The Cruel Count (Bantam Series No. 28) by Barbara Cartland Page A

tops of the mountains.
    ‘We must be very high by now,’ she thought.
    Yet still they climbed, even the ponies grunting a little with the exertion, and some of their escort were breathing heavily.
    Hours must have gone by and still they climbed, until finally there was a sharp word of command, the horses were brought to a standstill and Vesta felt strong hands from which she shrank drawing her from the saddle.
    She stood uncertain and indecisive, wondering whether she could take off the bandage. Then with a sense of relief she heard the Count say:
    “Give me your hand.”
    She groped for his and found it.
    “Will ... they ... hurt us?” she asked, her fingers trembling.
    “I hope not,” he replied.
    She had the feeling that he was unsure and worried.
    They were led forward, Vesta feeling the way with her feet and praying that she would not suddenly trip up and fall. Then someone spoke and the Count said to Vesta:
    “We may take off our bandages.”
    She undid hers quickly and found that at last she was able to see.
    It took her a moment or two to adjust her eyes, not to the sunshine that she had expected, but to the dimness of a cave.
    It was an enormous cavern hewn out of solid rock, dark and grey. It was lit by light coming through a distant opening and two flaring torches.
    What arrested Vesta’s attention more than anything else were the people surrounding them.
    She and the Count were standing in the very centre of the cave and staring at them were perhaps twenty or thirty men and women all dressed roughly in the same style as their captors.
    There were too, she noticed, a number of small, dark-haired, unhealthy-looking children. While the women were so unprepossessing that it was difficult to realise that they were of the same sex as herself.
    But above all her gaze was riveted by a man who was obviously the Chief.
    He was a big man, bigger than the others, and there were grey streaks in his hair. His eyes were bright and shrewd, while his face was deeply scarred as if from many fights and his nose having been broken had been badly set.
    He spoke harshly, but the Count replied coolly and in even tones, and Vesta knew he was explaining that they were ordinary travellers intent on their own business.
    The Count made a gesture towards her and it was clear that he was saying that she was his wife.
    The Chief made a joke at which he laughed heartily, while the Count did not smile. Then the Chief said something to his followers and they murmured amongst themselves.
    One or two of them put their hands towards the knives in their belts and for the first time Vesta was really afraid.
    The Count became very eloquent.
    Now she knew he was threatening, cajoling, pleading, but the answer to everything he said was definitely unsatisfactory. Again Vesta heard the word “money” which she recognised.
    She had the strange feeling that it was not of interest to the Chief.
    Finally when the argument seemed to have gone on for a long time with no satisfactory conclusion, the Count obviously asked if he might explain what had happened to Vesta. The Chief nodded.
    The Count turned towards her and she saw an expression in his face which made her tremble.
    “What do they intend to ... do to ... us?” she asked.
    “I am to die,” he answered. “They say we have violated their territory and therefore they intend to kill me.”
    She tried to speak but no word would come. Then he said:
    “They will spare your life if you will become the wife—which is a polite word for it—of the Head man who brought us here. He is the brother of the Chief.”
    For a moment Vesta could not take in what the Count was saying.
    Then remembering the man with the squinting eye and the scar on his cheek, she said quietly in a voice which surprisingly did not tremble:
    “You will kill me.”
    It was not a question, it was a statement of fact. The Count looking into her eyes answered.
    “Of course.”
    “How will you ... do it?” Vesta