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As the tall man reached Belinda, he looked up briefly, and his dark eyes met her gaze. Water ran from the brim of his hat but his face was dry. He was rugged, Italian looking like her master Belinda thought.

“Turn around,” he said in a deep commanding voice, and he pulled a length of black cloth from the pocket of his coat as he spoke.

She spun around on her heels as the thunder rolled and lightening flashed again. She faced the wall, and then there was darkness as the man pulled the cloth across her eyes as a blindfold and fastened the material at the back of her head over her wet hair.

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