Jack watched the man’s futile struggles with the ghost of a smile about his lips.

“Jenny!” he said quietly, and O’Hara looked round at him sharply, frowning. Unconsciously, he had spoken naturally, and the voice was faintly familiar.

Jenny twitched the bridle from the perspiring groom and minced up to the prisoner.

“Would ye allow me to have a hand free⁠—sir?” he asked. “Mebbe I can manage her.”

Without a word Miles released him, and he caught the bridle, murmuring something unintelligible to the now quiet animal.

O’Hara watched the beautiful hand stroke her muzzle reassuringly, and frowned again. No ordinary highwayman this.

“Mount her now, will ’ee?” Jack flung at the groom, and kept a warning hand on the rein as the man obeyed. With a final pat he turned away. “She’ll do now, sir.”