Will must have been afraid, but he never made a sound. Another turn. The mare’s lungs heaved like bellows. The riders behind them were growing closer, their hoofbeats louder. There! The mare raced down the track to the stream. Harry almost sighed in relief. Almost. Then he saw and realized there had never been any hope at all. On the stream’s far side, shadows shifted in the gloom. More men on horseback were waiting for him there.

They were herding him into a trap.

Harry glanced over his shoulder. He had maybe half a minute before the riders were upon them. He hauled on the reins, cutting the poor mare’s mouth. There was no help for it. The mare half reared, skidding to a stop. Harry pried Will’s hands from his waist. He grabbed the boy’s wrist and flung the crying child to the ground.

“Hide. Now!” Harry shook his head as the boy sobbed a protest. “There isn’t time for that. You have to stay hidden—no matter what they do. Go back to Dick, tell him to get Bennet Granville. Now run!”

Harry kicked the mare and drew his knife. He didn’t look back to see whether Will had done as instructed. If he could draw the attackers far enough away from Will, maybe they wouldn’t bother going back for one small boy. He charged full gallop into the stream. Harry felt a grin stretch his lips just before the mare slammed into the first horse.

He was surrounded by plunging horses and foaming water. The man nearest raised his arm, and Harry drove his knife into the exposed armpit. The man didn’t even groan when he fell into the stream. Around him, the horses whinnied and the men shouted. Hands grabbed for him and Harry swung his knife viciously. Desperately. Another man fell into the stream, screaming. Then they pulled him from his horse. Someone caught his knife hand. Harry closed his right hand, the one with the missing finger—into a fist and hammered at any flesh near enough to hit. But there were many of them and only one of him, and they were raining down a storm of kicks and blows.

In the end, it was only a matter of time before he went under.

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

“Men do have their uses,” Lady Beatrice Renault said as if conceding a dubious point of debate, “but giving advice on affaires de coeur is not one of them.” She raised the dish of tea to her lips and took a small sip.