” Sir John’s head bent lower and lower. Traps, set with peculiar cunning; she had encountered them everywhere. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. She turned back into the hall. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. His voice had broken. She would lure him, as he was an easily tempted child predator who could even more easily be turned into prey. Go for it. Wrap yourself in my cloak, and keep it.
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