The clouds were low and heavy with rain, and he knew in an instant he wouldn’t be able to outrun the storm. He had been galloping like a hellion for miles and his horse was nearly spent. He knew himself to be faring no better. His head was throbbing and his arm felt as if it were on fire. He had been riding since he left London early that morning, so his backside hurt. His temper was frayed and his nerves were on edge; and he cursed the luck that had already failed him once that daythe same luck that now showed every promise of failing him once again. He topped a hill just as he saw the first flash of lightening in the distance. His horse snorted and caricoled in warning. He gave the animal’s neck a gentle pat. “I know, boy. I know.” From the vantage of the hilltop, he could discern the roofline of a small cottage partially hidden by trees in the dell below. He made for it, sending his horse flying down the gentle slope of terrain with a speed and recklessness he would have found invigorating under any other circumstance.
