It had been snowing lightly for the past five miles, and old Runcorn, the innkeeper, welcomed him heartily, handing him a cup of hot punch. “Come you in, my lord. All’s ready. Will you be going up to the castle tonight?” Ash gave him a narrow look as he sipped the punch gratefully. He had done his best to keep the betrothal quiet, worried that Montfort might trouble Maddy, but clearly the secret was out. “Not tonight, Runcorn.” As it was, his sleep had been disturbed for the past two weeks with anticipatory dreams of the wedding night. Which were better than nightmares, but he’d be damned if he’d take the risk of literally anticipating his vows. Runcorn ushered him to the stairs. “Never you fear, m’lord. There’s only a few knows what’s afoot. And glad we are of it.” He shook his head. “A bad business thinking we’d lose the castle.” Ash followed him up the stairs.
