She shivered, not from the cold, pulling her cloak closer round her. It lacked but two days to the Eve of St John and the light had not completely left the sky even though it must be near to midnight. Sitting there beside the fire, high on the Watchfold, she wondered at the enormity and absurdity of her plan.
When the chance had come, she knew that she must take it or regret forever what could have been. The Baron riding out that morning had surprised her. The too many years of their unhappy union had taught her he was not the man to risk himself for anybody or anything without a personal benefit. His announcement that he was going to join Arran to defend the realm against the marauding English heretics was out of character.




You must be logged in to post a comment.