“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 her grief. I will fetch her. You will go into the hall and explain all of this to my lady wife that she may be prepared for your cousin’s arrival, which will not be a peaceful one, I fear.”

“Thank you, Logan Hepburn,” Lord Cambridge said quietly.

Logan laughed a short laugh. “You knew I would go after her.”

“Maybel knew,” he replied.

They returned to the hall where their party was already warming themselves by the fireplaces. Logan went to his wife, murmured something in her ear, and then departed the company, leaving Tom behind to explain. He called to a servant to bring his cloak, and outside in the courtyard his horse was brought. After mounting it, he took up a torch and cantered through his gates out into the stormy night. At the bottom of the hill he turned onto the track leading over the border and into England. The fog was beginning to thicken now, and he was forced to move slowly. It was growing dark, as well. She had the advantage of a quarter of an hour on him, but he would catch up with her and return her to Claven’s Carn.

His horse moved cautiously but steadily forward, and where the fog and mist lifted in certain places the animal moved a bit more quickly. Finally Logan saw the faint glow of her torch ahead of him. For a time he seemed to gain no momentum as he moved towards it, but then the fog lifted briefly where he rode and he hurried his horse along. The distance between them grew smaller. He had been following after her close to an hour now. He could almost see her horse now. He kept moving until once again he was given the advantage of a clear track. Rosamund was directly ahead of him in the rain, but she did not hear him for the thunder now beginning to rumble. He rode up abreast of her, but she was concentrating so hard on the road beneath her mount’s feet that she didn’t see him at first.

“So, madame, you are as stubborn as ever,” Logan said even as he reached out to half-lift, half-pull her from her horse, placing her before him on his. His arm tightened about her waist like a vise as she immediately began to struggle.

Rosamund had shrieked with surprise, not just a little frightened at the sound of a male voice and then her removal from her horse to her captor’s. She quickly realized in whose company she was. “Let me go, you damned villain!” she yelled.

“You have led me a merry chase, madame, but you will return with me to Claven’s Carn.”

“I will not!” She punched at him in an effort to release his hold on her person.

Logan Hepburn sighed. “I know what happened, you virago. I am sorry! If you had married me in the first place, none of it would have happened.”

“I didn’t want to marry you!” she told him furiously. “Why could you not understand that I wasn’t ready to remarry? All you could do was babble on like some damned brook about needing an heir. You made me sound like breeding stock!”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I thought you understood I loved you, still love you! I assumed because you had children you would welcome the opportunity to give me an heir as you gave Owein Meredith heirs for Friarsgate,” he yelled back at her. He turned his mount and was relieved to see hers turn and follow him.

“You assumed? No, you damned borderer! You presumed! You did not ask. You told me what you would do. What you wanted. You never said you loved me and hoped that I would be the mother of your children. Nay! You told me that you would come and wed me on St. Stephen’s Day and that I would give you heirs. You never asked me what I wanted, Logan Hepburn! Now, put me down and let me be on my way!”

“Nay, madame. You will return to Claven’s Carn with me if it takes us all night to get there. You will eat a hot meal, and you will sleep in a dry bed. And your horse will get his rest, dammit,” he told her.

“Bah! You have learned nothing, have you? There you go, once again telling me what I will do!” she shouted. “Well, I won’t! You aren’t my lord and master!”

“Rosamund, shut up!” he roared, and then unable to help himself, he kissed her mouth hard. His head spun as the familiar white heather fragrance she wore rose up to envelop him with its subtle but powerful scent.

Rosamund yanked her head away from his, slapping him with her free hand as she did. But she was finally stunned into silence. She had not been kissed since Patrick Leslie had kissed her. Why was it that men she didn’t want were always kissing her?

They rode slowly on. It seemed forever, and then the horses turned from the road onto the path leading up to the Claven’s Carn keep. In the courtyard he put her down from the horse and slid from his saddle. Rosamund turned about and hit him a blow with her fist. It was a hard blow, and it actually staggered him. Unable to help himself, he burst out laughing as she turned away and stamped into his house. Rubbing his jaw, he followed her.

In the hall, Jeannie came forward clucking sympathetically as she saw Rosamund enter. “Oh, you poor dear!” she cried. “Come to the fire and warm yourself. I can only imagine how desperately you desire to get home, but you must not wear yourself out, Rosamund. You need your rest. Oh, I hope you have not caught a chill or an ague. These spring rains can be so treacherous.” She took her guest’s soaking cloak from her and gently pressed her into a chair. “Tam, wine for the lady!” she called to a servant. “Logan, take her boots off and warm her poor feet the way you do mine when they are cold,” Jeannie instructed her husband.