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allow her the chance to shriek again. She was fighting for her freedom now, or perhaps even her life; and he was just as determined to hold her and keep his own. She supposed struggling would do her no good. And, in the end, it didn’t.
    She was picked up and swiftly bundled into the open side door of the diligence, out of view of anyone except the driver; who was obviously in his pay. Malone piled inside on top of her. Then the diligence started off, gathered speed, and departed El Encero . . . without any of the laughing guests suspecting who might be inside.
    Santa Anna’s reception continued, unabated, minus the Señora de Sainz. And, of course, Lord Michael Brett, alias Jim Malone.
     

Chapter 4
    He explained the rules to her in a voice that was tight and precise, not quite English and not simply American. Whoever he had been before, whether the uncivil Gringo or the impetuous British Lord, he was neither of them now.
    “You may consider yourself a prisoner of war. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not attempt to escape. I have no plans to use this gun on you, Señora - but please believe me when I tell you I will, if you give me any reason to do so.”
    She had no difficulty in believing him. The shutters were drawn on the diligence, but the light affixed to the outside of the swaying vehicle shone through the slats and onto his face . . . as cold and unnerving as the bluish eyes that watched her.
    Seated across from her, he held in his lap the same pistol he had produced as soon as they entered the diligence. She didn’t care for the direction in which it lay pointed.
    “You are going to hang for this.”
    He shrugged, and almost smiled. “I think I’d prefer it to a quiet death at home.”
    He was insane, he had to be. He would never manage to abduct her and get away with it - not in Mexico! Even now, as the diligence with its uneasy local driver hurtled them away from El Encero, she would be missed. Luis was probably furious, searching the house, questioning everyone. Someone would tell him they had seen her outside; someone else, maybe a servant, would have noticed her leave . . .
    “So satisfy my curiosity, Señora,” he said in a more relaxed tone. “What made you change your mind about recognizing me? I was sure I had fooled you earlier, when we were re-introduced.”
    He had the audacity to grin at her, in contrast to his former sternness, as casually as though they were two guests conversing in a drawing room. Had he no sense of danger at all? What did he intend to do with her? His easy acceptance of his drastic action in kidnapping her must mean he had decided something.
    She was in no mood to play his game, whatever it was. “Where is my maid, Dorotea?”
    “On her way to Mexico city, with several hundred pesos. You have no reason to worry about her, if you ever really did. Now how about answering my question?”
    She stared at him mutinously. His eyes narrowed at her determined silence.
    “If you don’t want to talk, Christina, perhaps we can find something else to do for the next thirty-five miles.”
    He leaned forward and laid a hand on her knee, fingers caressing the silk that covered it over her petticoats.
    She jerked her knees away from him and pressed closer to the side of the diligence. “A man who knows you identified you as an American. A Texan, in fact, which is worse!”
    “That must have been the charming Marquès - I saw you dancing with him, and decided then the evening was over for me. However, there were several other people at the fiesta who were well satisfied that I was British . . . I came in with the Ambassador’s party, after all. Why should you pay any attention to what Arredondo said?”
    The words tumbled portentously from her mouth. “Because I trust him implicitly. We are to be married next year!”
    He was silent for a long pause, staring at her in a critical and enigmatic way that made her wonder just what he was thinking. Then he said coolly,