A Heart for the Taking by Shirlee Busbee Page B

to still be alive, Your Ladyship. Few women who fall into the hands of the Thackers live to tell about it. And those who do . . .” He hesitated and then asked awkwardly, “They did not ...?” He cleared his throat, not certain how to proceed. “You were not . . .?”
    Fancy shook her head, knowing precisely what the young man was attempting to ask. “No. They did not violate us, but only because we managed to escape before they could.”
    Her big eyes fixed on Hugh, Ellen said shyly, “Fancy was wonderful! She hit that awful Clem over the head with a skillet!”
    “And do not forget,” Fancy added softly, hugging Ellen to her, “that you threw the coffeepot at Udell. Had you not done that, we might never have escaped.”
    “Resourceful of you,” Chance murmured, again admiring the women despite himself, this time for the way they were attempting to make light of their frightening ordeal. It was obvious that they had been terrified and were now exhausted and, he suspected, extremely hungry. Their faces were thin and worn, remembered terror lurking in the depths of their eyes; their clothing was torn and stained, hanging in tatters on their slender forms; yet both acted as if nothing untoward had occurred. Gently he said, “You have been very brave. Not many women, even those raised in the wilderness and used to its dangers, could have survived.”
    Fancy sent him her first genuine smile. “Why, thank you,” she said softly. “That was very handsome of you.”
    Chance was stunned by that smile, something warm and powerful unfurling within him. He stared bemused at her for a long moment, then seemed to shake himself and turned away. He glanced around the little glen and said gruffly, “We will camp here for tonight. You both are in need of rest and probably a good meal.”
    Ellen laughed and clapped her hands. “Oh,
yes.
We have talked and dreamed of nothing but food these past four days.”
    Chance smiled at her, liking the baroness’s younger sister. “You may have to make do with cornmeal mush unless I can find some game.”
    “That sounds wonderful,” Ellen exclaimed, her blue eyes bright with anticipation. “Anything other than berries.”
    Chance looked across at Hugh. “You stay here with the women. I’ll see what I can find.”
    After placing his long black rifle against the trunk of a tree next to the large pack he carried, he unslung his bow and took a few arrows from a quiver, then disappeared into the forests.
    Fancy almost cried out in protest as his tall form slipped into the green gloom. Something about Chance Walkerseemed to bring out the worst in her, yet she had felt bereft when he left. Telling herself that she was being utterly irrational, she looked at the young man who remained and smiled brightly at him.
    “You have rescued us and we don’t even know your name,” she said softly.
    Hugh smiled. “Hugh Walker, Your Ladyship. Chance and I are cousins of a sort—at least that’s what my father claims. Just about all Walkers in Virginia are cousins of some sort.”
    “Well, I am very glad to meet you, Hugh Walker,” Fancy said warmly. “This is my sister, Ellen. Considering the circumstances, I think we can dispense with ‘Your Ladyship.’ My name is actually Frances, but all my friends call me simply Fancy. I hope that you will do so.”
    Hugh stared at her, admiration obvious in his blue eyes. The baroness was not as he expected. Neither haughty, nor demanding, nor very old, and despite the circumstances, extremely pretty.
    A slow, lazy smile curved his long mouth. “I’d be honored to be counted as one of your friends, Fancy.” He glanced at Ellen. “And I’m very happy to meet you, too, Ellen.”
    Ellen gave a little sniff and held her head high, muttering, “Mistress Ellen, if you don’t mind!”
    Fancy glanced at her in astonishment. Ellen never stood on ceremony and occasionally accused
her
of being stuffy. So why was she acting so stiffly to this very nice young