Even this close to spring, the threat of snow lingered until May. Moonlight reached across the ground in pale fingers, sifting through tree branches that had not yet budded with the first breath of spring. A tap on the small port above the forward seat alerted Camden just before it slipped open. “Riders approaching, my lord,” his driver said. “A full half dozen at least.” Camden leaned to the window to see the oncoming riders directly on the road in front. Even though he was on Blackthorn land, he never discounted the possibility of being robbed on his own road by overambitious highwaymen bent on their own self-destruction. As the coach slowed, Camden reached beneath the cushion of the opposite seat and withdrew two pistols already primed, setting both next to him. “Can you tell yet who they are?” he called back. “Six dragoons. A woman and a dog,” the driver said. “They are hailing us.”
