Ransom My Heart by Meg Cabot Page B

move!”
    Hugo, admiring the slim arch of the foot, the only part of her that he could actually see, with the exception of the cloud of hair that enveloped them both, decided he ought to apologize now. Surely the girl had a right to be angry; in all innocence, she had come to the spring to bathe, not to be spied upon. And while he was greatly enjoying the feel of her nubile body against him, he was not enjoying her wrath. Better that he calm the spirited wench, and see her back on the road to Stephensgate, where he could make sure that she was kept from straddling other men’s backs, and thereby getting herself into mischief.
    â€œI earnestly beg your pardon, demoiselle,” he began, in whathe hoped was a contrite tone, though it was difficult for him to speak without laughing. “I stumbled upon you in your most private hour, and for that, I must ask your forgiveness—”
    â€œI took you for simple, but not completely stupid,” was the girl’s surprising reply. Hugo was amazed to hear that her own voice was as rich with amusement as his own.
    â€œI meant for you to stumble upon me, of course,” she elaborated. Quick as lightning, the knife left his throat, and the maid seized both of his wrists and had them trussed behind him before he was even aware of what was happening.
    â€œYou’re my prisoner now,” Finnula Crais said, with evident satisfaction at a job well-done. “To gain your freedom, you’ll have to pay for it. Handsomely.”

Chapter Five
    H ugo could scarcely believe his ears. “What?” he demanded stupidly.
    â€œYou heard me. You’re my prisoner.”
    So saying, she loosened her arm from around his neck, and he felt her draw away from him. A second later, his sword, still in its sheath, was detached from his belt, followed by the dagger he’d thought so well-hidden in his boot. Then the light weight of the girl returned, as once again she seated herself astride his wide back.
    â€œSo’s your boy, for what that’s worth,” she informed him conversationally. “My prisoner, I mean. He stepped into one of my tree snares a quarter of an hour ago. I’m surprised you didn’t hear him squalling. Quite a temper he has. You’re much easier.”
    Hugo digested this small compliment, all the while consciousof the heat from the girl’s thighs, the gentle weight of her on the small of his back, the soft scent of her, all clean and fresh womanhood. She had crept out of the pool and up a hidden trail in the rocks to where he lay. Somewhere along the way, she’d pulled on the chausses and whipped the white lawn shirt over her head—he’d felt the soft fabric against his cheek, where he’d thought to feel smooth skin. So she was not without modesty—but what manner of woman was this?
    What sort of world had he stumbled into? When, in the name of God, had maids dressed in leather chausses started capturing grown men and holding them for ransom? He’d been gone from England a long time, he realized, but was it possible so much could have changed in that time? Why, ten years earlier, gentle maids blushed to speak to a stranger—they didn’t strip before one, then leap upon his back and hold a knife to his throat.
    Then a horrible thought occurred to him, and he blurted out, before he’d had time to think, “Those men at the inn. You are working with them?”
    The girl snorted derisively. “Dick and Timmy? Certainly not. A stupider pair never existed. But I couldn’t let them take what I meant to have myself.”
    â€œDo you mean to say,” Hugo began, slowly, “that you—that all of this was apurpose?”
    â€œOf course,” the girl said, in some surprise. “I saw you at the inn, and decided you would make a good hostage. I’m not certain what to do with your boy. He’s a bit of a nuisance, don’t you think? Still, we’ll think of