Bluestocking Belles

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A lost soul in WIP Wednesday

In my story for the next Bluestocking Belles anthology, my hero meets my heroine in unexpected circumstances.

Barney had been staring into the library fire, trying to come to terms with his own death. Perhaps it would have been easier if he could remember it, but he had a blank space in his memory, between riding toward Farrington Grange and finding himself at the house party.

He heard someone enter the room, but he hadn’t bothered to react. After all, whoever it was wouldn’t see him.

The newcomer was the lady who had been playing pall mall with Feltonworthy. He had heard others in the party call her Miss Williamson. He had watched her playing charades partnered with that idiot Melville. They had mimed climbing up, and then climbing down again carrying something between them. After that, first Melville and then Miss Williamson fell down. Barney had guessed “Jack and Jill.” What else could it be?

Had he made it to the house party alive, he would have won the game. Did today’s experiences sum up the rest of his existence? Watching other people living while unable to communicate with anyone? Alone? Always alone?

His shudder was violent, and Miss Williamson turned around just as suddenly. And stared at him. Barney stood. “Can you see me?” he asked. “Can you hear me?”

Disappointingly, she did not respond. But she did raise her lamp to shine the light on the chair where he sat, and she did narrow her eyes in thought.

She cast a quick glance around the library and then focused on him again. At least, he thought she was looking at him, and in the next moment, she confirmed it. “Are you a ghost?” she asked. “Why are you here? Can I help you?”

No scream. No fluster. Three sensible questions. Why didn’t Barney meet ladies like that when he was alive? Clever and composed, as well as pretty.

“I think I must be,” he told her. “I don’t know why I am here or why no one else can see or hear me. Could you tell my parents and my sister? I’ve tried to talk to them, but you are the first person I’ve met that I’ve been able to talk to.”

Miss Williamson shook her head. “I am sorry,” she said. “I can see that you are talking, but I cannot hear a word you say.”

Barney was, as he could confirm by looking down at his own arms and legs, composed of something that resembled mist, but apparently that mist included a heart and guts, or the ghost equivalent, for his heart fell and his guts churned. Now what?

It transpired that Miss Williamson was equal to the challenge.

“I shall ask you some questions, sir, if you wish. Nod for ‘yes’ and shake your head for ‘no’.”

Excellent thinking. Barney nodded like a mad marionette, exaggerating his movements so there would be no possibility of confusion.

She had a rather adorable crease between her eyebrows when she was thinking, and a way of pursing her lips that set Barney thinking about kissing. Which reminded him he was dead, and presumably wouldn’t be kissing anyone ever again.

Unless he met a nice lady ghost. He supposed a single day, however long it seemed, was not evidence there were no other people stuck in spirit form wandering around the world.

“Have you been dead for long?” Miss Williamson asked.

Barney shook his head. His family and his friend looked no older than they had been when he last saw them, and they were at the house party where he was meant to meet them. A couple of days might have passed since his last living memory, but not more than that, surely?

“Did you die in Farrington Grange?” asked his pretty questioner.

He started to shake his head again, but had to pause. Though he thought he had been thrown from his horse, he wasn’t certain the fall had killed him. If he had died recently, and in this house, his parents would know and would be in mourning. Certainly, his mother would not be sitting in her finery calmly playing piquet with her friends.

On the other hand, he had no idea how much time had passed. Perhaps he had been dead for a year, and his family had already put off mourning? He put his hands out to the sides, holding them up and open, and gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders.

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Spotlight on Along the Road to Ruin

Somewhere along the road to Gretna Green, Lady Beatrice Johnson fell in love—but not with her betrothed!

Desperate to escape the life her guardian and brother Lord Shermer has planned for her, Bea accepts the proposal by Edwin Mills, who she’s known for only a short time. Instead of taking her to Gretna Green as she’d been told, he takes her to the tiny town of Fenwick-on-Sea, where she’s soon found by her brother’s man, Charles Robinson.

Years ago, Charles realized the futility of any romantic feelings he had toward Bea and forced them aside. When Shermer sends him to find Bea he’s more than happy to go. Knowing that Shermer has already arranged a marriage for her to another man, Charles isn’t eager to return her to her brother.

Old feelings reawaken as Charles and Bea await the carriage Shermer is sending to bring them home. All the reasons Charles has for not confessing his love to Bea seem less important. Could she love him in return? And is he bold enough to do what’s best for Bea? 

