Free The Highwayman's Footsteps by Nicola Morgan

flanks. They were dry. He could not have been the horse I had seen out on the marsh. So, where was his master? There were no lights in the dwelling, no sign of human life.
    He could not be Bess’s horse. Bess’s horse would still be saddled and bridled from when she had fallen, and this horse was not. He simply had a rope halter with which to guide or tether him.
    So whose was he? And where was his owner? I was still in danger, I knew, but I needed shelter. If I did not take the shelter offered here, I would be a frozen corpse by morning.
    Through instinct, I did as I would have done with any horse: I ran my hand down his legs to check for soundness. It comforted me as much as it might the horse. It was while doing this that I could just make out the white coronets around both front feet. Could he be Bess’s horse after all? She had told me of his markings, so that I would know him if I found him wandering. She also told me of a ridged scar on his near fore knee. I ran my hand around this knee – and there it was. He must be Bess’s horse!
    So, where were his saddle and bridle? Did Bess ride without tack? Was she so skilled? I put the thought aside: the important thing was that I had found Bess’s horse, and, I assumed, her home.
    How had I had such good fortune? How had I lost my way so severely and then found my destination in so unlikely a fashion? It was as though the mysterious horse and its rider had led me there. What a foolish thought! How could the rider have known where I wanted to go? It must, after all, have been luck.
    Already I was doubting my memory. Perhaps I had
not
seen a horse and rider. Perhaps the light had been in my imagination, the thoughts of a wishful mind. Surely I had found my way here by chance alone? And why not? I had been dogged by misfortune thus far – surely my luck must change at some time and perhaps that time was now.
    The horse must be hungry – he could not have been fed since Bess fell from him perhaps three days ago. He might have found some scraggy winter grass before the snow fell, but I knew he should be hungry now. As I stumbled past him, I kicked over a bucket and heard the water splash across the ground. The horse was lucky there had been any left – no doubt the water trough outside would be frozen.
    I was in sore need of dry clothes, and a fire, and shelter for the night, but the horse must come first. I had been taught that, but I felt it in my heart too.
    I searched around, my eyes seeking shapes in the darkness. It was not long before I found a large rack with stored hay, and a box with meal that was only slightly damp. A scuttling in the corner spoke of mice, or rats, but they could do me no harm.
    Having given the horse his feed, I scraped the snow from his trough outside and broke the ice, before carrying a fresh bucket of water to him. He drank only a little and ate nothing. It crossed my mind fleetingly to wonder why. He should be hungry. But I did not stop to think for longer than a moment.
    Shivering again, suddenly noticing how deeply the chill had settled into my bones, and how wet my clothes were, I made my way over to the small dwelling, my feet crunching in the thin snow. There were no lights. It did not occur to me to consider that there might be someone there. This was Bess’s home and Bess lived alone. How might anyone be there?
    I should have considered.
    I should have had my pistol in front of me. Or my knife. I should have been prepared.
    I knew this the moment I opened the door and stepped over the threshold. But by that time, it was too late.

Chapter Seventeen
    F or the second time in less than the space of two days, a gun was pointing towards me. This time, however, it was a full-size musket. Worse, a deadly bayonet was attached. True, it wavered slightly, but a wavering musket is as deadly as a steady one at such close quarters.
    I could not, at first, see the shadowed man who held it. I looked only at the barrel