"Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell. " "'Zounds! Captain, I shall get my death of cold. ‘Why?’ ‘Why take me to France? Why trouble himself with me, when so easily he could leave me to this Monsieur Remenham to keep?’ To Melusine’s instant suspicion, Martha bit her lip, drew a breath, and avoided her charge’s gaze. The militia offered little in the way of relief. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. Taking the light, they then proceeded along the passage.
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