Defy Not the Heart by Johanna Lindsey

difficult mounts. Her biggest problem was that every man in camp had stood up by then, fully aware now what she was about. There was a solid wall of them blocking the three directions that would take her away from the enraged knight, too close for her to pick up the speed to break through them. The only opening available was back the way she had come, right though the heart of the camp. As long as she could generate enough speed to knock away anyone who tried to stop her, there was still a chance.
    She wasted no more time thinking about it, but drew the horse about and dug her bare heels into its sides. Disdainfully, it would not budge, and after all its sidestepping and head tossing until then! Furiously, Reina gave it a sharp taste of the reins she had gathered in one fist, then almost lost her seat when it bolted. But that was the speed she needed, and the first few men who dared get in her way dived for cover when they saw she would run them down rather than stop.
    Unfortunately, the closer she got to the end of the camp, the braver they got, reaching for the reins, banging into her knees as they missed, trying to frighten the horse with wildly waving arms. One fellow succeeded in latching onto her arm, but a sharp twist made him loose his grip before she lost her balance. And then she saw Walter de Breaute coming at her, taller than all the others, more able to reach up to her because of his extra height, and she steered away from him, only to find herself riding right at Fitz Hugh on her other side—too late. He did no more than hold out an arm as she passed, and she was plucked right off the horse, the animal riding on without her, while she felt as if she had run into a stone wall.
    She lost her breath at the impact of his arm with her belly, and that it still squeezed her while holding her to his side did not make it easy for her to start breathing again. But once her lungs finally filled with air, she let out a screech of outraged fury, half for being stopped, half because she was being hefted back to the tent rather than being allowed to walk.
    “Cretin! Devil-spawned lout! Put me dow —”
    The word ended on a whoosh when he tightened the iron band about her waist. She started to struggle then, kicking backwards at him, hammering at his arm and the shoulder she could reach. But he seemed not to notice her efforts at all, just kept marching along, with her practically sitting on his hip, her feet a long way from the ground.
    When he did set her down, it was directly in front of the tent opening. She got a look at his face then, and it was thunderous.
    “Lady, you are more trouble than you are worth,” he rumbled out.
    If he had not said that, she might have become truly afraid of him at last, for his visage was terrible to behold. But those words rubbed her on the raw. And besides, if he ever did strike her with one of those clublike fists that he was clenching at his sides, she would not be alive to worry about it ever happening again.
    “Nay, that is where you are so stupid, Fitz Hugh,” she said with contempt. “My worth is well known and makes your Judas fee insignificant. Clydon earns four times as much in just one year. Your friend Rothwell knows it, even if you do not. Well he will laugh at how little he had to pay to steal a fortune and the power behind it.”
    For that she got a light push on her shoulder that sent her stumbling backwards into the tent. “Five minutes you have to dress yourself ere this tent comes down. In ten we ride out.”
    That was all he said, or rather shouted in at her. No comment on what she had said, just change before the tent was dismantled. He really was a loutish bear, in size as well as intelligence. Jesú , he could ask for anything and she would give it, just to get out of this fix. His bargaining power was unbelievable, because she was at present in his possession. But did he see that? Nay, all he saw was the five hundred marks he would be earning, and