Her eyes were gritty and sore, her backside was tender, and the skin on the inside of her legs raw from rubbing against the stirrup leathers. She was hungry and desperately needed a hot drink and a wash. Fighting the urge to ride straight to Lonsdale Street and start knocking on doors around Tattersall’s Horse Bazaar, Kitty instead headed for Collins Street and the Criterion Hotel, where she knew she would find a comfortable room. Forgetting she was dressed in men’s attire, and grubby men’s attire at that, she received a startled and disapproving look from the publican’s wife as she arranged her accommodation. Finally in her room, having been left to haul her saddlebags upstairs unaided, Kitty washed her face and hands in the bowl on the night stand and lay on the bed for a few minutes to rest her bleary eyes. She woke four hours later, stiff and sore, to the realisation that the sun was high in the sky and she had wasted almost half a day sleeping when she should have been looking for Rian.
