Riding north through the gold and brown of autumn, Richard put the politics of London behind him and could not help but see Kate Haute in everything he observed. He likened her hair color to the bright auburn clouds of robin’s pincushions, her eyes to the amber beechnuts, her merry laughter to the many babbling brooks the riders forded, and her singing voice to the larks which rose high above the meadows. And he hadn’t, until then, even cared for poetry.

Rob was, at first, amused by his companion’s infatuation, but then he became weary of hearing the paragon’s name. “Aye, she is a beauty. Aye, she has a pleasant manner—although methinks she talks too much—and aye, I think she was taken with you, too, but I pray you, stop prattling on about her or I will continue north home to Scotton and leave you to ride to Sheriff Hutton alone. You cannot pursue her, so what is the point?” Seeing the expression of dejection, Rob, as he was always able to do, made Richard laugh then by recalling the moment when, back at Chelsworth Manor, they had eventually revealed their true identities to Philippa Haute, Kate’s mother-in-law. “Did you see her eyes? They were as big as communion plates,” Rob said, chuckling. Then poker-faced, he declared: “It was hearing that you were a duke and the king’s brother that made Kate turn her attention from me to you.”

Richard launched a glove at his friend, whose groom scrambled off his horse to retrieve it from the dirt. “Liar! She only had eyes for me from the first moment,” he retorted. “But I promise to stop talking about her—at least for five minutes.”

They shared a laugh and urged their mounts into a faster canter. The long ride was getting tedious, and they longed for strong Yorkshire ale, some deliciously smelly cheese, and a soft bed. Hardy northerners were wont to sleep under hedgerows when on the road, using their saddlebags for pillows, and although Richard now looked on himself as a man of the north, tomorrow night, God willing, they would find themselves in the luxury of Sheriff Hutton castle.

“What do you think Warwick is hatching?” Rob asked later, when they had slowed to climb a steep hill, jarring Richard out of his reverie about Kate. “I heard it said at Westminster that he had had audience with exiled Queen Margaret in Rouen. Is it true, do you know?”