and pressed her gloved hands to her cheeks, hoping to keep her imagination from running wild.
She was, after all, Belladonna of Naples, the steel-nerved cutpurse who had outwitted the authorities at every turn. She knew the importance of keeping a cool head when all hell broke loose.
A ripple of laughter drifted out from the nearby faux temple, and then suddenly the mellow sound was overridden by snapping branches and skittering feet on the rough gravel. Kate instinctively flattened into the shadows as she ventured a peek at the two onrushing figures.
The man in pursuit lunged and caught the coattails of his quarry. Both hit the ground hard, tangled in a welter of thrashing kicks and punches. As one of them rolled free and scrambled to his feet, a flicker of light fell over his features.
Face contorted in rage, Grunwald whipped a long stiletto from his boot and slashed at Marco’s outstretched hand.
Kate bit her lip to keep from crying out as the blade grazed his fingertips.
Marco spun away. Dropping low, he aimed a hard kick at Grunwald’s knee, which sent the Saxon sprawling. But moving with catlike agility, Grunwald quickly recovered and shot up with the blade still in his grasp. His other fist clenched a rock, and in the same scrabbling motion, he hurled it at Marco’s head.
The missile struck Marco flush on the temple, knocking him to the ground. Grunwald whirled, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he spotted two dark shapes round the far end of the hedge and come racing toward him. Cut off from the main gardens, he charged past Kate’s hiding place and sprinted into the gloom.
Crawling to his knees, Marco exhorted his men to give chase.
But they were still a good distance away, noted Kate. And Marco was still groggy from the blow…
Without hesitation, she set off in pursuit.
Twisting, turning, through the darkness, Kate matched the Saxon’s pounding pace as he cut through the ornamental plantings. A holly bush snagged her shawl and she flung it aside, ignoring the branches tearing at her skirts. Faster, faster. The looming garden walls had the Saxon trapped in a gateless corner. There was only one way for him to elude capture.
And just as she feared, the clever dastard was heading for the lone blaze of light.
Hurtling the stack of supplies lining the small clearing, Grunwald waved his blade, frightening off the balloon’s tenders. With three quick slashes he cut the restraining lines, then climbed into the basket.
The billowing silk sphere began to float upward.
Kate scrambled over the crates, a moment too late. The wicker was way out of reach. But a gust of wind caught one of the trailing ropes, swirling it close. For an experienced sailor, it was an easy grab. Catching the end, she felt herself lifted off her feet. Hand over hand, she began climbing up its length.
The balloon was now just above the trees.
A last quick heave brought her over the lip of the basket. Hunched over the brass burner, Grunwald was busy adjusting the flame and the fuel to steady the flight. He didn’t realize that he had company until Kate spoke.
“Step away from the fire, Herr Grunwald,” she ordered, drawing her knife from beneath her gown.
“Verdammt noch mal!” Grunwald’s look of astonishment thinned to a sneer. “Meddlesome bitch,” he snarled. “Who the devil are you?”
“An avenging angel,” she answered. “I don’t intend to let you and Tappan get away with murder.”
“Miss Woodbridge?”
“Yes,” she replied, balancing lightly on her toes. The rocking motion was very much like the sway of a ship, so she felt right at home.
Grunwald did not appear quite so comfortable. He stumbled slightly as he rose and edged sideways. “Say your prayers. No female has the brains or brawn to fight me.”
“You are not the first man to think that,” she retorted. “Give it up. The game is over.”
“Surrender to a frau?” Grunwald gave a nasty laugh and raised his stiletto. “Not bloody likely.”
Shifting her feet, Kate was ready when he suddenly stabbed at her heart. Steel clashed on steel as she parried his blade. He lunged again, but the rocking basket threw him off-balance and he fell back against the big brazier.
Grunwald screamed as sparks flared and the spilled oil ignited in a whoosh of flames.
“Kate!” Marco’s hoarse shout rose from the ground below.
Fire crackled as the wicker and bunting came alight. A rope snapped, and the balloon gave a sickening lurch. In another few moments the flames would shoot up the cording and ignite