Unlacing the Innocent Miss by Margaret McPhee

tears, her voice was angry. ‘Nothing at all.’
    ‘I know a damn sight more of truth than you do, miss. I know of children who are starving as you sit at your fancy table laden with food. I know of soldiers, without eyes or limbs, who beg for a few coppers while you drive hurriedly by in your fancy carriage. I know of women who sell their bodies to any man that will have them so that their children might survive. And that men are hangedfor stealing a loaf of bread to feed their families while you chat oblivious with Lady Evedon and her cronies over tea and cakes. This is the truth, Miss Meadowfield and what do you know of it?’ His eyes were hard as flint. ‘Nothing, I’ll wager. So do not dare to lecture me.’
    They stared at one another, the air thick with their animosity.
    ‘Get back on your horse and try not to terrify the poor beast this time.’
    Rosalind’s stomach tightened. ‘I would prefer to walk.’ She looked away and forced her chin up, determined that he would not see her fear.
    ‘We have not got all day, so mount the damn horse.’
    Her heart was thudding fast and frenzied. Another wave of dizziness swept over her. She closed her eyes until it passed.
    ‘Miss Meadowfield.’
    His voice sounded closer and when she opened her eyes he had stepped towards her.
    ‘I will not,’ she said, rather shocked at her own blatant defiance.
    ‘Get back on that horse or I’ll sling you face down across its saddle like a bag of grain and tie you in place.’
    She felt the blood drain from her face, felt her stomach clench hard at the prospect. ‘You would not.’
    He smiled his cold cynical smile. ‘Oh, I would do so most gladly, Miss Meadowfield.’
    Her legs were trembling and her mouth was so dry that she could no longer swallow. He would do it, she realized. She felt the nausea roll in her stomach and tried to halt the panic before it ran out of control. There was little choice, so she turned and forced herself to walk towards the horse. She took a deep breath and, hoisting her skirt up, let him help her up into the saddle. He took his own saddle and,with her reins secure in his hand, led her back to where Campbell and Kempster waited.
    And all that Rosalind could think was that she had never met a more hateful man.

Chapter Four
    T he sky was beginning to darken by the time that Wolf led them into the yard of Gretna Hall. Her arms were aching, her backside was aching, her thighs were aching. Indeed, it seemed to Rosalind that there was not a bit of her that was not in pain. Her fear and anger had long since dwindled, and she was so tired that she did not think about being frightened of the little horse beneath her. So sore were certain areas of Rosalind’s body that she slipped to the ground without looking for anyone to help her, and stood there in blessed relief that the saddle was no longer beneath her.
    She felt Wolf’s grip upon her arm escorting her with him across the yard and into the inn, but she was too tired to protest.
    The inn was busy, most of the tables in the public room were filled, mainly with men. Men stood about the bar drinking their tankards of ale, turning curious eyes to the new arrivals. She heard the low tone of Wolf’s voice to the landlord, and was aware of the exchange of money. Shewas aware, too, of the way that the landlord’s gaze flicked over her before moving on to Kempster and Campbell and finally returning to Wolf, with unspoken speculation. But whatever the man saw in Wolf’s face made him nod his acquiescence and turn to fetch the keys for the rooms. He showed them up a small narrow staircase to a narrow corridor along which several doors could be seen. The two furthest doors led to the rooms for which Wolf had paid.
    They were still standing in the second room into which the landlord had shown them. Wolf scanned around, peered from the window then inspected the door.
    ‘Dump the baggage and head downstairs. We’ll eat first.’ The bags were dropped on to the