"Yes, but not here."
"Well, what have you got in the basket7 There must be something I could nibble while we ride."
Crispin had a sudden memory of his companion as an infuriatingly persistent little girl of seven, demanding to know the meaning of a word she'd heard in the stable yard at Gresham Hall. He'd hadn't known himself, beyond the fact that it was grossly improper, but having pretended he knew, he'd been stuck. Chloe had persisted, although she'd guessed he didn't know, nagging at him until he'd slapped her. The urge to do the same now was becoming overpowering.
"Wait a few more minutes," he said tightly. The crossroads was around the next corner, and he gazed anxiously ahead, as if he could make it materialize sooner.
Chloe frowned, both puzzled and annoyed. The attentive, generous Crispin of the past few days seemed to have disappeared. Her present companion was much more like the peevish, self-centered boy she remembered from their childhood.
They rounded a corner in the road and she felt Crispin stiffen in his saddle. Curiously, she glanced at him. He had an air of nervous expectancy. He edged his horse closer to hers until their flanks were almost touching. The mare, uncomfortable, whinnied and tried to sidestep. Crispin leaned forward and took hold of Chloe's rein.
"It's all right," she said. "I can manage her perfectly well. Your horse is crowding her."
When Crispin's hand remained on her bridle, she felt a flash of unease. She looked ahead.
A post-chaise stood at the crossroads, three men on the ground beside it. They were looking down the road toward the approaching riders. Chloe suddenly knew that something was wrong and that she was in danger. She held herself very still for a second, gathering herself together, like a gazelle scenting the lion.
Then her whip hand lifted and flashed down, catching Crispin across the back of the hand holding her rein, biting through the soft leather glove. He gave a cry of pain, snatching back his hand, and in the same instant, Chloe touched Maid Marion's flanks and the mare plunged down the road. As they passed the chaise, one of the waiting men gave a shout and leapt into the road after them. Chloe leaned low over the roan's neck and whispered encouragement, urging her on. The shouts continued behind her, and she could hear the pounding of Crispin's hooves in pursuit. The stallion was faster than the mare-longer-legged and with a more powerful chest-and she knew she wouldn't be able to hold her lead.
A crowd of banner-waving men and women ahead straggled across the road, and desperately Chloe rode straight into the middle of them. They closed around her like two halves of an oyster around the pearl, and she reined in the mare, afraid she'd trample one of her unwitting escort. Crispin would never be able to get through. And even if he did, it was hard to imagine what he could do in the midst of such a multitude.
The crowd swelled and bore her onward toward the city. She couldn't escape the throng even if she wanted to, so she allowed herself to be carried forward even while she wondered what they were doing and where they were going.
llugo was informed by a hedge-cutter that a young man and woman had ridden by on the Manchester road about an hour previously. Satisfied that he was on the right track, he pressed his horse into a gallop. The question was: Had they turned off toward Shipton or continued toward the city? Luck was on his side, however, and at the turning a small boy fishing in the ditch with a worm on a bent pin volunteered the information that a geezer on a black horse and a lady on a roan had gone by toward Manchester. He remembered them because the lady had slowed her horse and asked if he'd managed to catch anything yet.
It sounded like Chloe. But what the devil had they in mind? Were they going to hide her in the city? It would be easy enough to do.
Hugo hesitated for a moment, wondering if he'd do better to go to Shipton anyway and pry what information he could out of its inhabitants. But there was still the faint chance that he could catch up with them before they reached the city. Something could have happened to delay them. Hoping fervently that Chloe would con-
tinue to dawdle by the roadside, exchanging greetings with avid young fishermen, he rode on.
The crowds on the road slowed him, but he assumed they would have slowed his quarry also. Vaguely, he wondered what was going on, but he was too intent on pursuit to give it much thought. And then he saw Crispin.
The young man was fighting his way against the crowd, amazingly riding toward Hugo. Hugo pulled his horse into the side of the road in the relative concealment of a massive oak tree and sat calmly waiting for him to come abreast. Since Chloe was not with Crispin, it was to be assumed she'd already been dispatched to her destination. Had they put her in a carriage?
The question was only mildly speculative, since the answer was fast approaching as Crispin slashed with his whip to the left and right, freeing himself from the mob's embrace.
He finally broke out and heaved a sigh of relief. It was short-lived. Hugo Lattimer materialized on the road in front of him.
"A happy meeting, Crispin." Sir Hugo was smiling at him, but it was a smile that sent shivers up Crispin's spine. There was something ineffably menacing about the set of his unshaven jaw; the green eyes had fire in their depths. Although Hugo's mouth smiled, Crispin had the horrible sensation that he was about to be devoured.
Crispin raised his whip to strike his mount's hindquarters. At the same instant Hugo leaned over in an almost leisurely motion and caught his wrist. Crispin gasped at the pain as the gloved fingers tightened. The whip fell to the ground.
"Now," Hugo said, still pleasantly, "let us move out of the road, Crispin. I don't believe we can have a tranquil chat in all this brouhaha." He released his wrist and took
his bridle instead. Perforce, Crispin sat his horse as he was led into the shadow of the oak tree.
"Do dismount."
The invitation was delivered with the same smile but cut with a razor's edge.
"I protest-"
"No… no, Crispin, such a waste of time," Hugo said, swinging off his horse, hooking Crispin's bridle over his arm. "Do you care to dismount with my assistance?" He drew off his gloves with a threatening pur-posefulness and stood slapping them in his palm, still smiling.
Crispin felt as powerless as if he were back at school, facing the absolute power of authority. Almost mesmerized, he swung obediently from his horse.
"Wise," Hugo commented, shaking off the bridle and leaning against the trunk of the oak with an appearance of nonchalance. But the physical force emanating from the large frame made Crispin feel like a midget.
"Now," Hugo said, "to points, Crispin. Where, pray, is my ward?"
"Chloe?"
"The very same."
"How should I know?" Sullenness was the best he could muster.
"Well, I should rather imagine you would know since she was obliging… or perhaps prudent… enough to tell me that she rode out with you earlier this morning." The smile had vanished and the green eyes now burned with a glacial glitter.
"This is absurd." Crispin tried bluster. He turned back to his horse. "I don't know what you're talking about, Sir Hugo. Chloe is your responsibility, not mine, and if your hand isn't strong enough on her bridle, then it's hardly my fault." He gasped as two hands closed around his throat from the back.
"Oh, make no mistake, my friend. My hands are strong enough," Hugo said softly.
Crispin could feel Hugo's breath on his neck. He tried to move his head, but the long, white fingers tightened… and tightened. "Where is she?"
He choked, shook his head. The pressure increased on his windpipe. He was suffocating, his chest heaving. "Where is she?" The inexorable question was breathed into his ear. Black spots danced before his eyes, and he felt as if his chest were about to burst. "Where is she?"