Free A Lady’s Secret by Jo Beverley Page B

they weren’t to be allowed to reach the next town.
    Saint Peter aid us! It seemed unbelievable, but Petra had heard of travelers disappearing without a trace. She retreated shakily to her cell, struggling to think over a racing heart. If the sleeping draft had been in the soup, the women knew she hadn’t eaten much. They’d know she’d cry the alarm if anything happened to the rest of her party.
    But they wouldn’t need to drug her to kill her—three strong women against one, with the old woman to help if necessary. Petra fingered the shape of the dagger in her pouch, but doubted it could hold them all off. With a shudder, she remembered the big knife on the table that had cut so easily through chewy bread and hard cheese.
    Saint Peter aid them all.
    Then yelling made her almost leap out of her skin, but it was only Madame Goulart yelling at Solette, and Solette screaming back. Then a door slammed. Solette had finally done as she was told, but clearly none of them expected the men to be awake.
    Or alive?

Chapter 7
    P etra thrust her fist into her mouth, shaking now. But surely these peasants wouldn’t have strong poison on hand, a poison that could overwhelm without chance of struggle or screams of pain?
    A sleeping draft was a different matter. Gall, poppy seed, henbane, even hemlock in small amounts, would put anyone into a deep sleep for hours, and the men might have thought sleepiness natural after the hard journey.
    Petra heard a noise and quickly lay back on her bed. She was only just in place when the curtain rustled and candlelight shone through her closed lids for what felt like an excruciating eon.
    Then it went. After a moment, Petra risked opening her lids the merest crack. She was alone. She slipped to the curtain and saw the solid back of Madame Goulart returning to the kitchen. Petra just stood there, all doubt gone. The woman had come to see if she’d been awakened by the noise, but why hadn’t she killed Petra then and there?
    Perhaps she was waiting to see if the rest of the plan worked. If one of the men woke, the women could probably think up an excuse. Nothing could excuse a corpse. Petra was sure now that the women were intent on evil, and she might be the only one able to stop it. She had to get out and wake the men.
    If they couldn’t be woken?
    She’d have to deal with the women alone.
    If only she had a better weapon. Robin must travel with pistols. She didn’t know much about guns, but if one were primed and loaded, she knew how to cock it and fire.
    Wouldn’t he also have a sword? Thanks to Ludo, damn his black soul, she could use a sword. Not brilliantly, but well enough—
    The distant door squeaked open again, banged shut again. Petra risked creeping out to the curtain.
    “All snoring,” Solette reported sulkily.
    Not dead, not dead. Thank you, God!
    Madame Goulart asked something.
    “Three near the horses. Milord must be in the carriage.”
    “Too good to sleep on the ground,” the old woman sneered at a deaf woman’s volume. “A rich milord for sure.”
    “And we’ll have that pretty dog collar, and his other treasures,” Madame Goulart said. “Get ready, girls.”
    Whatever Petra did, it had to be now, and the only way out was through her window. She slid back into her cell and heaved herself up onto the windowsill again, praying that she not be heard. Her blood was pounding so fiercely in her ears, she was all but deaf to other sounds.
    Balanced, shaking, and sucking in breaths, she realized that getting out wouldn’t be as easy as she’d imagined. She could fit through the opening, but it was too small for her to turn. The only way was to keep going as she was, headfirst.
    Into the mud.
    Silently.
    Praying fervently, she tipped forward and attempted to slither down the outside wall. Not being a snake, she got only so far, then tumbled to the ground. This close to the house, the ground was damp rather than muddy, but that meant it didn’t break her fall well.