Lucy was so lost in her vision that she didn't hear somebody behind her until there was the soft sound of a twig snapping underneath. Before she had time to turn around, she had been dragged back with a sudden swift movement, and was now lying on the grass beside the lake with a boy forcing a knife against her throat.

"Your money for your life," he hissed in Lucy's ear.

"I don't have any money," Lucy quavered. "Who are you?"

"Eade," she thought the boy said. "I'm a bandit. Who are you?"

"Princess Lucy of Lindensea," she said, not without a little haughtiness.

"Princesses are worth money," the boy said thoughtfully. "I think I'll kidnap you, and demand a hefty ransom."

He still held Lucy down, and their faces were only inches apart. He wore his black hair long, like many of the men of Westmoreland, tied back with a rough leather thong. His eyes were black as well, and they looked into Lucy's little chocolate-brown eyes with curiosity.

They were impudent eyes, Lucy thought, rather proud of thinking such a grown-up word, that looked her over in so many appraising ways she felt a bit dizzy. She did a bit of appraising herself, and decided the boy was rather handsome, with his high cheekbones and arrogant full mouth, but no doubt very dirty, and certainly very wicked, if he robbed and kidnapped people.

"Come with me," said the boy, holding out his thin brown hand to Lucy, while still threatening her with his blade. "I'll take you to my secret lair and hold you, while I write the ransom note, and have it sent up to the castle."

Lucy allowed herself to be pulled to her feet, then she did some very quick calculations. Now they were both standing up, she didn't think the boy was any more than a year or two older than herself, and he was barely taller. He was thin, but in a way which suggested a tough wiriness.

"No, I shan't come with you, you horrid bandit!" cried Lucy, and she shoved the boy hard, using the strength in her shoulders, as her brothers had taught her.

Taken by surprise, the boy toppled over, and lay on the ground, although looking up at her with amusement more than anything else.

But Lucy didn't wait to see his reaction. She turned and ran as fast as she could, all uphill through the trees, panting and perspiring despite the cool morning, her sandals slipping in the grass so that she had to sometimes scramble on all fours, clutching at shrubs and roots in an effort to right herself again.

Even at this desperate hour, when she feared being followed and recaptured, her mind still worked on a scene it imagined ...