Meet Aileen Fish

USA Today Bestselling Author Aileen Fish is an avid quilter and auto racing fan who finds there aren’t enough hours in a day/week/lifetime to stay up with her “to-do” list. There is always another quilt or story begging to steal away attention from the others. When she has a spare moment, she enjoys spending time with her two daughters and their families. 

She also writes steamy romance under the pen name Ari Thatcher.

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Unsuitable suitors on WIP Wednesday

 

This week’s excerpt has a hero with an unusual trade, and a heroine who can spot a fortune-hunter at fifty yards. It’s from Set in Stone, which is on preorder for August 4th.

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Once they’d crossed another stile, Arianna could see the harbor, where half a dozen boats floated, some of them tied up to one of the long wooden quays, and a couple at anchor further out in the water.

Most of them looked old and battered, but Mr. Medlock pointed to one that looked newer, fresher, and in better repair than the rest. “That is the Cormorant, Miss Westbrook. And the shape on the deck is the diving bell.”

Arianna had met Mr. Medlock’s partner, Mr. Benniston. When they boarded the Cormorant, he introduced her to his other partner, Captain Arkright, and the two gentlemen conducted her all over the ship.

She saw the diving suits, and the copper helmets with their little windows and the weird leather tubes for air. The diving bell had the same kind of tubes, but bigger. She asked if she could look inside the bell, but its rim rested on the ground, and when she tried to look through the glass windows near the top, she couldn’t see anything but shadow.

They also showed her the pumps that took the air from the surface to the divers. Arianna tried to move the handle, but was not strong enough.

Then she was permitted to look into the cabins where the gentlemen slept when they were onboard. Mr. Medlock and Mr. Benniston shared, and the captain’s cabin was also their meeting place, with a big table that Mr. Medlock said was for charts and meals.

They passed the door of the cabin were the four divers slept. The sailors, Captain Arkright said, slung their hammocks behind another door that they also passed. She saw the galley, though, where the meals were prepared.

Then, when they went back up on deck, she discovered the two gentlemen had arranged for a couple of the sailors who were aboard at the time to winch the bell up so she could crouch down and then straighten up inside. It was all so fascinating.

Both men were so interesting, and so willing to answer her questions. Arianna would have stayed longer, but Brownlee pointed out that they had been gone for nearly two hours. “Your Mama will need me to help her dress for dinner,” she said.

“We had better go back,” Arianna admitted. “Mr. Medlock, Captain Arkright, thank you so much. I have enjoyed myself enormously.”

Mr. Medlock insisted on escorting Arianna home, though she assured him she would be safe with Brownlee. Captain Arkright came as far as the inn with them, but Mr. Medlock walked them all the way to Mrs. Peabody’s door.

Inside, Mama was awake, dressed, and angry. “I have had enough, Arianna Westbrook. You turned down two perfectly respectable gentlemen to go walking with that… that… tradesman. You are trying to ruin yourself. Well, I won’t have it. Do you hear? That nice Mr. Mills has made an offer for your hand, and I have accepted on your behalf.”

“I refuse, Mama,” said Arianna. “I will continue to refuse. In private and in public. At the church itself, if need be. I shall not marry Mr. Mills.”

“We shall see about that,” said Mama, and suddenly she moved, giving Arianna an almighty shove so she stumbled backward into the visitor’s parlor. Someone caught her before she could fall, wrapping his arms around her from the back. She could feel him behind her, her body leaning against his, and when she looked over her shoulder, there was Mr. Mills, fake smile and all.

“Miss Westbrook, Arianna, at last!”

Arianna struggled to escape his embrace. “Unhand me, you villain!” It sounded like a line from a farce, but Arianna wasn’t finding any of this funny. Mama had slammed the door shut, trapping her alone with Mr. Mills. Furthermore, she had heard the key turn in the lock.

“Now, now, Arianna, no need for maidenly alarms,” said Mr. Mills. Perhaps he meant to sound soothing rather than patronizing. If so, he failed. “We are betrothed, dear, and betrothed couples are permitted time alone together.”

“I reject the betrothal,” Arianna told him. “I refuse to marry you.”

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Spotlight on The Legend Begins: Book 1 in the Forevers from Fenwick series

Ah, Fenwick On Sea! A humble village, somewhat forgotten by time. But not for long if the innkeeper has his way! Rumor of a fae blessing upon his inn is exactly what he needs to draw crowds back to the neglected village. Of course, it’s only talk. Or is it?

