His Mask of Retribution Read Free

fought for all she was worth, but her captor was too strong. In an instant he had her held in his grip and facing her father.
    Misbourne scrabbled to his feet from where he knelt in the dirt, the blood trickling down his poor injured face to darken and matt the grey hair of his beard. She tried to go to him, but the highwayman’s arm was firm around her upper arms and décolletage , restraining her, pulling her back until her spine tingled with the proximity of him, even though their bodies were apart.
    ‘What will you give for her safe return, Misbourne?’
    ‘Anything you wish.’
    ‘Anything?’ The highwayman’s voice was low and grim.
    Her father nodded. ‘Money. Gold. Silver. Jewels. Name your price.’
    Behind her she felt the highwayman move, although his grip upon her did not slacken. He threw a folded sheet of paper to land on the ground before her father. ‘My price, Misbourne.’
    Her father retrieved the paper and opened it, and Marianne watched his expression contort with sudden shock and horror. He made not one move, spoke not one word, just stared at the piece of paper as if he could not believe the words written upon it. His eyeballs rolled up and he swayed before stumbling backwards. Only the panel of the coach door kept him upright—that and his stubborn will-power as he leaned, visibly shaken, against it.
    ‘Papa!’ She struggled, but the highwayman’s grip did not yield. ‘Papa!’
    So much sweat beaded on her father’s forehead that his hair was damp from it. His face was ashen as a corpse. He looked old and weak, all of his usual strength and vitality exposed for the fragile mask it was. Yet the highwayman showed no mercy.
    ‘The exchange will be today, Misbourne. Be ready.’
    Marianne felt his arm drop to her waist and then the world turned upside down as he swung her up and over his shoulder, balancing her there as if she weighed nothing at all. She wriggled and tried to kick, but the blood was rushing to her head and his grip tightened, securing her all the more.
    ‘No! Do not take her from me! Please!’ her father cried and collapsed to his knees as he tried to stagger towards them. ‘I beg you, sir. I will give you what you want.’ She had never heard her father plead before, never heard his voice so thick with emotion.
    But the highwayman was unmoved. ‘Yes, you will,’ he said. ‘Watch for my message.’ Then he whirled around and, in the blink of an eye, was upon his horse, sliding Marianne to sit sideways on the saddle before him. The huge black beast reared, impatient to be off, and she found herself held hard against his chest, gripped so tightly that she could not move.
    ‘Who sent you? Was it—?’ her father shouted and she could hear the fear and trembling in his voice. But the highwayman cut him off.
    ‘No one sent me.’
    ‘Then who the devil are you?’
    The highwayman’s arm was anchored around her waist as he stared down at her father. ‘I’m your past come back to haunt you, Misbourne.’ The horse reared again and then they were off and galloping at full tilt across Hounslow Heath, leaving behind her father, white-faced and bleeding, the horseless coach, and the battered remnants of her wedding flowers blowing in the breeze.

Chapter Two
    R afe Knight pushed the horse hard, all the while keeping a careful hold of his most precious cargo. He could smell the sweet scent of violets from the girl’s hair and feel the soft curves of the slender body pressed against his. He regretted that she had to be any part of this, but she was Misbourne’s one weakness: the only hope of finding what he sought.
    It would not be long before the coachman, groom and footmen reached the inn and summoned help. He did not have much time. He headed west, as if travelling on towards Staines, until he was out of Misbourne’s sight, then he left the road and doubled back across the wild heath land towards Hounslow and London.
    Callerton was waiting exactly as planned, hidden from