That the King’s roads were dangerous these days was a fact no one of sense could ignore. The war was over and Arkland strengthened by its new territories, but it was not peace that reigned in the aftermath, but brigandry. The already plentiful ranks of highwaymen that stalked the roads and byways were now swelled with routiers and discharged soldiers, battle-hardened men inured to violence and with no homes left to return to, and all manner of awful stories about bandits ambushing merchant caravans and carrying their wealthy passengers off for ransom had become depressingly commonplace.

Yet never in all her worst imaginings did the Lady Abigail Leroux believe she’d ever fall prey to their depredations…

The last of the musket fire had stopped, replaced with victorious cheers and barked orders, and cowering fearfully inside the well-furnished surroundings of her carriage, the fair young noblewoman frantically tried to load the small pistol she kept within for emergencies. At twenty-five, she was one of the most sought-after women in the kingdom, her beauty, cleverness and fortune attracting suitors from even beyond the borders of the realm, and even an engagement to the wealthy Lord Bagley of Far Reach. In the aftermath of discovering her fiancé’s rampant infidelity, however… well, matters of love and marriage had lost their appeal, and the golden-haired beauty found far more fulfillment in matters of trade than she ever did seeking a husband, the dangers of the road a small price to pay to avoid the endless, vapid scheming at court.

Until today, at least. An axehead, still wet with the blood of her escort, smashed through the carriage’s gilded door to rip it clean off its hinges, the sound jolting the unloaded pistol from her grip to fall to the floor. Framed by the ravaged doorway stood a pair of the highwaymen, the sort of unwashed, uncouth ruffians that preyed upon the King’s roads in the aftermath of his many wars, smoking pistols at their belts and gap-toothed mouths grinning cruelly at the sight of the gorgeous noblewoman, and as one, they fell upon her, grubby hands tearing at the silk of her gown. “Release me at once, you brutes!” Abigail cried, disgust at her attackers momentarily overcoming her fear. “Let go! Let go of—mmmpppggghh!”

A muscled hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream, and green eyes widened in fright at the sight of the rusty blade, blood trickling down to stain the carriage’s carpet. “Now don’t be like that, me lovely,” the first mockingly chided her. The second produced a wad of greasy-looking cloth, and a moan of dismay seeped past the stifling hand as she realized its intended purpose. “Ain’t no coin to be had from damaged goods, so you keep quiet and behave, and you’ll get through this with nary a scratch. Now open wide.”

The hand withdrew, and Abigail had but a moment to scream before the cloth was forced past her soft pink lips. Rough hands took her by the shoulders and spun her about, and Abigail groaned as a second cloth was knotted behind her head, cleaving her lips and digging tightly into the corners of her mouth. The ropes came next, and with a speed borne of experience, were cinched tight about her wrists, ankles and beneath her breasts within half a minute, leaving her helpless and unable to resist as she was borne over the first bandit’s shoulder out of the carriage and the full extent of the ambush was revealed. “Like what you see, beautiful?”

“Mmmpggghhh!” Abigail cried out, heart pounding in her chest at the devastation that lay around her. She’d no first-hand experience with battle; all she knew of war had come from her good friend Miranda du Lac and the stories of her soldier husband, and seeing the aftermath, of the broken and bloodied bodies of her guards, the overwhelming stench of gore and black powder, it was all she could do to keep from vomiting. At least forty bandits had participated in the ambush, each festooned with blades, guns and all manner of killing tools, and as she was hauled out into the midday light, a tidal wave of catcalls and obscene suggestions greeted her, her slender frame shaking with terror at the thought of what awaited her. “MMMMPPPPPGGGGGHHHHH!”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” the bandit carrying her said mockingly. At the end of the glade, a horse-drawn cart sat waiting for them, and she was tossed into the back with all the courtesy of a farmer depositing a sack of barley. “You see, Lord Bagley’s upset you called off the engagement, and he’s paying us a hefty purse to see you delivered. Guess his lordship didn’t feel like gettin’ his hands dirty. Thing is, I think you’re worth more than what he’s promised, so we’ll be hangin’ onto you for a little while. After all…” Grubby hands went for her bodice, tearing away the material to expose her pale, generous breasts, and Abigail squirmed about in a futile attempt to preserve her dignity from the lustful eyes of her captors. “These have to be worth more than a handful of silver, don’t you agree?”

The noblewoman gave a great howl of outrage, green eyes staring daggers at her captor. Chuckling, the bandit snapped his fingers, and a burlap sack descended over her head, leaving her in darkness. “You just rest easy and enjoy the ride. We’ll give you up as soon as we get a good ransom out of you… no matter who ends up paying it.”

Reins cracked, and Abigail felt the cart lurch beneath her, carrying her off to only the gods knew where. I know Bagley hated me for spurning him, but he has not right to do this to me! she proclaimed inwardly, straining against her bonds. That he’d organize an ambush by brigands… Gods, I have to escape! But how?