Excerpt from Monsoon by Wilbur Smith, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

The apple-tree boughs must have concealed Tom from his brother's keen gaze for William dismounted and hitched Sultan to the iron ring beside the door. He was betrothed to the middle Grenville daughter. It was to be a splendid marriage, and their father had haggled for almost a year with John Grenville, the Earl of Exeter, to agree the dowry.

Black Billy's in a lather to get at her, Tom thought derisively, as he watched his brother pause on the chapel steps to slap the dust from his glistening black boots with the heavy lead-weighted riding-crop he always carried. Before he entered the chapel William glanced in Tom's direction once more. His skin was not black at all, but light amber in colour. He looked more Mediterranean than African, Spanish or Italian, perhaps. However, his hair was jet black, dense and shining, scraped back sleekly from his face and secured in a pigtail with a black ribbon plaited into it. He was handsome, in a formidable, dangerous fashion, with that thin, straight Ethiopian nose and the flashing dark eyes of a predator. Tom was envious of how most young women became flustered and fluttery in his presence.

William disappeared into the vestry and Tom rose to his feet. He whispered to his brothers, 'He's gone! Come on! We'll go back-' But before he could finish there was a scream from the chapel.

'Mary!' exclaimed Tom. 'I thought she had run, but the little dilly is still in there!'

'Black Billy has caught her,' gasped Guy.

'Now there'll be trouble!' said Dorian gleefully, and leaped up to get a better view of the excitement. 'What do you think he'll do.'

'I don't know,' said Tom, 'and we aren't waiting to find out.'

Before he could lead them in a precipitous retreat down the gill, Mary burst out of the vestry door. Even at that distance her terror was obvious. She ran as though pursued by a pack of wolves. A moment later William charged out into the sunlight, following the fleeing girl. 'Come back, you little slut!' His voice carried clearly to where they still crouched behind the wall. But Mary snatched up her skirts and ran all the harder. She was heading straight towards the wall where the boys were hiding.

Behind her, William freed Sultan's reins and swung up easily into the saddle. He sent the stallion after her at a full gallop. Horse and rider overhauled the running girl swiftly. 'Stop where you are, you dirty little whore. You've been up to no good.' William leaned over with the heavy riding-crop in his right hand as he caught up with her. 'You're going to tell me what you're doing here,' He slashed at her, but Mary dodged away. He wheeled the stallion to follow her. 'You aren't going to escape me, bitch.' He was smiling, a cruel, cold smile.

'Please, Master William,' Mary shrieked, but he swung the crop again. It hissed in the air and she ducked under its arc with the agility of a hunted animal. Now she was running back towards the chapel, ducking through the apple trees, with William after her.

'Come on!' whispered Guy. 'Now's our chance.' He sprang up and tumbled down the steep side of the gill, Dorian behind him, but Tom still crouched by the wall. He watched in horror as his brother caught the running girl again and rose in the stirrups over her.

'I'll teach you to listen when I tell you to stop.' He lashed at her again, and this time the crop caught her between the shoulder-blades. Mary screamed at a higher pitch, a cry of agony and terror, and collapsed into the grass.

The sound of that shriek chilled Tom's spine and set his teeth on edge. 'Don't do that!' he said aloud, but William did not hear.

He stepped down out of the stirrups and stood over Mary. 'What mischief were you up to, drab?' She had fallen all in a welter of skirts and bare legs and he hit her again, aiming for her terrified white face, but Mary threw up an arm and took the lash across it. It raised a bright scarlet weal and she blubbered and writhed at the pain. 'Please don't hurt me, Master William.'

Reprinted from Monsoon by Wilbur Smith, a St Martin's Press publication, by permission of St Martin's Press. © 1999 by Wilbur Smith