When an earl takes up residence on a nearby estate, Barnaby Ash thinks his task to catalogue the gentleman’s library will be a simple one. However, among the many volumes, he is intrigued to find an ancient, illustrated folio. He certainly does not expect its effect on him to be quite so alarming. Barnaby is far too sensible to believe in magic, but there is no denying that he is changing. And when he realizes someone has actually tampered with the manuscript, he is determined to unearth all its secrets.

Joy Tully, the church warden’s adventurous, outspoken, and—sigh, still-unmarried—daughter, volunteers to help Barnaby solve the mysteries surrounding the strange book. His earnest approach to everything soon wins her over. And Joy is exactly the sort of free spirit to stir Barnaby’s quiet heart.

Just in time, too. For their growing feelings are at the heart of bringing Fenwick’s Blessing of Forevers to life. Cassandra Richards, a lady’s companion of questionable birth, meets a man and his horse on a stormy afternoon, two love stories unfold. One will reveal her past and show her how to escape the attentions of a not-so-gentlemanly gentleman. The other… Well, let’s just say you’ll be hearing it from the horse’s mouth.

The Legend Begins is the first book in a new multi-author novella series by the Bluestocking Belles.

Buy links:
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Excerpt from The Legend Begins:

Rev. Taylor stepped forward, waving at Barnaby to join him. “Mr. Tully, we have a learned visitor here. He is staying up at Hill House and has made a most fascinating discovery. Show him, Mr. Ash.”

Barnaby looked around at the expectant faces. “I’d rather not open the manuscript in the garden, if you don’t mind. It’s very old and valuable.”

“Well, you’d best come in then,” said Miss Tully, throwing the door open wider for Barnaby to enter.

The crowd pushed forward to follow.

“Oy, not you lot,” cried Mr. Tully. “Just the reverend and this Mr. Ash fellow. “Me parlor ‘as just been swept. Come on in, Reverend, and wipe yer feet.”

Grumbles of protest emerged from the bystanders, but Mr. Tully was not moved. He simply ushered his unwanted guests inside and shut the door—perhaps a little more firmly than necessary.

“What’s this about a manuscript?” he said, turning to face Barnaby and glaring uncharitably at the parcel in his hands. “I’m not a scholar meself. I can keep the records well enough for the church, but I don’t know as why you’d be showing me the fancy stuff.”

Barnaby unwrapped and laid the book open upon the low table.

A gasp from Miss Tully caused him to look up. Her eyes—blue and bright—were rivetted upon the page. She leaned closer, tucking a few dark-blonde strands of hair behind her ear. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“You can read it?” asked Barnaby, his heart hitching into his throat.

“Oh no,” she replied, straightening again. “But the pictures are…” She searched for the right expression. “Almost other-worldly. The colors…” Her words trailed off as she gazed once more upon the page.

“Is it one of them old bibles wot the monks used to copy in olden times?” inquired Mr. Tully, seemingly curious in spite of himself.

“No,” answered Barnaby, turning the page with great care. “You see.” He gestured at the illustration of the dancing fae. “It speaks of fairies. Fairies that were sighted here, in Fenwick.”

Tully wiped the back of his hand across his nose and sniffed. “Can’t be holding with that sort of nonsense. I’m a God-fearing man, I am. Why do you bring this into my home, Reverend?” He looked up at the clergyman, his eyes narrowed. “You’re not one of them types who muddles up Scripture with the Old Ways, are ye?”

“Certainly not!” The young vicar’s habitual smile melted clean away. “I merely hope to help Mr. Ash here solve something of a mystery.”

“A mystery?” Miss Tully’s eyes shone up at Barnaby. “What sort of mystery?”

Meet Elizabeth

Elizabeth Donne’s writing is a natural outpouring of a lifelong love affair with English literature. Although she has spent most of her life in Cape Town, South Africa, she now lives in the American Midwest, where she enthusiastically introduces her visitors to the joys of drinking rooibos tea. With a biscuit, of course.

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Is he a ghost? on WIP Wednesday

This is a snippet from Moonlight Becomes You, my story for the next Bluestocking Belles collection. Is he a ghost? He doesn’t know himself! (I do, though.)

