Time and again, I took the wrong road and often I had to hide in the woods to keep someone from stealing my horse when I heard voices before or behind me.My childlike size, the horse, and trappings, richer than any highway robber was likely to find elsewhere, made me appear an easy target, but I could not reach Portsmouth in time without a horse. I could not assassinate Buckingham without the weapons forged in my size. I could not fail, or Samuel would die.Yet I had not slept for so long that I did not see the crabbed soldier make a lunge for my horse’s bridle until it was too late.The horse reared, and I might have fallen were it not for the harness built into the saddle. It bruised my thighs as I fumbled for my pistol, my attacker’s grizzled countenance a blur before me. I swore as the man knocked the weapon from my grasp.I thought of Samuel, struggled harder as the man knotted his hand in my cloak and dragged me from my saddle. I struck the ground so hard, black dots swirled before my eyes.“Release him,”
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