She could not believe the pain she was in. While it had been uncomfortable riding in front of her husband, it was agony after a day of riding on her own. Her muscles ached in places she had not even realized that she had them. It was horrible agony. But she was damned if she was going to admit it. Curse her husband; she suspected it would please the insufferable man to know the pain she was in. He had not spoken a word to her since informing her that she had added time to their trip. They had ridden nonstop since then, not even pausing for a midday meal, and for most of that time Rosamunde had been in pain. She was too proud to admit it and beg for mercy, though. She would not be coddled. If the men could handle it, so could she. Her muscles would grow used to the saddle, and she would win their respect. She was determined. And determination was the only thing that kept her from accepting one of the men’s kind offers to see to her horse for the night. Glimpsing the sympathy in the man’s eyes, Rosamunde shook her head, thanking him kindly for the offer, but refused firmly.
