Wild Conquest. Hannah Howell

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      Pleasance almost fainted with relief when that icy but already familiar voice broke the silence. Her attackers stiffened, then slowly edged away from her. Although she felt weak and was shaking badly, she managed to yank the gag from her mouth and haphazardly pull her clothes together. The need to run, far and fast, gave her the strength to move.

      “Take the blankets and get in the wagon.” Tearlach saw that the man who had been crouched over her had his breeches undone. “Did he succeed?”

      “Nay,” she rasped as she scooped up the blankets.

      “You cannot shoot all of us,” one of the soldiers growled, a tentative bravado replacing his surprise.

      “Nay, only two. Do ye wish to be one of those two?” When Pleasance stumbled up to him, he nudged her toward the door. “Get in the wagon. Can ye manage a team?”

      “Aye, but not expertly.”

      “No matter. Get in the wagon, take the reins, and be ready. Hold, I need a moment’s assistance.” Slowly he backed closer to the door. “Throw your weapons toward me,” he told the soldiers. “Carefully.”

      After a moment’s hesitation the soldiers obeyed. Keeping an eye on them, Tearlach ordered Pleasance to put the weapons in a sack. He was relieved to see that, though she was trembling badly and looked ready to faint, she set down the blankets and obeyed his command with admirable haste. The moment she set the filled sack at his side, he ordered her to grab the muskets and put them into the wagon. The weight of the weapons forced her to make two trips. Tearlach was beginning to worry that the guards outside would rouse before they could leave when he heard two soft but ominous thuds. When Pleasance returned to his side he chanced a fleeting glance her way.

      “The guards were stirring. They are still again,” she said, hurriedly collecting the blankets.

      “Good lass. To the wagon.” He heard her soft retreating footsteps and picked up the sack holding the soldiers’ small arms.

      “That there’s the property of the Crown. It be agin the law to steal it,” cried one of the soldiers.

      Backing out of the door, Tearlach smiled coldly. “Oh, I dinnae intend to steal it. I will toss it out along the road somewheres. Ye whoresons can look for it.” Even as he bolted for the wagon, Tearlach yelled, “Move, Pleasance.”

      She snapped the reins. The team was just leaping forward when Tearlach hurled himself into the back of the wagon. She chanced one quick look over her shoulder. Tearlach kept his musket aimed at the soldiers, now stumbling over the unconscious guards at the door. She then concentrated on keeping the wagon team moving as fast as possible without risking a spill.

      When they had gone a few miles Tearlach began to toss out the soldiers’ weapons one by one. They would have to halt to collect them. Once they had gotten all of them back, he hoped they would decide not to continue the chase. If nothing else, they would waste so much time picking up the scattered weapons they would begin to worry about having deserted their post.

      To Pleasance, it seemed like hours before Tearlach ordered her to slow the team and climbed forward to take the reins from her stiff fingers. She bit back a groan as she released the reins to him, all too painfully aware of just how great a strain it had been—not something she wished to reveal to Tearlach.

      Trying to ignore the ache now ripping through her arms, shoulders, and back, she turned her attention to tidying her disordered clothing.

      Nausea welled up inside of her, but she fought it down. There was no time to indulge in weakness. Somehow she would have to put the assault out of her mind, would have to cling to the knowledge that the attack upon her had ultimately failed.