Low laughter rippled around the circle. I forced back a surge of fear.

“I don’t know, sir,” one voice ventured. “She’s noble. If we hurt her, the quality will come after us and it’ll be the gallows.”

“Didn’t I tell you we’re protected?” Mulholland said. “No one’s going to come for us.”

I tried to gather my focus. Keep him talking. “Who is protecting you? Is it Whitmore? I know he is part of the Exalted Brethren of Rack and Ruin.”

Mulholland gave a low laugh. “You think you know so much. You don’t know the half of it.”

“What do I not know, then?”

“When to shut up.”

He grabbed for me. I scrabbled across the grass, glimpsing Weatherly’s fury as he fought against the two men holding him, but Mulholland was too fast. He caught the hem of my habit and hauled me back, slamming me onto my back, the impact driving all the air from my lungs. I gasped for breath, gathering all my strength to roll over, but a hand struck me in the chest, driving me back against the ground. Hands were hauling up my skirts, dragging them over my head, a stifling, blinding prison of linen and wool. Then a viselike hand grabbed between my legs, fingers jabbing into the knitted gusset of my riding pantaloons.

Fear and revulsion galvanized me—that primal female fury and terror that was made of teeth and claws and scream. I kicked and hit and scratched blindly, connecting in a drag of flesh and hard bone.

“Watch it, she’s a fighter,” a voice called.

“They’ve gone!” The voice was urgent. Not aimed at me. “Belford’s gone.”

“Jesus Christ!”

Mulholland’s crushing weight lifted. I fought my skirts, finding cold air, then sky and moon above me. The sounds of men running. I rolled onto my knees, pushing myself upright in panting, staggering effort. Ahead, two men still held Weatherly.

I lunged forward, all my momentum suddenly and brutally stopped. A body slamming into mine. A choking arm around my throat again. The stink of Mulholland. He dragged me back against his body, the cold silver dagger across my throat.

“Belford,” he bellowed. “Show yourself or she’s dead!”

I dared not breathe, the steel of the blade already biting into my skin. Mulholland’s men had taken up positions around the clearing, all armed, peering into the darkness for Evan and Kent.

An odd silence. All I could hear was Mulholland’s breath in my ear, the heat of his fury exhaled against my cheek.

“Belford!” he bellowed again.

“He’s in there!” one of the men at the far side of the clearing yelled. He fired into the forest. A single explosion and flash of light that flinched across my body.