Jacquie ’Alessandro - The Bride Thief

Sammie walked down the path toward where she'd seen the glow. Warmth spread through her as she imagined Hubert's thin, serious face wreathed in smiles should she return with such a treasure. She loved the boy with all her heart-his brilliant, sharp mind and his tall, gangly frame with large, awkward feet he hadn't yet grown into.

Yes, she and Hubert were cut from the same cloth. They wore similar spectacles and possessed the same blue eyes and thick, unruly chestnut hair. They both enjoyed swimming, fishing, and searching the forest for flora and fauna specimens-activities that had more than once driven Mama to the vapors. In fact, Samantha and Hubert's secret name for Mama was Cricket because she emitted a series of high-pitched chirps just before she "fainted"-always artistically-onto one of the many settees scattered strategically about the Briggeham home.

Mama will most definitely chirp when she discovers where I've just been. And what I've done.

Tiny flashes of yellow light caught her eye and her heart jumped with excitement. It was indeed fireflies! Several hovered near the ground at the base of an oak a short distance away.

"No running off now, Miz Sammie," Cyril called as she moved toward the oak. " 'Tis gittin' dark and me eyes ain't what they used to be."

"Don't worry, Cyril. There's still plenty of light and I'll not go farther than this." Dropping to her knees, she gentry captured the rare insect in her hand and placed it in her pouch.

She'd just slipped another in the bag when a sound coming from the dense forest caught her attention. A horse's faint whinny? Lifting her head, she listened for several seconds but heard nothing more than the rustling of leaves from the breeze.

"Did you hear something, Cyril?"

Cyril shook his head. "Nay, but then, me ears ain't what they used to be."

With a shrug, Sammie returned her attention to her task. Clearly she'd been mistaken.

After all, who would be riding on her family's property? And with darkness swiftly approaching?

Sitting astride Champion, he silently observed her through the trees. Pale streaks of moonlight glimmered down, and his heart clenched as he noted her posture.

Bloody hell, the distraught chit was praying. On her knees, bent at the waist so far her nose was nearly skimming the ground. Anger and frustration heated his blood. Damn it, he would save her from such misery.

Champion shifted beneath him and let out a soft whinny. Placing a comforting hand on the beast's sleek neck to quiet him, he watched Miss Briggeham. She clearly heard the sound, for she looked up. A shaft of waning light glinted off her spectacles as she glanced around. Then with what appeared to be a shrug, she lowered her head and resumed her prayers.

He'd followed her through the woods, waiting while she was inside Major Wilshire's home, wondering why she'd visited him. Clearly their time together hadn't gone well, for now she was kneeling on the ground, praying in the woods as darkness approached. Pity tugged at his heart.

He glanced at her coachman and noted the man was dozing in his perch. Excellent. The time had come.

With quiet concentration, he slipped on his tight-fitting black mask, adjusting it until he knew his entire head was covered, except for his eyes and mouth. He tugged the material to settle two small openings over his nostrils. His long black cloak draped on the saddle behind him, and snug black leather gloves encased his hands. His black shirt, breeches, and boots rendered him all but invisible in the growing darkness.

His gaze settled on the distressed girl kneeling at the base of the oak tree.

Never fear, Miss Samantha Briggeham. Freedom awaits you.

p›It happened as quickly as a lightning flash.

Kneeling, gently cupping a firefly in her hand, Sammie lifted her head at the rustling in the nearby bushes. Without further warning, a black horse emerged from the trees, vaulting over a low hedge. Her heart nearly stalled with surprise, then fear flooded her as she realized the horse was headed straight for her.

Springing to her feet, she stepped hastily backward. She caught the shadowy glimpse of a rider who clearly didn't see her as he veered in her direction. She opened her mouth to shout a warning, but before she could issue so much as a peep, a strong arm scooped her off the ground.

Her breath left her body in a loud whoosh and pain shot up her backside as she was deposited sideways on the saddle with a bone-jarring thud. Her glasses flew from her nose, and her bag of insects fell from her fingers. What appeared to be a bouquet of flowers sailed past her. Cyril's distressed voice cried out, "Miz Sammie!"

The strong arm tightened around her like a vise, pinning her sideways to a large muscular frame as the horse raced into the woods. "Do not worry," a deep velvety whisper flavored with a faint Scottish brogue sounded in her ear. "Ye are perfectly safe."

Speechless with shock, Sammie tried to move her arms, but her captor held them trapped to her sides with his own. Turning her head, she found herself staring at a black mask. Fear snaked down her spine and clogged her throat. What manner of madman was this? A highwayman? But if so, why had he taken her instead of simply demanding money?

Realization slapped her. Dear God, was she being kidnapped! She shook her head to clear it. Logic labeled the idea utterly preposterous, but the fact that she was speeding through the night in the iron-clad grasp of a masked man certainly indicated an abduction. Why on earth would someone kidnap her? While her family was financially comfortable, they were not wealthy enough to pay an exorbitant ransom. Had he made a mistake and abducted the wrong woman? She didn't know, but she had to get away from him.

Drawing as deep a breath as she could manage, Sammie opened her mouth to let loose with a scream. The sound had no sooner left her throat when the arm anchored around her middle tightened, cutting her cry into a mere wheeze.

"Don't scream," he whispered against her ear. "I won't harm ye."

Unconvinced, she opened her mouth again, but his lips pressed against her ear stopped her.

"I don't want to stuff my handkerchief in your mouth, but I will if I must."

