She was half dragged, half carried, for about five minutes, then dumped in a small clearing where ten equines and an equal number of armed men milled about. In the center of the gathering was a fire, a circle of soldiers, and block-shouldered Balffe.

Senna’s heart crashed into the pit of her chest. She kept her eyes down as she was shoved in front of him. She could see his boots and the stained breeches he wore. The tip of his sword dangled down beside these things.

“Mistress Senna,” he said, his voice guttural. “Are you unharmed?”

Just keep your mouth shut, she counseled herself.

Clad in mail and as solid as a brick, Balffe’s hand suddenly appeared before her downturned eyes. He lifted it to her face, pressing the links of metal against her jaw. The river of fear moved lower, pushing against her groin.

“Perhaps you did not hear my query, lady. Are you unharmed, happy and well?”

She gave a curt nod.

Pressing his fingers deeper into her skin, Balffe jerked her chin up and examined her face as if he were inspecting a horse. “Your eye is not so blackened as ’twas a few days ago. That is too bad. Do not give me cause to bring it back to life, woman,” he murmured, his words drawn out slowly, like a dagger being pulled from its sheath.

She nodded again, staring at the tarnished hook on the shoulder of his hauberk, bleak terror foaming on the shores of her heart. Another gust of odious breath gusted by her face. “You look well enough to ride.”

“I am fine,” she snapped. “Now unhand me.”

He went still. “What?”

“You have captured me. There is nowhere I can go. Unhand me.”

His hand slid farther along her face, until her chin was forced into the webbing between his thumb and forefinger and the flat of his mailed hand pressed against her throat. She tried to swallow but the heel of his hand was pressing hard. Any more and it would be difficult to breathe. He bent near her face.

“Say please.”

Senna stared over his shoulder. Balffe tightened his hold.

“Please,” she whispered. She had no idea how she’d accomplished it, but likely it was because pride was no longer an issue. Everything had narrowed to a small, bright band of purpose: retrieve the pages and save Finian.

Seconds ticked by, extending into a grim silence. “Do you know what my lord bade me do when I found you?”

At this scant distance, Senna could see the blotches of discoloration pockmarking his skin; huge, craterlike pores clotted with dirt and grime. Close-set eyes huddled together beside a misshapen nose. A score of old scars were seared across his face, shallow gutters of white-fleshed skin no sun could darken.

“I know nothing of what your lord bids or disallows.”

He gave his hand a shove, pushing her against the tree. “Know this, lady: you are mine.” Then he released her and stepped back, turning to his men, shouting.

“Mount up, sluggards. We’re for Rardove Keep. Now!”

Finian and Alane caught up just as Senna was carried into the clearing. They watched helplessly from their hiding place under a bush as she was dragged into the circle of the twenty men-at-arms bearing the Rardove device. Exchanging one swift glance, they knew they would succeed only in getting all of them killed if they charged in.

Finian crept from beneath the bush to his horse, motioning to Alane. With a swift kick, he lifted the horse into a ground-eating gallop, whisking him toward the only hope close enough and sympathetic enough to offer succor.

“Are we going where I think we’re going?” Alane asked in a voice only loud enough to lift above the rhythmic hoof-beats hammering on the grassy earth.

“Very likely.”

“This is a bit dangerous.”

“A bit.”

“Her brother’s?”

“Aye.”

“I counsel against.”

“Do ye now?”

“Seeing as de Valery has probably learned his sister is no’ with the baron anymore, aye. ’Tis passin’ likely Rardove mentioned she was kidnapped. By you.”

“Aye, I doubt he’ll have liked hearing that.”

Their horses were loping easy now, side by side. “Your family’s lands were taken by King Edward himself, Finian. Which means de Valery holds them direct of the king of England, who is now marching north to make war with us. And his justiciar’s army.”

“Aye, it’s going to be a regular party. Have ye any other obstacles to throw in our path?”

“Oh, aye. I’m the one throwing obstacles.” They slowed to navigate up a winding path. “Will we have enough time?”

“De Valery’s manor is less than an hour’s ride from here.” Finian reined his horse up a low hillock. Alane kept his mount so close that muzzle touched rump as they climbed the small rise of land.

“I was no’ worried so much about how long it would take us to get there,” Alane replied dryly. “I was thinking more of how long it would take to convince him. Or to get killed.”

“That shouldn’t take long at all.”

They galloped down the other side, into the dawning sunrise. It was so glittering bright it was hard to see any way ahead of them at all.