The doors slammed shut and closed me in the stuffy darkness of the carriage. It may as well have been a tomb.

A hand clasped over my bare ankle. “He didn’t properly secure you,” the man growled. His fingers dug into my flesh.

I whimpered. “I am secured, sir.” I balled my bound hands into fists, but nothing much could be done to protect myself, or my baby, should the need arise to do so.

Slowly, the man dragged his fingers up my leg.

“Please stop,” I begged.

“Now, there’s nothing to do between now and London. But I can think of a few things.”

I shook my head, but it was useless. He couldn’t see me in the absolute darkness. “No,” I shouted.

His hand met my cheek with a smack before falling back into my lap. At once, they began to fumble with my dress.

The carriage jerked to an abrupt halt. A voice, presumably our driver’s, called out a greeting. “How may we be of assistance?”

Silence filled the tense air as my carriage-mate contained to fumble with my dress.

“I say hello there,” the driver tried again.

Brusque words answered the unasked question as to why we stopped. “This is a holdup.”

“No use holding us up,” the driver retorted. “We’re transporting a prisoner to London for further interrogation and subsequent execution.”

Interrogation. Dudley’s stumpy smile filled my mind. The royal torturer would finally be granted his wish.

I batted at the probing and unwelcome hands that seemed content to do as they wished despite my refusal and tried to scoot away.

A holdup?

I sucked in a breath. This may be my only chance. “Help me, please!”

The lecherous man smacked his hand over my mouth. “Shut up, wench,” he seethed.

“Open the door.” The metallic sound of steel being unsheathed met my ears. “Now.”

Keys jingled, and a moment later the doors sprang open. A masked highwayman wielding a curved blade stood domineeringly behind the driver.

“What are you doing, man?” The driver’s brow knitted together over his eyes. “You’re back here to ensure she doesn’t escape. Not have your way with her.”

“She’s going to die, mate. May as well have my way with her. Say, why do you—”

The masked men stepped forward and yanked him from on top of me. In an instant, the man who couldn’t keep his hands to himself was on his knees behind the carriage. Without any last words or any more conversation, the masked man held his blade aloft and brought it down in a swift swipe. The would-be rapist’s head fell to the ground. I gasped.

The masked man shifted his gaze to me and his piercing blue eyes threatened to burn right through me. I recognized them at once.

“I’ll take the prisoner into my care,” he declared. “She’ll be my hostage.”

The gruff words, a mixture of French and Welsh, were sweet as salvation. The driver unlocked my chains and helped me out of the carriage as the life-saving highwayman dragged the corpse of the headless man into the woods.

“Go driver,” he commanded, once the scene was normal again. “Tell them, if you must, that she escaped. Again.”

I stood there, next to him as the carriage rolled down the street and turned around a bend. Out of sight.

At once, the highwayman took me into his arms. “Jean!”

“My darling Bridget,” he breathed into my hair.

Only then did I realize I was shaking.

“Come, we haven’t much time.” His hand caught mine. I let him lead me into the thick woods until an outcropping of ruins jabbed at the horizon. “We’ll bed down here.”

Together, we picked through the rubble until we found a place to sit.

“Your timing,” I panted, “is impeccable.”

Jean swiped the mask from his face. A smattering of scars bespoke of torment in the days we’d been apart. A smile tilted his lips upward. “So you said on our wedding night.”

A rabid flush burned my neck and crept into my cheeks. “But how did you find me?”

“I was there. At your trial.”

Shock furrowed my brow. “How?” And how did I not see you?

“My darling, now that we are out of France and the mission is complete, I can tell you the rest of the truth.”

I sat up straighter.

“Since the day we arrived in France seeking refuge, King Francis had other plans for me.”

“He had you lead the invasion. Of England.” My voice grew meek. “Right?”

Jean nodded. His hand found mine. “I was a mercenary spy for France since day one. Telling you that would have put you in grave danger.”

I took a moment to process the news. “Francis would tell you nothing, when you inquired about me to him, would he?”

“He would not,” I agreed.

“The coach driver,” Jean continued, “was also on the elite squad of mercenaries who worked with me to get you out of Henry’s clutches.

“Not the man in the back with me though.”

Jean shook his head. “I don’t know where he came from.” He sat in silence a moment. “But, the pair of us should be fine. If we get out of England now.”

The new revelations swirled around me, confounding me, like the Word of God, no doubt boggled the mind of a nonbeliever.

The questions as to where we would go, what we would do, how we would manage—they fizzled into nothing as my baby leapt and kicked within me. I licked my lips. “Did you stay for the entire trial, my love?”