They made camp that night in the dense woods. Leonie could not complain, for she had brought it on herself. Wilda did complain, her grumbles continuous.
Rolfe would never forgive her. That thought carried Leonie into sleep that night. Sometime later, when a hand clamped over her mouth brought her awake, her first thought was that Rolfe had found her much sooner than she had anticipated.
She was dragged upward, an arm slipped beneath hers and across her breasts, gripping her firmly against a hard body. She was backed out of camp furtively, seeing by the light of the small fire that the rest of the camp was not disturbed, and that the guard at watch was not where he should have been.
But Rolfe would not take her away this way. He would have arrived with his wrath full-blown and awakened all with his booming voice. But if this was not Rolfe…
Leonie began to struggle, but it was too late. The grunt from the man behind her was not loud enough to carry back to camp. Her attempt to scream and to bite her captor’s hand only made his grip tighten.
“Settle down, lady, or I will have to put my fist to you.”
The gruff voice was speaking French, but it was not the fluid French of the nobility. As soon as she realized that, she realized he was not alone.
“Do we take her to the lord?”
“What did I wait around and snatch her for if not that?” the man behind answered irritably.
“We could keep this one for ourselves.”
“That will not put gold in our pockets,” was the quick retort.
“But this one is pretty, Derek.” A beefy face loomed in front of Leonie.
“What does that matter when we need the pay?”
“We can have both.” A third voice spoke. “Your lord will have his fun with her, Derek, so why shouldn’t we as well? We took the risk of snatching her. I want her before we turn her over to him.”
“Agree, Derek, or we do not leave here,” the second man threatened.
The moment was tense. The other two men waited for Derek to decide. And then the quiet was broken by another man who burst through the brush, running.
“Osgar,” the new fellow whispered excitedly, “the guard died without making a sound! I did a good job!”
“Quiet your fool brother, Osgar,” Derek hissed angrily. “I swear I do not know why I use him.”
“Because he does your killing for you,” Osgar said smoothly. “Now—what about the lady? Does she pleasure us first?”
“Yes, but not here,” Derek agreed. “And it must be done quickly. It is a long reach to the castle and her men have horses while we do not.”
“We should have killed them all,” someone grumbled.
“There were too many, fool. Now let us hurry if we are to stop before we reach the castle.”
Leonie was carried along at a near run. She felt numb at first. This could not be real, could it? But the numbness began to wear off as Osgar and the others resumed speaking while they hurried through the woods.
“Will the lady be tortured like the others, Osgar?”
“You talk too much,” Osgar growled at his brother.
“Will she?”
“If she does not admit who she is and arrange to ransom herself, yes, she will be tortured.”
“Derek watches, doesn’t he?”
“Idiot! Derek does the torturing. It is his lord who likes to watch.”
Derek laughed, overhearing. “Did you tell him how often you sneaked into the dungeon to watch, too, Osgar?”
