was a fire burning, and shadowy forms encircled it. Gruff greetings were called out and the man who’d taken Bliss prisoner released her so suddenly that she slipped from the horse’s back to the ground.

One of the murky shapes huddled near the fire solidified into a man. “What’s this? A lass?” He cupped a hand under Bliss’s chin and she twisted away from him.

“Leave me alone!” she warned.

All the wastrels laughed. “Spirited little bit o’ baggage, ain’t she?” queried the man who’d carried Bliss in front of him in the saddle. He reached out to rest a hand on her tumbledown, tangled hair, and she sidestepped him, angry as a hissing cat.

“Don’t you touch me!”

Again, the dark camp seemed to rock with harsh laughter, and Bliss felt a choking terror as the full scope of the situation came home to her. The only weapon she had left was bravado, and she wielded it with the last shreds of her strength.