Sticky dampness rose beneath Honoria's fingers, her kerchief and scarf no match for the relentless flow. Her gaze fell on the youth's cravat. Unhooking the pin securing the linen folds, she unwound the cravat, folded it, then positioned the thick wad and carefully pressed down. She was bent over her patient when the thunder struck.

A deep resounding boom, it rent the air. The grey screamed, then shot down the lane, a sharp crack accompanying the thud of hooves. Heart pounding, Honoria watched in helpless dismay as the gig rushed past, the branch with the reins still wrapped about it bumping wildly in its wake.

Then lightning cracked. The flash was hidden by the canopy yet still lit the lane in garish white. Honoria shut her eyes tight, blocking her memories by sheer force of will.

A low moan reached her. Opening her eyes, she looked down, but her charge remained unconscious.

"Wonderful." She glanced around; the truth was impossible to avoid. She was alone in a wood, under trees, miles from shelter, without means of transport, in a countryside she'd first seen four days ago, with a storm lashing the leaves from the trees-and beside her lay a badly wounded man. How on earth could she help him?

Her mind was a comfortless blank. Into the void came the sound of hoofbeats. At first, she thought she was dreaming, but the sound grew steadily louder, nearer. Giddy with relief, Honoria rose. She stood in the lane, fingertips on the pad, listening as the hoofbeats drew rapidly nearer. At the last minute, she stood upright, turning and stepping boldly to the center of the lane.

The ground shook; thunder engulfed her. Looking up, she beheld Death.

A massive black stallion screamed and reared over her, iron-tipped hooves flailing within inches of her head. On the beast's back sat a man to match the horse, black-clad shoulders blocking out the twilight, dark mane wild, features harsh-satanic.