_{December, 1814}

lt was not a dark night. It was as light as the traveler had hoped it would be. He could see the road ahead of him clearly enough that he kept his horse to its steady canter without fear that it would lose its way or stumble into one of the many ruts and potholes on the road's surface, laming itself and throwing its rider. In fact, with a tightening of his knees on the horse's flanks, he urged it to a slightly faster pace yet. He still hoped to reach the next sizable town before stopping for the night, and that must be close to fifteen miles distant. Time was in his favor; it was still only early evening despite the darkness. Night fell early in December.

It was as he had hoped, but Alexander Stewart, Viscount Merrick, nevertheless felt uneasy. It was moonlight and starlight that he had bargained on to light his way, not these heavy, low clouds that appeared a leaden gray color and illumined the landscape despite the time of evening. The light was eerie, certainly not like daylight, but not natural for nighttime, either. Those were snow clouds, if ever he had seen any, and they were about to loose their load. The air had become warmer during the past hour, not colder as one might expect with the falling of darkness. The breeze that had chilled his left cheek for most of the afternoon had died completely away.

Damn! He was going to be forced to stop more than ten miles sooner than he had planned, and doubtless at a country inn where the bedsheets would be un-aired, the food less than appetizing, and the service uncouth. From the look of those clouds, he judged that he might even consider himself fortunate if he could leave the inn tomorrow morning. He pulled his beaver hat further forward on his head as the first large snowflake landed on the back of his leather glove, and rode grimly on.