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removing him from the battle. When capture is the objective, they ring around and fight as a unit. We were like baited bulls.
    I finally stood with three men bleeding at my feet, the reassuring presence of Gaston’s back behind mine, and ten leeringand barkingfaces before me.
    “Lord Marsdale,” a voice boomed from my right. “It is done. Drop your weapons and surrender.”
I felt Gaston move behind me and heard the gack of a weapon hitting home. I turned my head and saw the speaker begin to topple fromthe table he had stood upon, with Gaston’s blade in his chest. Then the wall of men surged forward and we went down.
There was little for it. They bound us and dragged us to
the center ofthe atrium, where a tallmanstood.
     
the center ofthe atrium, where a tallmanstood.
     
He was not my father—or Shane. I thanked the Gods
     
for that.He was a handsome fellow, withfine attire and weapons.
    We were thrown on the paving stones before him. Gaston was lost to his Horse, and I yearned to follow him, especially as the tall man planting one booted foot upon my snarling matelot’s chest to keep him from rolling around. Gaston grunted and lay still. Then our captor stood there and surveyed the atrium as if this were merelythe end to a day’s hunt.
    I had to keep hold of my reins. My Horse wanted to run withterror inHis heart.
I rolled over and looked about. I was immediately dismayed. Sarah and Striker were being brought to join us. At least they did not throw my sister to the pavement, but forced her roughly into a chair. Striker was not so lucky, and his head alreadysported a deep gash.
As the wall of legs about us retreated somewhat, I saw other bleeding figures: Theodore and Rachel, Julio and Davey, Vivian, and an unconscious Bones. Not all were trussed as we were—the women were not restrained at all—but there was nothing they could do against trained and orderly men. I did not see Pete, Agnes, the dogs, Rucker, or Liamand the servants and children. My heart was gladdened by this, though they could all be dead or captured elsewhere.
Then I saw Nickel, standing apart from the other prisoners, unbound. He was not looking at us: his troubled gaze was firmly on the stones. A rage to swamp my fear roared
through me, and at least gave me clarity, though it could do little
     
through me, and at least gave me clarity, though it could do little else. We had beenbetrayed.
    I rolled onto my back to gaze up at our tall captor. “My father’s foolishness never ceases to amaze me,” I growled. “To send an army to wage war on women and children and his own
kin.” The tall man snorted, and one side of his lips curled in
    amusement. “He did not feel you would accept his invitation, my lord.”His voice was as blandlyhandsome as his face. “I renounced mytitle, and I renounce him,”I snarled.
The man regarded me as if I were a foolish child. “Nobility grants many privileges, my lord, but that is not one of them. Youwillaccept the consequences ofyour birthas anyman must.”
“Fine, I will see this through with my father. Take me to him. And Sarahifyoumust, but let the others go. Myfather does not need them.”
“Aye,” Sarah said fiercely. “Leave thembe. He does not want them.”
Our captor made a humming sound of consideration as he surveyed his prisoners. “Nay, he does not.”
His meaning chilled my heart and burned my bolstering anger away. Only years of lying at cards kept it frommy face:or so I hoped.
“Mister Jeffries, who is missing?” our captor asked. “I do not see Striker’s matelot .” He pronounced the word properly, but with great disdain and mockery. “Nor do I see any
children.”A stocky but well-liveried man stepped from the crowd
    A stocky but well-liveried man stepped from the crowd of mercenaries and regarded a list. “Striker’s paramour, the Frenchman’s girl, the old tutor, the Scotsman, and the three babes and the servants allbe missing, sir.”
    “We can assume, can we not, Mister