When Charles the First was King by J.S. Fletcher

We rode in silence down the rough lane that leads from Baghill to Darrington, keeping along the stretch of grass at the wayside as much as possible, so that the sound of our horses' feet might be deadened. Down the hill we went into Darrington, and past the crossroads, where two or three men still lingered at the door of the inn and watched us curiously as we sped along. All that time we had spoken no word, but both of us were full of rage and horror at the news brought to us by Belwether. I had ridden out at first half dazed at the strange tidings, comprehending nothing but that my dear love was in sore danger, and that I must go to her assistance. But as my head cleared with the long gallop I began to think of what the bad news meant. Rose had been entrapped and carried away. It was a snare meant for no good. Who had done it? Who had done it? Over and over again this question came into my head as we rode forward under the starlit sky.

"Whose hand is this, Will? " asked Philip Lisle at last, just as we came in sight of the lights at Dale's Field. "I did not know that my poor girl had an enemy -- nor that I had either, for that matter."