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As far as Barnabus Radcliffe could ascertain, he was a ghost. He remembered being on his way to meet his parents and sister at a house party. Feltonworthy was going to be there, too, and he hadn’t seen Feltonworthy since the poor fellow became earl.

Was Barney thrown from his horse? He seemed to remember flying through the air, but the memory is faint and fractured. Certainly he didn’t remember dying.

But it must be true, for the next thing he remembered was seeing Feltonworthy playing pall mall with a lady he didn’t know. He called out, but no sound came out of his mouth. Feltonworthy continued taking his stroke, and the ball sailed straight toward Barney. And then through him, as if he wasn’t there.

Furthermore, when Feltonworthy followed the ball, and Barney tried to stand in his way, Feltonworthy walked right through him.

He did it again a while later, when he was leaving the pall mall course.

Yes. Barney must be a ghost.

He followed Feltonworthy into the house. He recognized where he was, now. The house belonged to the Farrington-Smythes, and it was to their house party he had been heading when whatever-it-was happened to him.

So his parents must be here, too. Surely they would be able to see him. And his sister! His sister was, as she was fond of telling people, sensitive. Even if his parents were blind to his existence, Amelia would be able to tell he was here. Wouldn’t she?

Being a ghost had the advantage that he could walk through doors and even walls, checking each room. It had the disadvantage that nobody knew he was there. Not his good friend Feltonworthy. Not his father. Not his sister. Not even his mother, whom he found playing piquet with Mrs. Farrington-Smythe.

He couldn’t make himself seen or heard. He couldn’t move any objects. He couldn’t chill the air, or do anything else that apparently alerted people to the presence of a ghost. What a complete have those ghost stories turned out to be!

Perhaps this was the afterlife. Looking in on the family who did not know he was dead, and seeing them carry on without him. But that couldn’t be the fate of everyone, for surely the place would be full of ghosts, if everyone just drifted around all the time? And he had not seen any other ghosts since he suddenly found himself in Farrington-Smythe’s shrubbery.

Was he being punished for his sins? He hadn’t been a bad man. Or, at least, he didn’t think he had been that bad. He had cut up a few larks, of course, but he hadn’t broken any of the Ten Commandments.

Unless you counted the one about adultery, although Mrs. Moffat had assured him she was a widow, so surely God would give him a pass on that one? Since his close encounter with Mr. Moffat when he was nineteen, he had been far more careful.

Wasn’t there also one about keeping Sunday’s holy? He couldn’t remember how it went, but he supposed he should have attended services more often, or at all, in fact. He sent up a hasty prayer promising to mend his ways if this turned out to be some kind of a weird dream. He really didn’t want to be dead. And he especially didn’t want to be dead if it turned out he would be spending eternity all by himself. While he was a man who liked his own company, one could have too much of a good thing.

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Meet new Belle Aileen Fish

The Bluestocking Belles are thrilled to welcome three new members this week. Today, I’m introducing Aileen Fish.

Next is, Aileen Fish. Read her bio and discover her links and her books on the Belles’ website. Today, I have a list of ten things she’d like you to know about her. Which two are false?

  1. I can speak three languages fluently
  2. I am an only child
  3. I once worked as a grease monkey at a truck stop
  4. I’ve visited four continents
  5. I was the lead singer in a rock band in the 70s
  6. My favorite color is lime green
  7. My first job was at McDonald’s
  8. I went to the same high school as Kurt Russell and Michael Richards
  9. I once managed a dog boarding kennel
  10. I’m a grandma twice over
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Meet new Belle Barbara Monajem

The Bluestocking Belles are thrilled to welcome three new members this week, and I’ll be introducing one a day for the next three days.

First up, Barbara Monajem. Read her bio and discover her links and her books on the Belles’ website. Today, I have a list of ten things she’d like you to know about her. Be warned! Two are false!

Ten things about Barbara

  1. I want to learn how to read Anglo-Saxon
  2. I have a stammer, which is sometimes embarrassing
  3. My favorite color is red
  4. I love walking in the rain
  5. My greatest culinary masterpiece is asparagus pudding
  6. I am in the ‘crone’ stage of life
  7. I participated in an archaeological dig when I was 12 years old
  8. My favorite food is baked beans
  9. My sunhat was stolen by monkeys in Swaziland
  10. I won first place in rope climbing when I was 13 years old

If you think you know which two are false, go to The Belles Brigade group on Facebook, and comment in the Ten Things post. All correct answers from all three introductions will go into a draw, and there’ll be a prize.

