The innkeeper looked surprised to find a well-dressed gentleman in his foyer so early in the morning, but his shrewd gaze noted the lace cuffs and the emerald pin in her cravat. “Och, sir!” He offered an eager bow. “Sorry no one was here t’ greet ye, but I wasna expectin’ anyone as ’tis early yet.”

“Oui. I need a horse, and I need it now.”

The innkeeper rubbed his nose. “I can assist ye in that. O’ course, it’ll cost ye a bit, fer I’ve no’ so many nags as to easily afford to lose one.”

Moira pulled a few large coins from the stuffed purse in her pocket. “Just tell me the amount.”

The innkeeper’s eyes gleamed. “Tha’ should do it.”

Moira dropped the coins into his outstretched hand.

“I’ll have a mount saddled right away. She’s older, but she’ll get ye where ye need t’ go.” The innkeeper went to the door and opened it, then looked back at her. “Pardon me, sir, but how did ye get to be here if ye’ve no mount?”

“I was riding to Edinburgh to visit the Earl of Stratham when a damned thief attacked me.” Moira allowed a sneer to touch her mouth. “That was his last mistake.”

“ ’Tis a shame how the brigands run amuck. The crown should do somethin’ aboot them.”

“This one won’t trouble anyone again.” Her hand rested upon the hilt of her sword and she permitted herself a faint, superior smile. “In the commotion, my horse ran off. A farmer gave me a ride to your inn. And now I must get to Edinburgh.”

“I’ll have a horse saddled fer ye right away.”

“I shall wait by the fire in the common room.” She sauntered into the room as if it were her God-given right, and a second later she heard the door close behind the innkeeper.

So far, so good.

The big room was lit by a single lantern, a low fire crackling in the grate and doing little to banish the early morning chill. She stood before the fire, leaning against the mantel and watching the flames crackle. Soon she’d have Rowena back. Yet she was leaving the man she loved forever.

It didn’t seem fair that the two people she most cared about would never share her life at the same time, but it was better for them all not to have to deal with the complications that could cause. But then life had never been fair, and it was silly to wish otherwise.

The front door opened and closed and the sound of booted footsteps came down the hall. Good—the horse was ready.

Stewart stood in the doorway, a heavy overcoat making his small frame appear as wide as he was tall. His eyes widened as he took in Moira.

She pressed her lips into a thin line and said in her best French accent, “What do you want?”

Stewart seemed frozen, gawking as if she were a giraffe.

She scowled. “You’ve come to tell me the horse is ready, no?”