Now, with the night an icy, wet, close to impenetrable shroud around him, with the horses slowing even more with every step, with the deluge rapidly converting the lane into a quagmire, he was seriously wondering if he’d judged aright. Yet quite aside from its seclusion tucked away through woods two miles from the highway, given the sudden onset of the storm and its dramatic impact, he doubted the Coppingford Arms would be full.

Gaining shelter for him, Willis, and his horses was currently his only objective, and both instinct and intellect told him shelter awaited at the Coppingford Arms.

He was debating whether to get down and lead the horses when he caught a glimmer through the dripping trees. Leaden branches drooped and bobbed in the downpour; he blinked, shook his head, sending droplets flying in a vain attempt to clear his eyes, and stared again. A small, weak lamp glowed through the curtain of rain.

It grew larger, its light stronger, as the horses inched along. Through the drowned night the outline of a low, solid, two-story building in gray stone took shape. As well as the single lamp by the main door, flickering light at one window bore testimony to a fire within. The sight made Ro realize just how chilled he was; he quelled a shiver.

A stone archway beside the inn gave access to the stable yard. He turned the flagging horses under it. “Willis! Wake up, man-we’re here.”

“I’m awake.” Willis was out of the carriage before it had rocked to a halt. “Ostler! Get yourself out here! His lordship’s horses need tending before they get washed away.”

Swinging down from the box seat, Ro saw an ostler come rushing from the stable.

Wide-eyed, he grabbed hold of the leader’s bridle. “We can walk them into the stable and unharness there. No need to get washed away ourselves.”

Ro nodded to Willis when Willis looked back at him. “Go on. I’ll get my bag and bespeak rooms-come in when you’re done.”