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leveled his pistol at Elf. The man yelled
and toppled from his horse. He sprawled on the ground, clutching his wounded leg.
The first man finally lost the struggle to control his mount. He slid sideways to the ground. Elf leaped
toward him.
" Elf," Leo said. "Guard."
The hound came to a halt. He stood over the fallen man, growling softly.
A strange silence descended on the scene. Leo tried to shake off the unpleasant, light-headed sensation
that threatened to creep over him. He was aware of dampness in the vicinity of his burning shoulder.
On the ground, the first highwayman took his terrified gaze off Elf long enough to flick a quick, desperate
glance at Leo.
"They told us at the inn-" He broke off to lick his lips. "They said that the Mad Monk guarded only
Monkcrest lands."
"They got it wrong," Leo said. "The Mad Monk takes care of his own. And that includes his guests. Last
night you attempted to rob a lady who was on her way to Monkcrest. Tonight you paid for that mistake."
.
"Bloody 'ell." The highwayman crumpled back onto the ground in despair. I knew that the woman was
trouble the moment I saw her."
Chapter 4
A most dangerous pact with a man who might yet prove to be the devil himself.
FROM CHAPTER FOUR OF The Ruin BY MRS. AMELIA YORK
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Leo rode back through the watched abbey gates. A deep curiosity had kept her awake at her chilly post
in front of the window. She knew she would not sleep until she discovered where he had gone and what
he had done. The man and the mystery compelled her in a manner she could not explain.
She knew at once that something was wrong. The huge stallion did not canter back into the yard. The
beast walked at a steady, even pace. Elf trotted alongside, tongue lolling. Moonlight glinted on the metal
studs in his leather collar.
Leo was upright in the saddle, but he swayed slightly, as if exhausted.
The stallion came to a halt and stood quietly. Elf bounded up the steps to the door and barked once in a
demanding fashion.
Leo started to dismount. But he paused abruptly in the middle of the fluid, practiced movement. He
clutched his shoulder.
Alarmed, Beatrice watched as he slowly kicked his booted feet free of the stirrups and slid gingerly off
the horse.
Safely on the ground, he kept his footing, but Beatrice saw him grip the edge of the saddle to steady
himself. As if he sensed her watching, he glanced up at her window.
She stepped quickly back from the glass, whirled, picked up a candle, and hurried toward the door.
Whatever Leo had been about, he had managed to injure himself in the process. She wondered if he had
been thrown from his horse.
But that possibility left the most important question unanswered. What had lured the Mad Monk of
Monkcrest out in the first place?
She made her way to the top of the staircase just as voices rumbled up from the hall.
"Stop fussing, Finch. The bastard only singed me a bit. I'll live. It was my own bloody damn fault."
"M'lord, I must take the liberty of telling you that at your age a man really ought to cut back on excessive
excitement."
"Thank you for the advice," Leo said in tones that would have frozen the fires of hell.
"Sir, you are bleeding. The wound must be bandaged."
"For God's sake, man, keep your voice down. We don't want to awaken Mrs. Poole. She would
demand explanations from now until sunrise."
"Yes," Beatrice said as she came down the steps. "Mrs. Poole will most certainly demand some answers.
What in heaven's name is going on here? As a guest in this household, I have a right to an explanation."
Leo groaned at the sound of her voice. He did not turn around. "Damnation. One would think I'd had my
share of bad luck tonight."
Beatrice reached the bottom step. "What is wrong with your arm, Monkcrest?"
He paused at the door of the library and looked at her over his uninjured shoulder. In the glow of the hall
lamp his
and toppled from his horse. He sprawled on the ground, clutching his wounded leg.
The first man finally lost the struggle to control his mount. He slid sideways to the ground. Elf leaped
toward him.
" Elf," Leo said. "Guard."
The hound came to a halt. He stood over the fallen man, growling softly.
A strange silence descended on the scene. Leo tried to shake off the unpleasant, light-headed sensation
that threatened to creep over him. He was aware of dampness in the vicinity of his burning shoulder.
On the ground, the first highwayman took his terrified gaze off Elf long enough to flick a quick, desperate
glance at Leo.
"They told us at the inn-" He broke off to lick his lips. "They said that the Mad Monk guarded only
Monkcrest lands."
"They got it wrong," Leo said. "The Mad Monk takes care of his own. And that includes his guests. Last
night you attempted to rob a lady who was on her way to Monkcrest. Tonight you paid for that mistake."
.
"Bloody 'ell." The highwayman crumpled back onto the ground in despair. I knew that the woman was
trouble the moment I saw her."
Chapter 4
A most dangerous pact with a man who might yet prove to be the devil himself.
FROM CHAPTER FOUR OF The Ruin BY MRS. AMELIA YORK
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Leo rode back through the watched abbey gates. A deep curiosity had kept her awake at her chilly post
in front of the window. She knew she would not sleep until she discovered where he had gone and what
he had done. The man and the mystery compelled her in a manner she could not explain.
She knew at once that something was wrong. The huge stallion did not canter back into the yard. The
beast walked at a steady, even pace. Elf trotted alongside, tongue lolling. Moonlight glinted on the metal
studs in his leather collar.
Leo was upright in the saddle, but he swayed slightly, as if exhausted.
The stallion came to a halt and stood quietly. Elf bounded up the steps to the door and barked once in a
demanding fashion.
Leo started to dismount. But he paused abruptly in the middle of the fluid, practiced movement. He
clutched his shoulder.
Alarmed, Beatrice watched as he slowly kicked his booted feet free of the stirrups and slid gingerly off
the horse.
Safely on the ground, he kept his footing, but Beatrice saw him grip the edge of the saddle to steady
himself. As if he sensed her watching, he glanced up at her window.
She stepped quickly back from the glass, whirled, picked up a candle, and hurried toward the door.
Whatever Leo had been about, he had managed to injure himself in the process. She wondered if he had
been thrown from his horse.
But that possibility left the most important question unanswered. What had lured the Mad Monk of
Monkcrest out in the first place?
She made her way to the top of the staircase just as voices rumbled up from the hall.
"Stop fussing, Finch. The bastard only singed me a bit. I'll live. It was my own bloody damn fault."
"M'lord, I must take the liberty of telling you that at your age a man really ought to cut back on excessive
excitement."
"Thank you for the advice," Leo said in tones that would have frozen the fires of hell.
"Sir, you are bleeding. The wound must be bandaged."
"For God's sake, man, keep your voice down. We don't want to awaken Mrs. Poole. She would
demand explanations from now until sunrise."
"Yes," Beatrice said as she came down the steps. "Mrs. Poole will most certainly demand some answers.
What in heaven's name is going on here? As a guest in this household, I have a right to an explanation."
Leo groaned at the sound of her voice. He did not turn around. "Damnation. One would think I'd had my
share of bad luck tonight."
Beatrice reached the bottom step. "What is wrong with your arm, Monkcrest?"
He paused at the door of the library and looked at her over his uninjured shoulder. In the glow of the hall
lamp his
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