LITMIR.BIZ

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      In memory of the incomparable Penny Jordan.

      A friend and an inspiration.

       Chapter One

      ‘Whoa, Bosun.’ Adam ran his hand over the horse’s lathered neck. It was still early spring, but the day had been a warm one. On the evening air he could smell the hedge blossom and wild garlic as he descended to the valley. It was ten years since he had travelled this road and nothing looked different—the high peaks behind him, the stone-walled fields and the uplands were just as he remembered them—but Adam knew that he had changed. He was no longer the angry young man who had ridden away from Castonbury full of rage and hurt pride. He could smile now at the arrogant boy he had once been—if only it was not too late to make amends.

      He gazed at the westering sun, gauging how many more hours of daylight were left. ‘We could make Castonbury Park by nightfall,’ he mused, rubbing his chin. ‘But we’ve no guarantee of a warm reception, Bosun, and in truth I don’t deserve one. Safer then to drop anchor in the village, and go on to the Park in the morning.’ He gathered up the reins again. ‘And if my memory serves, there is a ford around the next bend, old fellow. You can cool your heels in the river.’

      At that moment the peaceful calm was shattered by a pistol shot. This was followed by shouts and a woman’s voice raised in alarm. He urged Bosun into a canter and rounded the bend to a scene of confusion and mayhem.

      A wagon stood this side of the shallow ford and a young woman in an olive-green redingote was trying to prevent two men from throwing the contents into the river, while on the far bank a third man was sitting on the ground, nursing his bloody arm.

      With a shout Adam jumped down to join the fray, heading for the man who was grappling with the young woman. Adam grabbed his collar and delivered a well-aimed punch as the fellow turned to face him. He dropped like a stone. A second man was hurling bolts of cloth from the wagon into the water and the woman was already running towards him. With a shriek of fury she hurled herself at his back and he dropped the roll of fabric he was carrying onto the path as he tried to shake her off. Adam shouted.

      ‘Stand aside!’

      The woman jumped clear and Adam launched himself at the man, doubling him with a heavy blow to the body. His assailant grunted, weaved and ducked to avoid the next punch and threw himself at Adam. They wrestled fiercely, toppling into the water. It was only knee-deep and Adam was the first to recover, which gave him the advantage. As his opponent rose up, coughing and spluttering, an uppercut sent him sprawling back into the river, from where he scrabbled away to join his injured companion on the far bank.

      Breathing heavily, Adam looked around. His first victim was struggling to get to his feet, hands over his head to protect himself from the woman, who was raining blows upon him with the handle of her horsewhip.

      ‘Aye, go on, run away!’ she cried, cracking her whip with an expert flick of the wrist as the ruffian splashed across the river to safety. ‘And tell your master that I am not to be frightened away by the likes of you!’

      She stood, hands on hips, her chest rising and falling, watching the men until they disappeared from sight.

      Adam raked his wet hair back from his face.

      ‘I had not expected to refresh myself quite so thoroughly,’ he began, a laugh in his voice. ‘I trust you

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