"Amarantha?" The green eyes rested upon her, their expression thoughtful. "Are you understanding me, lass? This isn’t a game."

"I am fully aware of this fact that I am breaking the law and am prepared to face the consequences." Her voice was steady as was her gaze.

"And you are not frightened?"

"Terrified," she told him and laughed shortly. "If I was not so chilled from the rain I should be perspiring like a draft horse on a summer’s day."

"Good," he said firmly, surprising her again. He handed her the second pistol. "Fear will make you cautious and sharpen your wits—not that I will permit you to be too near to danger. Do as I say and all will be well. Let us depart."

Amarantha nodded and straightened in the saddle.

They heard voices long before their quarry came into view, and paused long enough to pull their mufflers up and their hats low upon their brows before venturing close enough to see who was wrangling so loudly at the edge of the fens.

Aldridge and the other Preventive were easily recognized by their gleaming buttons, which twinkled beneath the waning moon as they argued what path to take. The prisoner between them was turned away but Amarantha was certain that he was not anyone that she had seen before. He was not dressed in the smock of a villager and had an earring pierced through the one ear she could see, so she had to assume that he truly was one of the Frenchmen smugglers. It made no difference to their own plight who he was, if he knew their identities, but she was still relieved that it was not one of the Jacobites or villagers who had been taken prisoner.

Tamlane drew out his pistol and true to her promise to be his shadow, Amarantha followed his example without protest. Tamlane nodded at her and thus conspicuously armed, they rode boldly out into the small clearing.

"Bon soir. Je regrette, m’sieurs, but you will immediately surrender this man to me." Tamlane extended his pistol until it pointed at Percy Aldridge’s head. "We have an urgent appointment elsewhere and must be off with the tide."

Amarantha did not blink at Tamlane’s sudden transformation into a French smuggler, but merely followed his lead, pointing her pistol at the other exciseman who sat in stunned stillness. She was pleased by her hand’s steadiness. She had never pointed a weapon at a human being and had wondered if she would be able to do it without trembling.

"You will untie the prisoner and return the reins to him," Tamlane instructed. "Do it now, or you shall instantly die."

Three heads turned in his direction, and Amarantha saw Tamlane stiffen in surprise. Before anyone had time to respond to this command, there came two sharp reports from the woods to the west and both excise men crumpled to the ground without a single cry.

"Bloody hell!" Amarantha’s mount started violently at the pistol shot, and she was momentarily occupied with controlling her equine’s hysteria. By the time she had authority restored, she found herself surrounded by armed smugglers showing varying degrees of hostile posture.

"Friends of yours?" Amarantha asked quietly of an immobile Tamlane. She was trying desperately to ignore the two bodies half-hidden in the mist that eddied beneath them. She had certainly been deceived in thinking that Tamlane’s acquaintances were not prone to violence.

"No," he answered, his voice equally quiet. He never took his eyes from the man in front of him or lowered his pistol. "I’ve never seen them before."

"You mean to say—" she gasped, suddenly appalled. She looked once at the man they had rescued. He was grinning widely. "Then he isn’t...?"

"No, he isn’t. And, yes, we’ve fallen among the heathen. These are genuine smugglers."

"Bloody hell," she muttered.

"Indeed."