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mile to the inn. He hadn't been totally shocked by the mayhem since they'd come across the other coach overturned, driverless horses tangled in the traces, and three corpses - two tumbled off the box and one inside.

"Had to shoot two of the horses, milord," the man had reported with a degree of stoicism which made Diana wonder how many such adventures Bey's men enjoyed.

They'd gathered a small audience in the road by then anyway, since three men had come over from a nearby farmhouse to check out the explosion, and the York Fly had halted to help. They'd certainly provided unusual entertainment for the weary passengers.

"Shocking!"

"What is the world coming to?"

"Is that really the Marquess of Rothgar?"

"So they say. There's certainly a crest on the carriage door..."

Diana stayed lying down, hoping she was invisible.

The Fly had no spare room and a timetable to keep, so it had rumbled off with promises to alert the authorities. She suspected Bey would rather have avoided that, but it was impossible.

The men from the farm had gone to find ropes to drag off the torpid horses when they finally died. The dead outrider - Thomas Miller - was wrapped in sheets and blankets and put into the coach beside her for the short journey. She didn't mind. She'd asked and found out that he had a wife and young children, and had grown up on Bey's estate, son of a tenant farmer there.

One of his own. She knew how that must hurt.

She wasn't sure how Bey traveled the short distance, but it wasn't with her.

The White Goose was too small and too close to Ware to be a major inn, but their bedraggled party received the best of care both because of rank and because of the furor of their story. The local magistrate - a Sir Eresby Motte - had already been summoned.

"Time for me to practice being a very conventional lady, I think," she said to Bey in the low-ceilinged inn parlor.

"And you, of course, would not know how to fire a pistol. To have created such carnage single-handed can only enhance my reputation."

Tempted to fall into wild laughter at that, she let the innkeeper's flustered wife lead her to a small but comfortable bedchamber and ply her with sweet tea. When Clara staggered in, however, disheveled but whole, Diana hugged her and surrendered to tears.

The story there was simple. No yew for the horses, but a frayed piece of harness that required a halt to fix. As the groom had worked on it, they'd been surrounded by four masked men and forced away from the coach behind some bushes. There, they'd been tied up, and the villains had made off with the coach to prosecute their murderous attack.

Four. She'd thought so, and yet there had only been three corpses. The fourth murderer was on the loose?

Diana shivered. It had been planned with such coldblooded efficiency. No one could guard themselves day after day, everywhere they went. She longed to go to Bey now, to be with him, to guard him, but she knew that giving in to that would be another consuming fire. No matter what happened, soon they must part - he to his life, she to hers.

He would have to live or die without her.

She wasn't sure she could bear it, but she must.

Once Clara was calm again, Diana sent her to find a fresh gown. The maid soon returned. "I'm sorry, milady, but all your boxes were in the second coach. No one seems to know where they are, or what condition they're in."

Diana looked down at her muddy gown, but couldn't stir emotion over it. "Why wasn't something put in the boot of the main coach?"

"Well, milady, apparently there's a machine traveling in there, all bundled up in blankets and quilts."

Diana laughed at that. Of course the automaton would travel in style. She opened the small valise she carried with her, but a change of garments hadn't magically appeared inside. Some books, her writing case, creams and lotions with which to refresh herself, and her pistols. This might be the total of her possessions until she met up with the rest of her belongings in London.

Ah well, no need of vanity here, and she was far too weary to care. She and Clara ate the hearty soup sent up, then climbed into bed. Clara only had the one nightgown with her, so Diana made do with her shift.

Despite exhaustion, however, sleep would not come.

Soon Clara was