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Spotlight on Irene’s Fall

By Elizabeth Donne

Pride comes before her fall. Love helps her stand again.

Irene Sangford has willingly cast herself as the villain of her own story. After all, her family has taught her that arrogance and manipulation are suitable qualities in a lady if she’s seeking a husband with a title. Especially when there are so few such men to be had, and she is competing with her own sister to snap one of them up.

Nathaniel Macrae not only has no title, he has immersed himself in low society in his role as a secret investigator. Miss Sangford would never have given him a second glance, but when an attempted murder leads his inquiries right to her door, and a shocking secret from her past threatens to unravel her entire life, Irene discovers that Mr. Macrae is more compelling than any man she has ever met.

As Irene’s world falls apart, and she questions everything she has ever known, Nathaniel becomes her anchor in life’s greatest storm. Except this storm threatens to destroy them both. They will have to challenge everything they know and trust each other if they are to survive and find the love that has eluded them.

Tropes You’ll Love:

  • Fake Rake
  • Mystery
  • Secret Life
  • Secrets Galore
  • Forbidden Love
  • Hero Investigates Crime
  • Female Redemption Arc
  • Meet “by Accident”

Ladies of Munro (complete series)

Sophia’s Letter
Ellena’s Secret
Verity’s Choice
Jillian’s Wild Heart
Irene’s Fall

Below is an extract from Irene’s Fall for you to enjoy.

Go to https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0G1VMJKS9  to access a much longer sample.

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The two men had barely removed themselves from earshot when Olivia leaned forward and said with great glee, “You like him! You should have seen your face when he carried you out to this bench. You can’t be in love with him, Irene. He’s a scoundrel!”

“I am not in love with him,” Irene replied hotly. “Your imagination has run wild.”

“I saw it too,” Mary chimed in. “You were definitely all doe-eyed.”

Irene glared at her friends.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” continued Mary. “The gentleman is as dreamy as they come. But you have never allowed that to lead where your future cannot follow. You wouldn’t want Mr. Macrae to think you can be toyed with. You are much too good for him.”

Am I? Irene was not convinced. Nothing in her character gave her the right to claim superiority over him. More importantly, would she want to? What if she wished for a man who was good for her, someone her parents would never approve of? With her prospects looking slim indeed, could she… dared she choose someone who might love her, just a little?

Meet Elizabeth Donne

Elizabeth Donne’s writing is a natural outpouring of a lifelong love affair with English literature. Although she has spent most of her life in Cape Town, South Africa, she now lives in the American Midwest, where she enthusiastically introduces her visitors to the joys of drinking rooibos tea. With a biscuit, of course.

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Spotlight on “His Merry Housekeeper” in Merry Belles

HIS MERRY HOUSEKEEPER By Cerise DeLand

Lord Bettington in Number 42 Dudley Crescent needs a new housekeeper. Because his three raucous motherless sons constantly create chaos, he requires someone bold to tamp down his boys’ hijinks.

But the earl wants so much more. He has ordered his young chatelaine, Miss Winifred Mathers, up from his country estate to take charge. Lovely Winn has won his heart.

But can he win her mind if Winn knows the ton will oppose her wedding the only man she’s ever loved?

Excerpt from His Merry Housekeeper

He ran both hands through his hair. He was done arguing with her! “Very well. Stay until Advent is over. Go back to him then. And take your salary.  Give what you will to your father. I am sure Detwiler will be thrilled with a subtantial bridal dowry.”

She blinked, angry with insulted. “He asks for nothing.”

“I bet.”

“You know, sir, you are not nice when you are angry.”

He fumed. But he had her. “Remember that unlike Detwiler, I am slow to anger, my dear.”

She stomped her foot. “I won’t accept your overblown salary.”

“Detwiler won’t like extra money?” he chided her. That man was as bad as her father looking for money in every cubbyhole.

“That’s outrageous, Wal… Sir.”

“I’ll pay it, Winn. Stay.”

He watched her as wheels turned in her head. Her father happy. Her husband to be, thrilled.

She scowled at him. “When it ends I go then.”

“Ah, really? On Christmas Day? It is so sad for anyone to travel on Christmas Day. I cannot let you go then.” If ever. But I see I must try to make my case in ten days.

