Tom moved forward slowly, and crossed the few yards between the two groups. He went and stood by his father. I saw Sir George’s hand reach out and touch him, but other than that they stayed still, watching Terry and me.

In response, Richard let his man go, freeing his hands for whatever he had planned. Cawnton strolled across the divide and stood behind Terry. He winked at me as he passed. He looked almost wholesome next to his loathsome backer. I swallowed, waiting.

“Now Rose,” said Richard steadily.

Terry sounded conversational, as though they were sitting in Martha’s drawing room. “I’m not sure I want to remain entirely without hostages to your good conduct. I might hold on to Rose until next—Sunday, say? Besides, I’ve not quite finished with her yet.”

“What do you say, my love?” Richard looked at me, his tones calm, and unemotional, despite the endearment.

I kept my voice steady, emulating his. “I would like to come home, please.”

“You heard the lady,” Richard said, quiet and steady. An element of menace entered his voice, something rarely heard in the fashionable drawing rooms of London.

“You can keep your hostage as a token of good faith. I’ll keep my charming guest.” Terry had one of the Cawntons now, so perhaps he could make do without the other one. He would use me until he was bored with me, and then he would get rid of me.

Richard sighed regretfully. “No, I can’t allow that.”

He turned around, and when he turned back, he was armed. His sword seemed to have come from nowhere. I guessed it had been speared in the ground behind him. Still without any expression in his voice, he said, “Now.”

I dropped to the ground and heard the clash of steel behind me. Rolling over the wet grass, I saw at least eight men who had certainly not been there before, coming steadily up behind Terry and his men. They rushed forward, swords drawn. These weren’t dress swords, they were cutlasses and sabres, pointing at the back of every man behind me.

They had been standing on the ledge, that ledge Tom and I had played on when we’d brought the others here that day.

I scrambled to my feet and ran. Richard held out his hand as I reached him and pulled me to his side. “Are you hurt?”

“Yes, but not badly. I’ll tell you later.”

He searched my face, and I saw the anguish he had been through. He released me, then turned back to Terry. “Our business here is done for the time being. You may go.”

At Richard’s curt nod, his men dropped the points of their weapons. Terry saw he was outnumbered. I didn’t think this would stop a madman like him. I was right.

“This is my territory.” Terry glared at Richard, angry beyond reason, balked of his prey. “No-one tells me what I can do here.”

He drew a gun from his belt and fired as he drew it, but his attitude had warned us of his intentions and Richard leapt to one side while I dropped to the ground. All at once the ordered scene turned into a general melée. The sound of guns firing mixed with the clash of steel as they turned on each other.

I stayed on the ground, picked up the pistol Terry had cast aside and laid about me as best I could with the heavy butt end. I managed to trip a few. I shouted but my voice was lost in the cacophony of male cries. In the confusion I wasn’t entirely sure the people I hit were all on the other side, so I made myself stop. I watched the action going on about me, ready to intervene if I could help. Striking out had helped me lose some of the anger I’d bottled up for days.

Tom had acquired a sword from somewhere and was up at the front, fighting to get through to Terry, who had retreated, his men closing about him. Terry had a hand to his arm, and then I saw the gleam of steel at his shoulder. I wasn’t sure what had happened until I saw it again; a flash of steel as a thrown knife embedded itself in the back of one of Terry’s protective bodyguard. Richard, his sword stuck into the grass in front of him, had a handful of knives. He threw them with beautiful accuracy. Either he wanted to keep Terry alive or his target had moved at the last moment, because the knife buried itself in Terry’s right shoulder. The big man bellowed in pain, but he managed, under the cover of the fighting, to run back to where the horses were tethered. He scrambled on the back of one of them. He whipped it up and galloped away, not back inland, but down towards the coastal path that led to the beach.

Terry’s men dispersed, leaving us in possession of the high ground. Those of his men who could headed for the beach, around to the side of the cove, scrambling down the steep, perilous path.

One man lay dead, a knife in his back, and another had a cut to his leg, which bled profusely. I didn’t feel inclined to help him, but someone must have done. When I took any notice of him again, the wound was tied up and he was sitting at a distance, propped against a tree.

I sat up and brushed myself down with a trembling hand. Richard’s arm went about my shoulders as he sat by