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  Elizabeth lay sleeping, her head in her husband’s lap. Roger sat apart, turning something over and over in his hand. Miles was not a person to directly ask after something that wasn’t his concern, but Roger felt the younger man’s interest.

  “Women!” Roger finally said with great disgust and pocketed the amethyst. But as he stretched out on the cold forest floor, his hand sought the jewel and held it all night.

  The morning dawned bright and clear and Elizabeth, as usual, was extraordinarily happy. Another day and they’d reach the French Montgomerys. Then they could go back to England and their son and, like a fairy tale, live happily ever after.

  “You seem especially happy.” Miles smiled down at her. “I think you like this peasant life.”

  “For a while,” she said smugly, “but don’t get the idea I’ll always wear rags. I’m an expensive woman.” She rolled her eyes at him flirtatiously.

  “You will have to earn your keep,” he said arrogantly, looking her up and down.

  “I do that well enough. I—”

  She stopped as the clatter of many horses and many men forced them to the side of the road. It was obviously a rich group of men, their horses draped in silks, their armor painted and well tended. There were about a hundred men and baggage wagons, and in the middle was a young girl, her hands tied behind her back, her face bruised, but she held her head high.

  Elizabeth shivered as she remembered all too well how it felt to be a captive, but this girl looked as if she’d been beaten.

  “Chris,” Roger whispered from beside her and it was a heartfelt sound.

  Miles was watching Roger intently and when Roger made a move forward, Miles caught his arm. “Not now,” Miles said quietly.

  Elizabeth turned back toward the passing procession. So many men for such a small girl, she thought sadly. Her head turned with a snap. “No!” she gasped up at Miles. “You can’t possibly be considering rescuing the girl.”

  Miles looked back at the knights and didn’t answer Elizabeth. When she spoke again he turned such hot eyes on her that she became silent.

  The trio stood for some time after the knights went past. Elizabeth’s mind kept screaming no, no, no! Miles couldn’t risk his life for a woman he didn’t know.

  As they started walking again, Elizabeth began her plea as calmly and rationally as she could. “We’ll be at your relatives’ soon and they’ll know who the girl is, who holds her prisoner—and why. Perhaps she killed a hundred people. Perhaps she deserves her punishment.”

  Both Miles and Roger looked straight ahead.

  Elizabeth clutched Miles’s arm. “I was held prisoner once and it hasn’t worked out badly. Perhaps—”

  “Be quiet, Elizabeth!” Miles commanded. “I can’t think.”

  Elizabeth felt herself begin to shiver. How could he, weaponless, rescue a girl guarded by a hundred armored knights?

  Miles turned to Roger. “Should we volunteer our services as wood gatherers? At least we’ll gain entrance to their camp.”

  Roger gave Miles a calculating look. “This isn’t your fight, Montgomery. The girl was beaten because of me and I’ll get her out alone.”

  Miles kept looking at Roger, his eyes blazing, and after a moment, Roger gave in.

  After one curt nod, Roger looked away. “I don’t know who she is except that her name is Christiana. She gave me a jewel, cut it from her dress, and no doubt that’s why she’s been beaten. She has a husband and she is terrified of him.”

  “A husband!” Elizabeth gasped. “Roger, please, both of you, listen to reason. You can’t risk your lives for a married woman. How long have you known her? What does she mean to you?”

  “I never saw her before yesterday,” Roger half whispered. “And she means nothing to me—or perhaps she does. But I cannot let her be beaten because of me.”

  Elizabeth began to realize there was no sense in arguing further. She’d never seen Roger do something so foolhardy but she was sure Miles would risk his life for a scullery maid. She took a deep breath. “Once, on the road, a peasant offered me a bouquet of flowers and she was allowed past the guard to give them to me.”

  “You will remain behind,” Miles said in dismissal.

  Elizabeth didn’t answer but set her jaw. The odds were better if three people attacked a hundred than if there were just two.

  Chapter 18

  THEY FOLLOWED THE GUARD UNTIL NEARLY SUNSET, when the men made camp, and quite easily Miles and Roger, forsaking their usual shoulders-back stance, slipped among the knights, their arms loaded with wood. In the shadows of the trees, Elizabeth watched. Her early offer of help seemed to be hollow, the words of a braggart. Now, watching all those men, it was as if she’d never left her brother’s house. Even as she stood hidden, she glanced behind her to make sure none of the men was there, ready and waiting to touch her.

  Both Miles and Roger had given her strict orders that under no circumstances was she to leave her hiding place. They’d made it clear that they had enough to do without worrying about her also. Roger’d given her the girl’s amethyst and Miles’d told her how to get to his relatives—in case anything happened to either of them. Elizabeth’d felt a hint of panic at the pronouncement but she’d kept her fears to herself. The men wanted her to wait far away but she’d stubbornly insisted on a place where she could watch. They’d refused to tell her their plan and Elizabeth began to suspect they had no real plan at all. No doubt Miles intended to hold the men at swordpoint while Roger fled with the girl.

  Watching, she saw a scuffling, awkward old man, who she couldn’t quite believe was her proud brother, move slowly toward where the girl was tied. She sat, leaning against a tree, hands and feet bound, head lowered.

  When Roger awkwardly dropped the entire load of wood on the girl’s feet, Elizabeth held her breath. She didn’t know how much contact Roger’d had with the girl and she looked too young to have much sense. Would she give Roger away?

  There was a brief flicker across the girl’s face—but that could have been from pain—and then her face calmed. Elizabeth almost smiled. The girl was certainly not stupid. There wasn’t another movement or expression from her as Roger began to clear the fallen wood away. A knight, cursing Roger, kicked him in the leg, and as Roger rolled, kicked him again in the ribs. And even as Roger took the blows, Elizabeth saw the flash of a knife as he cut the bindings from the girl’s feet under the cover of the wood.

  But Elizabeth saw something Roger couldn’t: Behind him an older man, richly dressed, hung with jewels, his garments interwoven with gold wire, had never taken his sunken little eyes off the bound girl. The dying sunlight caught just a bit of a flash of Roger’s knife.

  On the far side of the camp, Miles kicked a burning log out of the fire, setting some grasses on fire. He slipped away before he could receive punishment for his actions and several knights began to fight the fire.

  But the diversion wasn’t enough. The men guarding the girl didn’t glance at the fire—and the old man continued to glare at her with hatred.

  The dark seemed to be coming quickly but there was enough light for Elizabeth to see a shadowy Miles slip a sword from a scabbard.

  He did plan to fight! she thought. He planned to create some commotion so Roger could get the girl away. If fire had failed, perhaps a little clashing steel would work.

  Elizabeth rose from her safe ditch, made a quick prayer for forgiveness for sinning and began unbuttoning her coarse woolen gown all the way to her waist. Perhaps she could get the men’s attention—and especially the attention of the old man.

  Her entrance was quick and dramatic. She ran into the clearing, leaped the last few feet, so close to one of the fires that she almost straddled it. Hands on her thighs, legs spread, she bent forward, the open bodice gaping, and practically touched the old man’s head with her breasts. Slowly, seductively, she began to sway her shoulders, back and forth, from side to side, one raised, the next one higher, always working back until she was leaning ba