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As Josephine looked anxiously at the people around her, the two little boys she had been chasing stepped out from behind the adults, smiling mischievously and chewing sloppily on a hunk of meat pie. She would have liked nothing better than to wring their little necks.

“Och, whatch got, Zef?” one of the men asked.

The man holding her laughed lewdly. “Mayhap, one of the wood nymphs I have heard stories told,” he said. His accent was not Scot; it was very, very English. “She’s pretty like one, isn’t she? Smells good, too.”

He took a long smell of her hair and Josephine cringed, trying to pull away as the men standing around laughed lewdly. But the man who had spoken before pointed at her.

“If she were a nymph, she’d be naked as a baby,” he said. He was fat, dark, and dirty. “Mayhap she’s a fae, come to grant our wishes!”

The group laughed loudly and Josephine felt sick with fear.

She had been so stupid to let her determination get the better of her.

She should have never followed the boys into the trees, and when she saw the dirty wanderers in the clearing, she should have run at the mere sight of them.

What a foolish female she was. And now, what would her silly woman’s curiosity cost her?

No doubt, they would strip her of her clothing.

But most likely, she would relinquish her virginity as well.

How could she have been so stupid?

A woman burst forth from the small gathering and rushed straight at Josephine. The woman was disheveled and her black hair was dirty and unkempt. Reaching out with long, filthy fingers, she yanked the pendant Josephine had been wearing right off of her neck.

“Ha!” she crowed triumphantly, holding the jewelry up for all to see. “She has already granted my wish!”

The clan roared wildly and Josephine’s first urge was to grab the woman and pound her face into the ground. But, wisely, she refrained, for she knew she was heavily outnumbered. But she vowed she would get that necklace back and that little witch would pay.

They would all pay.

But that was providing she ever had the upper hand. As she stood there, fearful and angry, the fat man stepped forward and motioned to the man holding her.

“Let her go,” he ordered. “I’m interested to know who she is.”

The man let Josephine go but shoved her when he did.

She fell forward onto her knees, almost pitching onto her face.

But she caught herself and, deliberately brushing off her hands in a gesture of pure disgust, she remained on her knees.

She wasn’t one to cower, but she wasn’t going to stand up and give them a target to strike at.

With disdain, she glared up at her captors.

The fat man read her expression, but he was more interested in studying her fine curves. She was a delicious, ripe morsel, ready to be plucked. He sauntered over to her and stood directly in front of Josephine, appraising her openly. She stared back angrily, her cheeks flushing a rosy color.

“What’s your name, lass?” he finally asked.

She looked at him a few long seconds before answering. It was her way of controlling the situation. She was going to make him wait.

“Josephine,” she finally said.

“Josephine,” he repeated slowly, rolling it on his tongue. “Josephine. What were you doin’ in the woods, Josephine?”

She looked at the two little boys, grinning back at her. They all probably knew what she was doing in the woods, so she couldn’t lie. She straightened her back and looked back up.

“I was running after two little thieves,” she said.

A small chuckle bounced about the group; somebody tousled one boy’s hair. The fat man smiled.

“They were simply hungry,” he said. “They stole to feed us all. Is that still thievin’?”

“It is,” she shot back. “They did not have to steal. I would have given them the pies and more had they only asked.”

The man’s smile was fading. “You are too kind, my lady,” he said, but his tone was menacing. “You are a saint. Tell me, are all castle servants as gracious as you?”

“Castle servant?” she said in outrage. “I am the Mistress of Torridon, not a castle servant.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Mistress of Torridon?” he repeated with mock courtesy. “Oh, I beg your forgiveness, my lady.”

She knew immediately telling him had been a grave mistake.

She cursed herself for her annoying habit of speaking before thinking.

Damnation, she hadn’t done a single thing right since she left the kitchen in pursuit of those two guttersnipes.

She prayed that the knights that saw her leave had enough sense to come looking for her before too much time had passed, because it did not appear that she was doing too well on her own.

She needed help.

As Josephine knelt on the grass and struggled not to tremble, the fat man was staring at her.

He had no doubt she was telling the truth, for she was as fine and pretty as any queen.

But she was the Mistress of Torridon, which meant her husband was probably very aware his wife was gone and, perhaps, was hotly searching the area now.

If she was located with a group of outlaws, it could go very bad for the outlaws.

Daume was a gypsy and a thief, but he was not stupid. He knew if her husband found her here with them, he would most likely kill them all. They could flee, but they’d either have to take her with them or kill her so she couldn’t tell her husband.

He had to make a choice.

“Bind her hands,” he said finally.

