Amelia's head throbbed.
She blinked away from the faint light seeping through the cracks in the wooden walls confining her. Her arms were numb, her wrists chafed where they had been tied together. The damp earth smell clung to her nostrils, mixed with the metallic bite of blood—her blood.
With a groan, she shifted slightly, her body protesting with each movement. A stinging pain ran up her leg, and she bit down on a curse. When she looked down, she saw the material of her gown ripped at the knee, dark red seeping through the fabric.
The recollection flooded back.
The ambush. The masked attackers. The glint of steel.
Timothy's shrieks of terror.
She had flung herself in front of him, shoving the boy aside just in time for a knife to cut across her leg. She had struggled—she always struggled—but there had been too many of them.
And now, she was here.
She absorbed the surroundings. A small wooden shack, lit poorly by a wavering lantern on a slanting table. Her kidnappers had been careless—tying her up but not gagging her, leaving her in an area where she could still get around. There was one door across the room, her means of escape.
She breathed slowly. Think, Amelia. Claude will rescue you, but you must hold on until then.
The crunch of heavy boots outside made her tense. The door creaked open, and a man entered. He was tall and wide, his face hidden behind a dark hood, but the sneer on his lips was unmistakable.
"Awake, are we?" His tone was gruff, tinged with derision. "Tough little thing, aren't you?"
Amelia stiffened, straining her expression into one of icy insouciance. "If you're expecting me to beg, you'll be sorry."
The man laughed. "Oh, I approve of you." He knelt beside her, his eyes shining with something she didn't approve of. "A duchess with a wit sharper than knives. No wonder your beloved husband allowed you to stray."
Amelia's fingers turned into fists.
Claude.
She would not allow these men to see her afraid. Instead, she raised her chin. "You were wrong to take me. My husband will burn this forest down to the ground to rescue me."
The man chuckled. "Will he now?"
Before Amelia could answer, another voice cut in.
"We don't need her in one piece."
A second man came into the room, his face grim. "The instructions were specific. If the Duke of Everthorne does not pay the ransom tomorrow, we send him a gift." He drew a dagger from his belt and spun it around in his fingers. "A bit of his precious wife."
Amelia's blood turned cold.
So that was their plan.
The first man sighed, clearly displeased. "Shame. I was hoping we'd have more fun first."
Her stomach twisted in disgust, but she kept her expression impassive.
Then, before they could get any closer, a loud noise erupted outside. Shouting. Horses. The sound of metal clashing.
Her heart leapt.
Claude.
The first man swore and made a move for the door, but Amelia acted quickly. With all her might, she kicked out her tied legs, crushing her foot onto his knee. He fell, leaving her only seconds before the other man came for her.
The door slammed open.
Claude stood in the entry, sword in hand, eyes set with anger.
The men had no more than a moment to respond before he was on them. The first man, who had sneered at her, lifted his weapon—only to be impaled by Claude's sword through the center of his chest.
The second man dropped his knife, his face white with fear as he fell backward.
Claude gave him no time to escape.
In one swift stroke, he struck down the man.
Then, silence.
Amelia looked at him, her breath rapid. His expression was inscrutable as he swung around, his eyes darting to the blood on her dress, the rope binding her wrists.
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
Then he moved.
He was on his knees in front of her, cutting through the ropes with one swing of his dagger. His hands wrapped around hers, hard but tender, his fingers tracing over the raw flesh of her wrists.
"Amelia," he whispered, voice strained. "Did they hurt you?"
She swallowed, the full weight of everything coming crashing down on her all at once. "They tried."
His jaw locked. His eyes—those icy, piercing blue eyes—blazed with barely suppressed fury.
"You're safe now," he told her, his voice softer than she'd ever heard before. "I have you."
And for the first time in a very long time, Amelia allowed herself to believe him.
She was safe.
Claude had rescued her.