Thy Name Is Love (The Yorkist Saga) by Diana Rubino Page B

dew.

They'd gorged themselves at breakfast with fresh eggs, salted
     bacon and milk. Because the weather was not conducive to stopping
     and picnicking along the way, their next meal probably wouldn't be
     until nightfall.

Once they were out of her realm, she grew apprehensive, but Owen
     seemed to know the roads like the back of his hand, which, as
     veiny as they were, closely resembled a map of lanes and paths.

About an hour after the sun peaked, they passed through open
     fields, with a copse of trees a mile or so in the distance. The
     dewy ground glimmered in the sun. Patches of flowers flecked the
     distant hills, the colors slowly burying the more wintry heather
     and bracken.

She looked around admiringly, then had to admit to herself that
     she was getting hungry again. Much as she enjoyed Owen's chatting
     and easy-going demeanor, she wished Chera had wings to soar over
     the hills and treetops toward Wales.

But as they plodded along, the rain began to patter icily on her
     face. After a while, being outdoors was not so exhilarating any
     more. She longed for a fire and a warm tankard. But their chatting
     helped make their situation bearable as they continued, helping
     her to forget the quickening wind as it whipped round her cloak.

The sun showers and brisk breeze soon gave way to a driving gale,
     and with it came a swirl of snow which came down from the north
     and gained in power with every passing second.

Gusts of blinding whiteness stung her flesh, numbing her with
     cold. Her gloved hands stiffened and she tried to flex them
     without dropping Chera's reins. Within minutes of the storm's
     descent, she was unable to see Owen's mount at her side.

"Owen!" she shouted, extending her arm.

"Right here, snow maiden," he assured her, and the tips of his
     fingers brushed hers as he came up alongside her.

"Stay by me. I'm getting blinded here!"

Chera's mane was now covered with snow and the horse sneezed
     several times in rapid succession, stopping as she did. In an
     instant, Denys was again unaware of Owen's whereabouts, but
     knowing the others were a few paces behind her, she didn't panic.
     She was sure he was somewhere up ahead. He'd proven himself an
     expert navigator, and she knew he wouldn't get them lost.

She could hear Bruce and Peter singing a bawdy drinking tune, but
     she paid no heed as blasts of icy wind harassed her. With her
     gnawing hunger and desperate need for a warm bed, even a straw
     pallet would be a comfort, so long as it was out of the snow.

By the time they reached the rutted path winding through the
     woods, the snow was like a shroud enclosing them in an inverted
     cone. She didn't know how Chera was negotiating her way down the
     path, for it was swathed in snow; the animal's feet plunged into
     its icy depths with every plod.

Darkness was falling. Something told her now was the time to
     panic. They couldn't possibly emerge from the woods before dawn.
     Where was there to camp? The trees were bare and provided scant
     shelter. There wasn't a hut in sight, she was sure, though she
     could see little enough anyway.

She could discern nothing but the tall tree trunks and the
     blinding snow pelting into her eyes. She could hear the men, but
     could not see them.

In the darkness, Owen came trudging up to her on his snow-covered
     steed, a lantern flickering and hissing before him. She halted
     Chera and the others stopped behind her.

"We must pause," Owen said. "We can go on no longer, not until
     daybreak anyway. I am losing my bearings."

"But where shall we sleep?" Denys gasped as the horses converged
     into a loose circle, their puffs of breath providing the only
     remnant of warmth.

"Sleep?" Owen let out a guffaw and spat upon the ground. "You
     should be lucky to kip upon the back of your mount."

"Can you not spread some blankets on the ground so we can camp?"

"Dear child, the snow is knee deep. A blanket will turn to a sheet
     of ice. I must stay mounted if I