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docile with a man; this she vowed.
    Padding on bare feet to the window to look out upon the night, to that cobbled street the dark-haired man had ridden down, she seemed to see his face before her. Closing the shutters tightly for the night, she walked to the fire and leaned her head back, trying to quench the flame in her blood that the memory of him sparked tonight. His hot, soft, exploring mouth and husky voice now tormented her with a yearning she could not quite understand. She imagined strong arms holding her, caressing her. She had never thought much about lovemaking before, but her curiosity was piqued by the encounter with the stranger.
    Snuffing the candles, she slowly removed her chemise and undergarments, hanging up the clothes on the horizontal pole above the head of her bed. Standing beside the bed with her hair swirling about her shoulders, she ignored the chill of the night and let her long tresses tickle her back as she swayed from side to side.
    The tolling of a bell startled her out of her reverie, the midnight bell. The spell was broken and for a moment Heather felt wicked to have been thinking in such a way about a man she scarcely knew. Getting under the covers, she pulled them up to her chin to bring warmth to her chilled body. She tried hard to push all thoughts of the man from her mind but could not, no matter how hard she tried. Tossing and turning on the straw-filled mattress, she had only her memories to comfort her, her memories and Saffron, who curled up at the foot of the bed.
    Breathing softly, closing her eyes, Heather said a silent prayer for his safety and wished with all her heart that they would meet again.
     
     

Chapter Four
     
     
    Richard Morgan rode at a furious pace toward Hunsdon. The wind howled about him; the rain soaked him to the skin as he shivered against the chill and gathered his cloak about him in a futile effort to keep dry. He would not be daunted in his mission despite the misery, he vowed. His only concern was that he get to the Princess Mary before Northumberland or his cronies did.
    “Mary,” he whispered, his voice lost in the wind. “My queen.” He knew well the dangers which lurked behind the bushes. Outlaws roamed the countryside, ambushing unwary travelers. And what of Northumberland? Was he even now following him?
    More than once he looked behind him, watching for any signs that his enemy was following, and thought with relief that it did not appear that he was being pursued. At least for the time being.
    At last the rain stopped as the fading sun tried desperately to come from behind the thick clouds and give to the earth its warmth. The condition of the road was deplorable, little more than bridle paths linking one village with another, and he soon decided that perhaps it would be safer and more comfortable to his aching backside to travel across the fields instead of the muddy road.
    The night seemed to fly by as he galloped north, pushing at a furious pace. When he could stand no more, when his body was exhausted beyond endurance, he pulled at the reins to urge the horse to a halt. In the shelter of an old gnarled tree he gathered together twigs and leaves to make a soggy bed for himself.
    His eyes burned and throbbed from lack of sleep, yet sleep was long in coming to him, his mind instead haunted by the memory of a sweet smile, of hair the color of red wine, of skin as soft as velvet. The young woman came vividly to his mind and he thought of how lovely she had been. If only they had met under different circumstances, perhaps…. But no, he had to forget her! There was no future for them despite the hunger he had felt when he held her in his arms.
    Forget her? It was easier to say the words than to do the deed. “Sweet Heather,” he whispered, aching to hold her in his arms again but sufficing himself with his warm woolen cloak. Dreaming of her, he drifted into a deep slumber.
     
    The sound of cruel laughter awakened Richard form his sleep.