Tom.”
“There is no place between Friarsgate and Claven’s Carn where we may stay!” he shouted at her.
“We can bed down in a field,” she replied.
“You would ask Maybel, Lucy, and Philippa to sleep in a pasture?” His face was flushed with his anger.
“If you hadn’t made us stop to indulge everyone with food and drink we might have gotten even closer to home today,” Rosamund said, ignoring his outburst.
“You have gone mad!” he accused her.
“I want to go home, Tom! What the hell is the matter with that?”
“Nothing! As long as you don’t kill us all getting there, Rosamund! We will stay at Claven’s Carn tonight, and that is final!”
“You may stay at Claven’s Carn. I will not,” she told him implacably.
The day, which had begun fair, now clouded up with typical springlike contrariness. By sunset, a light rain was falling, and Claven’s Carn loomed ahead, its two towers piercing the graying twilit sky.
“Ahead is where we will overnight,” Tom told the captain of his men-at-arms. “Send a man ahead to beg shelter for the lady of Friarsgate before they close the gates.”
“Yes, my lord!” the captain said, signaling to one of his men to go.
“The laird will not refuse us hospitality,” Tom murmured to Maybel.
“Nay, nor will his wife,” Maybel said. “But I warn you now that your cousin will fight you in this matter. I have known Rosamund all her life, and when she sets her mind to something, nothing will prevent her from enacting her will. Still, I have never seen her quite like this before. I think if there were a border moon she would travel on this night.”
“The horses will not stand the pace,” he said.
“Then try and reason with her,” Maybel told him.
Tom spurred his mount ahead in order to ride apace with his cousin. “Rosamund, be reasonable, I beg of you,” he began.
She stared straight ahead.
“If you will not have mercy on those who travel with you, consider the horses. They cannot be ridden without rest.”
“We can rest when we are past Claven’s Carn and over the border,” she said stonily. “It is not dark yet, Tom. We can make several more miles before the darkness sets in and obscures the track.”
He grit his teeth, struggling to maintain an even tone with her. “I should not disagree if the weather would cooperate, but with every moment the rain grows heavier. It will be one of those all-night spring rains, cousin. You cannot ask Maybel, Lucy, and your daughter to ride through the night in the pouring rain. And again, I beg you to consider the animals. How will we see the road when the darkness falls? There is no moon on a rainy night. If we do not shelter at Claven’s Carn, we will be forced to spend the night out in this weather. If any of us catches an ague, it could kill us.”
“We will have men with torches light the path for us,” she said implacably.
“I know you mourn, Rosamund,” he began, but she waved him away.
“Stop at Claven’s Carn if you must, Tom, but I have to go on,” she told him.
“What does it matter if we stop?” he demanded, his voice now showing his anger and impatience with her. “We will still not reach Friarsgate until tomorrow.”
“I will reach it earlier if I travel farther today.”
“You have truly gone mad!” he said, and after turning his horse about, he rode back to where Maybel plodded along in the line.
“She says we may stop, but she will go on,” he reported. His face was red with his frustration.
Maybel could not help but laugh. “Do not trouble yourself over it, my lord. Let her believe she is going on tonight. We will ask the lord of the keep to ride after her and convince her to return and seek shelter. He will do it. He has never stopped loving her, despite his good wife.”
“She hates Logan Hepburn!” Tom exclaimed. “If he said come, she would go. If he said turn right, she would turn left.”
“True, true,” Maybel agreed. “But I suspect that because he loves her, he will not allow her to remain in the storm even if she insists she will. He will bring her to shelter, never fear.”
And Maybel chuckled again.
“You are a most devious old woman,” Tom said admiringly. “And I never until now realized it.”
“I know my child,” Maybel told him.
They had reached the path that turned off up the hill to the border keep of Claven’s Carn. Rosamund brought their party to a halt as the man-at-arms they had sent ahead came riding down the hill.
“The laird and his wife bid you welcome,” he told them.
Rosamund turned to the captain of the men-at-arms. “All but two may go with my cousin, daughter, and the women,” she told him. “I will want torches to light the path for me, as I must go on as long as I can tonight.”
The captain shook his head. “Lady,” he told her, “we were hired to escort you home, and that we will do. But I will not expose my horses to certain death if you ride them through the night without proper shelter, food, and rest.”
“I will give you new horses,” Rosamund told him.
“You will kill my men,” he replied. “The answer is nay! Look about you! The hills are already shrouded in mist that will turn to fog before long. You will not be able to make enough headway to matter before you cannot even see the path before you with a light. Take shelter here.”
“I will not stop now,” Rosamund said. “Give me a torch, and I will travel on by myself.”
Tom thought his head was going to explode, but remembering what Maybel had advised, he said to the captain, “Let her have a damned torch!”
“My lord!” the man protested, but then he grew silent at Lord Cambridge’s look. “Yes, my lord,” he said, and then he handed Rosamund his own torch. “Lady,” he pleaded, “take shelter, I beg you.”
Ignoring him, Rosamund moved slowly forward, passing them and disappearing into the mist until only a pinpoint of light from her torch could be seen.
Tom led them up the hillside to the keep. In the courtyard Logan was there to greet them despite the rain. He quickly scanned the group, and the disappointment in his eyes was evident when he did not see Rosamund. Lord Cambridge saw it, and dismounting heavily from his horse, he said, “We must speak now, quickly and privily, Logan Hepburn.”
The laird did not argue, instead beckoning his guest into the keep with the rest of their party. Inside, Logan’s wife was waiting to greet the guests, and she led them into her hall while Logan moved off with Tom. In a small room the laird called his library they spoke without sitting. “What has happened?”
“I will try and make this tale as brief as I may,” Tom began. “When we reached Edinburgh we discovered that the Earl of Glenkirk had suffered a seizure of the brain. He was lying near death at the inn. The king sent a skilled Moorish physician of his own, and between this doctor and Rosamund the earl was saved. But, alas, his memory was impaired. He could not remember the last two years of his life at all. Do you understand, Logan Hepburn, what I am saying?”
“He did not remember Rosamund,” the laird said, his voice a mixture of both regret and joy.
“She nursed him faithfully for a month until he was strong enough to return home, but under the circumstances there could be no marriage,” Tom concluded. “She is filled with sorrow and anger. And tonight, as we seek shelter here at your home, she rides on alone for Friarsgate in the storm.”
“Jesu! Mary!” The strong oath exploded from his mouth.
Tom restrained the smile threatening him. Maybel had been right.
“Are you telling me she is out there in the rain? Alone? Are you mad to allow her to do such a thing?” the laird of Claven’s Carn roared.
“We could not stop her, I fear,” Tom said mildly. “She is a determined woman, and Friarsgate is her strength. She needs to get home.”
“But she does not need an ague. It could kill her!” he exclaimed.
“Perhaps you might reason with her, Logan Hepburn,” Tom said.
“I would sooner reason with a she wolf,” he growled, “but she cannot be allowed to endanger her life, even in
