With hands bound and tied to the saddle horn, Jenny rode on one of the dead soldier’s horses. Ahead, moonlight lit the shape of Andrew’s back as they trotted along the road. Her mind raced with possible ways to escape—most involving Ashby’s death—and even though none of the plans seemed plausible, she refused to give up hope.

Ashby raised his hand to halt the others when they reached a clearing. Dismounting, he ordered a fire and some food. The two remaining soldiers scrambled down from their mounts, tethered their horses, and began to set up camp. Ashby held her and Andrew’s reins, ordering them to remain mounted, while the others worked. Once the fire burned, he handed the reins over to one of the soldiers and strode to the trees to relieve himself. Returning, he smirked up at Jenny.

“I suppose I needn’t be so discrete since you will be enjoying all of me very soon.” He turned to Andrew. “And you’ll have the pleasure of watching.”

She kicked a foot out toward him, but he caught it before it could land. Caressing her ankle, he kissed it, his gaze never leaving Andrew’s.

She wrested it away. “You’re a bastard.”

“Oh ho. I see I bring out the saucy side of you. How delightful.”

He sauntered off, chuckling.

“Jenny, I swear …”

“Hush, Andrew.” She nodded toward the soldier who seemed peevish about being left holding their reins. He kicked at the ground and shifted from foot to foot. His face brightened when Ashby brought a fresh canteen to him. “Good work today.” His gaze shifted to her. “See? I can be kind.” He laughed as he sauntered to deliver the second canteen to the soldier by the fire.

The aroma of porridge cooking over the flames tormented Jenny. All they had consumed since morning were a few berries and some water. One soldier chewed on some salted meat while he tended the fire. He then took a draught from the canteen, and she swallowed against her parched throat. Her stomach growled as she regarded the pot.

“Hungry, my love?” Ashby appeared beside her. He untied her hands. She began to dismount, but he stopped her. “Allow me, Miss Sutton.” He held her waist as she slid from the saddle. His hands ran along her side.

Never did she feel so filthy as when his hands touched her, sullying any sense of goodness she held. Recoiling, she turned her head away, her mouth pulled down in a scowl. She wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Hunching her shoulders, she folded her arms.

Her stomach growled again.

“How neglectful I’ve been. Come by the fire. You must have sustenance before we share what should have been our wedding night.” He took her elbow, but she pulled it away. “Oh yes. It will be a delightful nuptial celebration.” He added over his shoulder, “Let Wentworth down. Keep a close watch on him.”

Jenny tried to look back, but Ashby tugged her forward.

He offered her a bowl of steaming porridge and a drink from his flask. She took the bowl but waved off the drink. She gagged at the thought of putting her lips where his had been.

“Have it your way.” He took a long pull of the liquid.

She watched the others. One soldier tied Andrew to a nearby oak, glanced at his comrade, then at Ashby. He made a face, and the other one snickered. So, they disliked Ashby, too. Was there any chance they would help her? Would Ashby’s cruelty drive them to mutiny? The soldier looked back at Andrew and kicked him in the side.

“Filthy traitor.” He spat on the ground next to Andrew’s hand.

Andrew glared at him, but his limbs lay motionless as exhaustion took its toll. Black circles darkened his eyes, standing out against his pale skin. But his gaze was defiant—until it met hers. Then a mix of sorrow and love softened his face.

When she finished eating, Ashby allowed her to step into the trees to relieve herself. Would he follow? Was he observing her even now? Though the thought sickened her, she had to ease this urgency. When she returned to the fire, Ashby bound her hands.

“I think you might enjoy this sort of thing, my dear.” He tugged on the rope.

She turned her head, refusing to look at him.

Clutching her jaw, he twisted her head back. “You will look at me when I speak to you.”

Andrew thrashed against the ropes.

The soldiers froze, watching their officer’s actions. They exchanged glances and one shook his head. They disliked their officer almost as much as she did. Her mouth would have twitched if Ashby’s hold hadn’t tightened on her face.

He followed her gaze. “Do you men have something to say?” He glared at them.

“No, sir,” they said in unison. They concentrated on the ground.

When Ashby suddenly released his grasp, he whipped her head sideways.

“Ow.” She bit her lip against saying anything else. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt her.

Andrew struggled again, his eyes dark with rage.

“In pain, my love? I will soothe your pain soon.” He stroked her cheek. His voice softened. “Oh, Jenny, don’t you see how I love you? I will have you, and then you will love me, too.”

A shiver crept down her spine, but she sat rigid. Why was he delaying what she now knew was soon to happen? Just get it over with.

He glanced at the soldiers.

As they sat on a log near the fire, drinking from their canteens, their voices grew louder and their speech slurred. Why were they allowed to drink while on patrol?

Ashby sat off to the side watching them, keenly interested in their behavior. He smiled when one keeled over and snored. The other’s head bobbed as he tried to drink again. His eyes rolled back and he slid off the log, crumpling onto the ground.

“Ah ha. At last. They were stouter than I thought.” He turned to Jenny. “Now, my dear, we shall celebrate our wedding night.” He untied her hands, leading her to stand before Andrew. “And you will watch. And then I shall kill you.”

Jenny wriggled against his grip, but he pulled her in closer.

