Exile's Return by Alison Stuart

retrieve his sword and turn once more to face the big man. The man, whose gaze had been diverted by his companion’s fate, remembered too late and flashed at Daniel with the cudgel but Daniel sidestepped, his sword catching the man’s arm. The footpad looked at the blood that welled through his sleeve, gritted his teeth and came at Daniel snarling, with the cudgel above his head. Daniel neatly stepped under the upraised arm, the momentum of the man’s charge skewering him on the slender blade of the Spanish sword.
    The footpad stopped and looked down at the sword that pierced his chest, surprise registering in his eyes. The cudgel dropped to the ground, and as the man sank to his knees Daniel put a boot to his chest so he fell backwards, allowing Daniel to retrieve the sword. Agnes looked away, sickened by the sucking noise as the sword came free, followed by a bright spray of blood.
    Daniel turned to the brigand who knelt cowering at Agnes’s feet, his hands still pressed to his groin.
    â€˜We didn’t mean no ‘arm,’ the man whimpered. ‘Let me go, guvnor. I served His Majesty in the wars. Lost everything, I did.’
    Agnes glanced up at Daniel. The fire had gone from his eyes and he lowered his sword. ‘Who did you serve with?’
    The man licked his lips. ‘Lord Hopton.’ He held up his left hand, or what was left of it. ‘That’s all the thanks I got. Lost me fingers at Naseby. No good for workin’ after that. Wife and kids died of starvation one winter and I took to the road.’ A glimmer of hope gleamed in the man’s eyes. ‘You won’t turn me in, captain?’
    Daniel jerked his head at the man’s companion. ‘Your friend’s dead.’
    The man shrugged. ‘Don’t have friends in this game. If you hand me over, they’ll ‘ang me. Let me go.’
    Daniel glanced at Agnes and gave a curt nod. She raised the pistol away from the man’s head.
    â€˜Get on your way,’ Daniel said.
    The man scrambled to his feet. Clutching his greasy hat to his head, he took off into the woods as if the hounds of Hell were on his heels.
    Daniel wiped the blade of his sword on a grassy tussock and restored it to his scabbard. He secured the placid bay mare and turned to Agnes.
    â€˜You’re hurt.’
    She raised shaking fingers to the cut on her neck. ‘It’s only a scratch.’
    â€˜Let me see.’
    Lifting her chin, he narrowed his eyes as he scrutinised the cut.
    â€˜Let me just clean it a little. I’m afraid there is blood on your collar.’
    From a pocket inside his jacket he produced a square of neatly laundered cambric edged with lace and pressed it against the cut, wiping the trail of blood that led to her throat.
    â€˜Hold that there for a moment. It’s almost stopped bleeding,’ he said.
    â€˜What’s this?’ she enquired, holding out the pad of cambric, now stained with her blood.
    â€˜A kerchief. They’re the height of fashion in Paris.’
    Her eyes widened. ‘You’ve been to Paris?’
    He smiled. ‘And met the King of France.’ His fingers closed over hers, returning the pad to her neck.
    â€˜It’s too dainty for your taste,’ she said.
    A smile twitched his lips. ‘A lady gave it to me,’ he said. ‘A keepsake.’
    She pressed the cloth against the wound, her gaze dropping from his. ‘I see.’
    His fingers circled the chain of the locket that the villain had pried from her neck. His touch sent a shiver down her spine.
    â€˜A pretty piece,’ he said. ‘Is it special?’
    Agnes snatched it from his fingers, stowing it away out of sight beneath her collar.
    Daniel stepped back and studied her for a moment. ‘None of my business, apparently?’
    â€˜None!’
    â€˜So in addition to the use of a pistol, did your brother teach you that interesting manoeuvre, Mistress