She took a deep breath, pushed away from the horse and took its reins, trying to ignore her trembling legs. “Ready?” she asked the mare. “Let’s go.”

She managed three steps before her knees buckled again, pitching her forward. Moira threw out her hands to catch herself, but strong arms swept her from the air, and she was tossed over a shoulder like a sack of grain.

Moira knew it was Robert the second she settled against his broad back, his arm around her thighs as he walked easily toward the inn. “Stewart,” Robert called as he walked past his astounded groom, “take care of the lady’s horse.”

The groom, a small, wizened man with an oddly shaped figure blinked. “Lady?”

Buffon, a tall, well-favored man and considerably younger than she’d expected, looked down at the groom with disdain and said with a heavy French accent, “Oui, it is a lady. Can you not see? Ah, but all you see are the trousers and not the shape, eh?” He flipped a dismissive hand toward the red-faced groom. “Pah, you English who cannot tell the difference between a man and a woman. I wonder that you manage to have children.”

As Robert carried her into the inn, the innkeeper stared in amazement.

“What a surprise,” Robert said smoothly. “It appears that my wife has come to visit.”

“But I—” Moira began.

Robert slapped her bottom. “She was supposed to stay put at the home of our acquaintance. She can stay in my room; there’s no need to prepare another.”

The innkeeper, clearly sensing more largesse, nodded. “Yes, sir! I put ye in room number two, at the end of the hall at the top o’ the stairs.”

“Good. We’ll wait in the parlor until then. My wife has recently been ill, and she’s still not strong. If you’ve some gruel and some bread, that would be most welcome.”

“Robert, no!” Moira protested. She lifted her head to tell the innkeeper, “I dislike gruel and would rather have something else. Do you have—”

“She’ll have gruel.” With that pronouncement, Robert went into the small parlor. Ducking the beams, he carried her to the fireplace and unceremoniously dumped her into a chair.

Seeing his grim expression, she said, “You shouldn’t have left me.”

The words sounded sulky, but she didn’t care. She was so tired, her back and legs afire, and now Robert had just ignominiously scooped her up and paraded her before the entire population of the inn.

“Idiot. You’re so tired you can barely sit upright.” He went to a small table and picked up a glass and brought it to her. “Here. Drink this.”

“It’s not more of your tonic, is it?”

“No, it’s brandy.”

She took the glass and, by dint of supporting her wrist with her other hand, managed to sip it without trembling too badly. The first sip warmed her, the second smoothed her tattered nerves, and the third sip made her lean back in the chair and sigh. “Thank you.” Some of her tiredness seemed to melt away.