Sammie reluctantly swallowed the scream trembling on her lips. Although she was not one to panic, she couldn't stop the alarm quivering through her. "I demand that you stop this horse and release me. Immediately."

"Soon, lass."

"You've made a mistake. My family cannot pay a ransom."

"'Tis not a ransom I'm after." He leaned closer, his warm breath sending a shiver down her spine. "Fear not, Miss Briggeham. You're saved."

Cold dread filled her. He knew her name. Clearly this was not a case of mistaken identity. But who was he? You're saved. Saved? What on earth was he talking about? God in heaven, he really must be insane.

"How do you-?"

"Quiet, please," he whispered. "We'll talk after we arrive at the cottage."

Cottage? A fresh wave of fear rolled over her, but she forced herself to concentrate. Inhaling as deep as his binding arm would allow, she logically and quickly weighed her options. Obviously he couldn't be reasoned with, persuaded to release her. Did he mean to harm her? Anger edged some of her fear aside, and she pressed her lips together. If he had it in his mind to hurt her or force himself upon her, he'd have a devil of a fight on his hands.

Escape. That's what she had to do. But how? The horse was running at full gallop. She attempted to wriggle a bit, but his muscular arm only tightened around her, pinching her ribs and expelling the air from her constricted lungs. Even if she managed to throw herself from the saddle-which judging by his strength would be impossible-the fall would no doubt kill her. At the very least injure her gravely. And then she'd be at his mercy.

She pushed that disturbing thought aside with a resounding shove.

Who on earth was he? She peered up at his masked face. Black material covered his entire head. There was a slit for his mouth, two small holes for his nostrils, and narrow oblong cutouts for his eyes. She squinted, trying to determine their color, but could not.

Apprehension prickled her skin as she noted the power in his frame. Even through the layers of their clothing, there was no mistaking his hard muscles. His chest, pressed into her side, possessed all the flexibility of a brick wall. And the thighs cradling her felt like stone. He held her as if she were a doll in his grasp. There was no way she could physically overpower him.

Unless she found a weapon and struck him over the head with it. A wave of grim satisfaction washed over her at the thought of rendering the brigand unconscious.

Unfortunately she'd have to wait until they reached whatever destination he had in mind. But then she would escape him, either by outwitting him or coshing him.

In the meanwhile, she forced herself to focus on her surroundings. They were traveling deep through the woods, but without her glasses, any landmarks she might have recognized were mere blurs. Glimmering shafts of moonlight filtered through the trees, but still the path was shrouded in darkness. Sammie wondered that he could even see, between the darkness and his mask.

They traveled for nearly an hour, and try as she might, she could not determine where they were. His grip on her never relaxed, and she forced herself not to think about the strength of the masculine body pressed against her. Her backside felt bruised, and her arms tingled from lack of circulation caused by his tight hold on her.

Finally he slowed their pace to a trot. Clearly they were approaching the cottage he'd mentioned, but without her spectacles, she couldn't see it in the darkness. She had no idea where they were and she wondered if he'd purposely ridden in circles to confuse her. Still, by the time he slowed the mount, she'd planned her strategy. It was simple, straightforward, and logical: get off the horse, find an object to cosh him with, commence coshing, get back on the horse, then find her way home.

He pulled back on the reins, and the horse halted. Squinting, Sammie discerned the outline of a cottage. Still holding her, her captor dismounted and set her on her feet. Frustration suffused her when her watery knees threatened to buckle. If he hadn't retained his grasp on her upper arms, she would have slithered to the ground. How was she to attack the libertine if she couldn't even stand? Gritting her teeth, she locked her knees and prayed for the quick return of feeling in her numb limbs.

"Damnation, did I hurt ye, lass?" His husky whisper held a note of concern that surprised her. Before she could answer, he swept her up in his arms and carried her toward the cottage. "Shouldn't have held ye so snug, but I couldn't have ye falling. Let's get ye inside and take a look at ye."

Sammie silently swore that if he tried to take a look at her, she'd poke his eyes out. She wanted to pummel him with her fists, but to her infinite disgust, her arms possessed all the strength of porridge. However, tingles pulsed up her limbs, prickling her skin, a sure indication that feeling would soon return.

Perhaps it was best if he thought her weak and defenseless. That would surely lower his guard. Then she could find something inside the cottage to use as a weapon-a nice sharp knife or fire poker-and escape this fiend.

He opened the cottage door and entered, pushing it closed behind them with his foot. A low fire burned in the grate, casting the small room with a pale golden glow. Sammie looked around and her heart sank.

The room was empty. No furniture, no rugs, and nothing resembling a weapon.

His boots clicked against the wood floor as he crossed to the fireplace. Her gaze ran over the mantel, hoping to spy a candlestick, but like the rest of the room, the mantel was bare. Hope leapt through her when her blurry vision locked on what looked like a set of brass fireplace tools propped against the wall on the opposite side of the fireplace. Too far for her to reach, but she'd figure out some way to grab one. All she needed to do was bide her time.

Her captor knelt, lowering her to the floor near the fire with a gentleness that surprised her. The instant he released her, she scooted backwards until her back hit the wall.

"Stay away from me," she ordered, proud that her voice didn't quaver. "Don't touch me."

He went completely still. Sammie stared at him, wishing mightily for her spectacles so she could see him more clearly. Although she could barely make out his eyes between the slits in his mask, she felt the weight of his steady stare.