Baker laughed.
“You’ve got grit,” he said, “and I’ll tell you later what else you’ve got!”
There was an unmistakable innuendo in how he spoke and Vanda felt a streak of fear run through her very like fork lightning.
She recognised only too well that she was walking on a tightrope with these men around her.
It was even more frightening than if she was imprisoned and alone.
The soup was poured into the mugs and was, she had to admit, very palatable.
It was a relief to realise that Baker’s mug was clean and she could not say the same of those belonging to the other highwaymen.
And the way they ate made her look away from them in disgust.
As soon as the doe was roasted, they hacked at it with knives, which they produced from their belts and Vanda had a most unpleasant feeling that they