“Don’t be shy. I will be gentle. The first time.”

Andrew kicked out, but Ashby sidestepped and laughed.

“I have waited for this moment far too long. But, no need to rush, I shall savor every minute.” His voice was gentle with a cadence almost like a lullaby.

Ashby untied her shawl and let it fall to the ground. The cool breeze chilled her shoulders, but within, she burned with a desire to run him through with a bayonet. His fingers singed her skin through the fabric as he unbuttoned her waistcoat. His breath quickened.

He ran his fingers along her cheek. “You captured my heart the first I ever saw you. It matters not to me what you believe in. I will change that. And I will change your heart until you are mine completely.”

What would he do to her? Rape her for certain, but what other atrocities would he unleash on her? And then he would kill Andrew. Somehow, she had foolishly believed she would escape this fate. Once again, she had failed. Which would be worse: enduring his cruelty or Andrew having to witness it? She fought the trembling that started in her knees and worked its way up to possess her body.

“So, you begin to understand what is in store. You finally realize your destiny.”

Andrew fought against the ropes that trapped him. “Stop, Ashby. Stop or I’ll kill you.”

Ashby threw his head back and laughed. “I fear for my life, Wentworth. How can I ever defend myself from your superior power? Watch this, Wentworth.”

He loosened the ribbons securing her shift and opened it. She felt the cool night air against her skin. Her face flushed with humiliation, but she lifted her chin in defiance.

A sharp intake of breath. “As beautiful as I’d imagined.” His breath was hot on her face.

Her skin crawled as if infested with fleas as he inspected her body.

Andrew’s thrashing increased as his voice rose. “Let her go. I swear I’ll kill you.’

Ashby’s voice was ragged. “You will determine just how gentle I’ll be with my fiancée, Wentworth. The more you protest, the more it will cost her.” He pulled her shift down roughly, exposing her breasts. Pulling her to him, he crushed her against a tree. The rough bark gouged her back, carving into her skin. Warm blood trickled along her spine. His lips covered hers, his tongue darting in and out. He bit her lip and she cried out.

“Jenny,” Andrew shouted.

She fought against him, pushing his chest with her arms. “You’ll pay for this,” she hissed.

He caught her hands and held them over her head against the rigid tree trunk. “That’s what I like. When you fight me.” He pushed his hips into hers, forcing her to feel his erection.

“I won’t just fight you. I’ll kill you.” She spat in his face.

Andrew pulled against the restraints. Suddenly, they gave way and a knife was thrust into his hand. It took him a moment to react.

“Go, boy. Go.” The slurred voice came from behind the tree.

He tried to stand but was so weak from lack of food that he stumbled. Pushing himself up, he staggered toward Ashby, who was pawing at Jenny as she fought to escape.

Ashby spotted his movement and turned. Andrew lunged, aiming for his heart. Ashby twisted, deflecting the wound to his arm. The two wrestled, and Andrew’s hatred for this man propelled new strength through his body. Ashby wrested the knife from him, but Andrew knocked the knife from his hand.

“Andrew! Be careful!” Jenny’s voice spurred him on. She loved him. She had always loved him, and he had been a fool. Had he trusted her, they might have escaped sooner. Now they both were in danger. If Ashby killed him, Jenny would be at that bastard’s mercy for the rest of her life. He could not let that happened. A surge of determination shot through him. He fought with renewed strength, jarring the knife from Ashby’s hand. When it fell at Jenny’s feet, she seized it and plunged it into Ashby’s back.

Ashby arched and twisted toward her. Reaching out, he grasped her shoulders, clutching her for support as he collapsed, sliding against her, trailing scarlet blood along her blue skirt.

She stepped back, dropped the knife, and vomited, splattering Ashby’s black leather boots. She trembled as she studied him then reeled toward Andrew.

His arms were around her, and he buried his face in her hair.

“Oh my God.” She could barely form the words.

They heard a moan. At the base of the tree, sprawled across the severed ropes was one of the soldiers. He raised his wobbling head and tried to focus on them. “He deserved it.” His voice slurred before his head slapped down on the ropes.

Underbrush rustled as someone moved through the trees. Andrew held the knife, crouching in front of Jenny.

“Good evenin’, Miss Sutton.”

Andrew turned and looked up into the face of Martin Wirth.

“We had a devil of a time findin’ ya.”

His brother Abel joined him.

“Best ya’ sit down for a minute, miss. And, uh, straighten yer, uh, clothes.”

She looked down and realized she clutched her loose shift against her breasts. Turning away, she yanked the shift up, tied the strings and found her waistcoat. As she buttoned her jacket, she turned back to them. “How did you know about us?”

“We met Ephraim as he came into the city. He told us where you was headin’ and we took a guess as to your progress.” Abel handed her a flask of water.

She relished the cool liquid as it slid down her dry throat. As she handed it to Andrew, he smiled and held up the one Martin had shared with him.

“When we made it all the way to the farm and you weren’t there, we doubled back, searching the woods along the road,” Martin continued. “It was right nice of the Brits to light a fire to lead us here.”

He surveyed the campsite. “Not bad for an evening’s work. Two lobsterbacks unconscious and one…” He kicked Ashby’s foot and he moaned. “Almost dead. Well done.”