The blue eyes watched her closely. 'How do I know you're telling the bleeding truth, then? What's a Portuguesey doing married to Sir Augustus Farthingdale, eh?

She shrugged, took from her left hand a ring, and tossed it to the Colonel. 'Trust that.

The ring was of gold. On its bevelled face was a coat of arms, quartered, and the Colonel smiled as he looked at it. 'How long have you been married, Milady?

This time she did smile, and the soldiers watching grinned with desire. This was the Colonel's prize, but the Colonel could be generous when he wished it. She pushed black hair away from her olive skin. 'Six months, Colonel.

'Six months. Still got the shine on it, has it? He cackled. 'How much will Sir Augustus pay to have you back as a bedwarmer?

'A lot. She dropped her voice as she said it, enriching the two words with promise.

The Colonel laughed. Beautiful women did not like the Colonel and so he did not like them. This rich bitch had spirit, but he could break her, and he looked at his men who watched her, and he grinned. He tossed the gold ring in the air, caught it. 'What were you doing here, Milady?

'I was praying for my mother.

The grin went instantly from his face. His eyes were suddenly cunning, his voice guarded. 'You were what?

'Praying for my mother. She's ill.

'You love your mother? His question was intense.

She nodded, puzzled. 'Yes.

The Colonel jerked on his heel, swung to his men, and his finger jabbed at them like a blade. 'No one! His voice was at a scream again. 'No one is to touch her! You hear me! No one. The head twitched and he waited for the spasm to pass. 'I'll kill any bastard who touches her! Kill them! He turned back to her and gave her a clumsy bow. 'Lady Farthingdale. You have to put up with us. His eyes searched the cloister and saw the priest, tied to a pillar.