“I must go home. My father loves Christmas and I must be with him. Plus, I have to manage Christmas at The Grange.”

“With your efficiency, I am certain they all know what to do without you, Miss Mathers.” He took both her hands again in gentle warmth. His hold had her knees melting. “Stay with us. Celebrate Christmas.”

She locked her dark gaze on his and he knew she looked for reassurance he would keep his hands—and his lips—to himself.“The day afterward, I return to Bettington Grange.”

“Of course,” he said.

But she narrowed her eyes at his tone.

She did not trust him.

And she shouldn’t.

 

Buy Merry Belles now.

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Spotlight on “Maggie’s Wheelbarrow” in Merry Belles

Maggie’s Wheelbarrow, by Jude Knight

Maggie hasn’t heard from her husband Will in more than a year—not since he marched out of Spain with his regiment. When she and the children followed him, the battles were over and his regiment was gone. Letters have brought no answers. With all her worldly goods and her son in a wheelbarrow, and her daughter on her back, Maggie sets off from Portsmouth to walk to the Midlands to find out what has happened to Will.

Will Parker has been invalided out of the army. The scars and the limp he has as souvenirs of the Battle of Toulouse are not the worst of it. He also left behind two years of memories. Back home with his mother, he is building a new life. But what is it he is forgetting? 

Meet Will Parker

Will Parker has nearly recovered from battle injuries received more than a year ago, but a blow to his head left a two-year gap in his memory. Invalided out of the army, he lives quietly with his mother and earns his living as a clerk. Deep inside he is restless, as if he yearns something he doesn’t know he has lost.

Meet Maggie Parker

Maggie Parker is determined to take her baby daughter and her little son to their father’s family, though she is not certain where in the Midlands he lives. She buys a wheelbarrow in Portsmouth, puts into it her baggage and her son, and sets out with her daughter on her back to walk as many hundreds of miles as are needed.

Excerpt from Maggie’s Wheelbarrow

Will has just read a letter from the wife he did not know he had. He has read it out loud, and he is surprised at his mother’s reaction.

While he was reading, he was aware of his mother sinking into another chair, but he had not looked directly at her. He did now.

Her eyes were filled with tears but she was smiling. “Thank God,” she said. “I have been so worried.”

“You knew I had a wife and you didn’t tell me?” Will couldn’t help but feel betrayed.

“What could I say, Will?” his mother asked. “You had forgotten them, and I had no idea what had become of them. Had she deserted you? Had they all died? How would it have helped to tell you what little I knew?”

She scrambled to her feet and pulled out a drawer on the kitchen dresser. She handed him a package tied with ribbon. “Here. Here are your letters. When you’ve read them, you’ll know as much about your wife as I do. Oh, my dear son, perhaps when you see her you will remember everything.”

Or perhaps not. What would he do if he didn’t know this wife of his? A thought occurred to him. “Margaret. Not… No, it couldn’t be… I didn’t marry Maggie Finch, did I? Sergeant Finch’s daughter?”

Ma nodded. “That’s it. Are you remembering, Will?” She sounded hopeful.

He shook his head. “Not from after Ciudad Rodrigo. From before. She… I doubt there was a man in the regiment who was not at least a little in love with Maggie Finch. Not that any of us would risk the sergeant’s reaction if we showed her the least disrespect!”

He could feel his lips spreading in a grin as he remembered the cheerful pretty daughter of the formidable soldier. “I married Maggie Finch!”

“So, I should hope, Will Parker, since you had two children by her,” said Ma, rather sharply. “Go and wash up for dinner, lad. You can read your letters after.”

Will obediently got to his feet. Maggie Finch. Maggie Parker, now, and wandering the Midlands with his two children in tow. Wandering where? He checked the date and location at the top of the letter. It was dated two weeks ago, and she was not here yet. She had included a village name, as well, and he knew it. Not more than thirty miles hence, but he supposed a woman with two children might travel slowly. On the other hand, perhaps she was heading for a different Ashton.

As he washed his hands and face, he pictured her out in the cold and the rain and shuddered. He hoped she had found somewhere safe and warm to wait out the storm. She and the little ones.

He had a powerful urge to race out the door and start searching for them. In the dark and the rain, it would be pointless. Possibly even dangerous. He would leave in the morning, once it was light, riding in the direction of the village she had left weeks ago.