Val’s throat moved, and he leaned lower over Lady’s head and pushed him onward, faster.

He wanted her in his life, forever.

He wanted to wake beside her every day and find her resting next to him.

He wanted to watch her as she read and underlined the passages that resonated and ask her questions about why.

And he concentrated on those thoughts. Because they gave him life and hope, and saved him from thinking of—

Shards of fractured wood strewn about the countryside.

Val drew on the reins of his mount so quickly the creature whinnied and reared, pawing at the earth before landing. And Val sought to regain control of his reins, and the moment Lady landed on all fours, Val nudged him on.

Trunks littered the snow, stark slashes of brown and black upon the white.

And—Val brought his horse to a stop and stared—mail.

Little sheets of folded parchment danced as the winds carried them over the earth. They were everywhere.

Val’s eyes slid shut, and he squeezed them to keep them closed, to keep from thinking, to keep from descending into a pit of misery from which he’d never pull himself.

It was not her carriage.

There could be any other conveyance carrying such papers.

It could be a lord and lady on their way to celebrate the holiday season.

Except it was the wrong thought, one that thrust him back to another time.

Only, it wasn’t his late wife’s face that he saw.

It was Myrtle’s.

Myrtle lying on the ground, her body broken, the lifeblood ebbing slowly from her veins, her heart slowing and her breath growing shuddery, fainter and fainter, until it was no more.

A tortured moan, garbled as it stuck in his throat, choked him, and Val gasped.

Mad. He was going mad.

Or mayhap he already was.

The world came rushing back on a whir, and with a shout, he kicked Lady on ahead, continuing just over the rise . . . and then he yanked on the reins once more.

This time, Lady maneuvered the abrupt stop.

Val scanned the tableau, similar to one of the past, but different.

Unlike that dark day of years past, there wasn’t a lone woman lying upon the earth.

A handful of dazed women stood about, and a fine-dressed gentleman had his back to the crowd. A coarsely clad man wrung his cap in his hands, while the women quietly wept.

I am going to throw up . . .

Swallowing back bile, Val jumped down, frantically skimming his gaze over the passengers surrounding the overturned coach.

He dragged a hand through his hair, searching her face out of that crowd, wanting to see her standing because then it would mean she was not lying there with the life draining from her.

A sob exploded from his lungs, and tossing his head back, Val roared to the early-morn sky just one word.

“Myrtle,” he cried.