Josephine looked at him in shock. He had been almost pleasant talking to her, but now he was ordering her restrained.

In truth, she had almost been expecting it, but was hoping he wouldn’t.

The disgusting man that had captured her in the woods gleefully grabbed her arms and bound her wrists tightly in front of her, touching her cheek with a dirty finger before rising.

“Gag her until we decide what is to be done,” Daume instructed.

A grimy rag was shoved in her mouth and tied snugly.

Josephine was absolutely terrified at this point; she truly had no idea what was going to happen next.

Would she even make it out of this alive?

She found herself worrying about Justine.

What would happen to her without Josephine’s guidance?

And Sully… what would he do without her?

Certainly, he could run Torridon quite adequately, but she wondered if he would even miss her.

Then… there was Andrew.

God, why was she even thinking about the man?

She had known him exactly four days and wasn’t sure if she even liked him.

He was conceited, arrogant, pompous… but he had let it slip that he could be caring and sensitive as well.

And watching him train with the men had excited her more than she would care to admit.

As much as she told herself that her interest in Andrew was purely for the fact that he was a new and interesting face at Torridon, she found herself sorry she might not ever get to know him better.

The Red Fury seemed to be the antithesis of his formidable reputation, but she wanted to find that out for herself.

He intrigued her, as much as she hated to admit it.

Anyone who took two punches from her without hitting back couldn’t be all that ferocious.

A big, grubby male grabbed her by the upper arm and roughly pulled her to her feet, jolting her from her train of thought.

He pulled her over to the other side of the campfire and cruelly pushed her down.

With a grunt, Josephine landed heavily on her left side, but slowly pushed herself up as he walked away.

All the while, her eyes were shooting daggers at the people who were now very much her enemy.

Her thoughts began to turn to escape. She would have to be very aware of any opportunity.

Perhaps, she would even have to form a plan.

She wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

As Josephine struggled to come up with a plausible escape plan, there was some commotion in the trees to the west. The gypsies jumped to their feet and began running about in a panic.

Josephine was sitting on her knees, straining her neck to see what was transpiring.

She was not frightened, only tremendously relieved that the attention was diverting away from her.

Maybe this was the opportunity she had been looking for.

Maybe it was time for her to run.

She was looking for an escape route when she saw two men emerging from the woods.

She saw them and heard them, but it wasn’t until they actually approached the camp that she realized the two men were none other than Andrew and Thane.

Neither one seemed to notice her, so intent on the conversation they were having with Daume.

There were greetings being tossed about and Andrew seemed quite amiable.

Josephine watched with increasing confusion as Andrew and Thane proceeded to sit heavily on a log directly across from her, graciously accepting the cups and the platters of fatty meat offered to them. Still, they didn’t look at her.

They ignored her completely.

It was fortunate that Josephine was gagged because she would have given both men a piece of her mind. She could not believe her eyes. There was The Red Fury and his general, as large as life, consorting with the enemy.

At first, she wondered if this wasn’t some sickening trick and that, perhaps, Andrew and his mercenaries were in cahoots with these criminals. They were chatting animatedly with her captors, as if they had everything in common, even laughing at the buffoon’s crude jokes.

Was it possible that this had been their plan all along, to get her out of Torridon?

But, no . That kind of collusion didn’t make sense on too many levels. Josephine may have been frightened, but she wasn’t irrational. Whatever was happening now was improvised, but she couldn’t understand why Andrew wasn’t trying to save her.

Shock gave way to full-blown anger. How dare Andrew ignore her in her time of need?

He hadn’t so much as cast her an uninterested glance and the anger in her belly began to burn.

If she was fortunate enough to make it out of this, Andrew wasn’t going to get a single mark out of her.

Not one bloody pence. He’d be lucky if she didn’t throttle him with her bare hands.

Anger was a miraculous motivator. Josephine shot to her feet, unable to speak, but unintelligible sounds emitted from her throat as she told Andrew d’Vant exactly what she thought of him.

Andrew and the others looked at her in surprise, startled by her sudden movement, but Josephine didn’t care.

She was so angry at Andrew that the gypsies were all but forgotten in her rage.

God’s Toes, she was going to thrash him even if it cost her greatly. He wasn’t going to get away from this.

But Andrew seemed to have something else in mind and Josephine was about to find out what, exactly, that was.

Perhaps, he wasn’t ignoring her so much, after all, when he pointed to her and asked about her.

Somehow, the subject of a price came up and the next thing she realized, someone was yanking her to her feet.

Josephine quickly discovered that she had underestimated Andrew.