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fronted by a small enclosed churchyard. Next to the church, rising from behind an orchard and a forest of overgrown shrubberies, two chimneys jutted toward the sky.
    “A church and a rectory,” Greystone murmured. “The village must lie directly ahead.”
    I devoutly hoped so. The boots I was wearing had been chosen for style, not for comfort. They were definitely not the footgear I would have elected had I known I was going to be walking for eight miles.
    A few minutes later we did indeed enter the tiny village of Luster. It did not take us long to discover that the sum total of Luster’s amenities was one inn, The Luster Arms, which consisted of a taproom with a single bedroom above it. The landlady was out in front contemplating her one rosebush when we came limping up to her. She fetched her husband, who informed us that the village’s sole blacksmith was out shoeing horses at someplace called Farmer Blackwell’s..
    I said to Greystone, “The first thing we must do is find a place to stable these horses.”
    He gave me the only approving look I had earned from him since the accident.
    The landlord promptly offered to put the horses in his own stable for the evening. Next he informed us that we were in luck, his one room was not rented.
    “Ye can stay there for the night. The wife will put clean sheets on the bed and we’ll gif ye a grand supper, we will. In the morn Smith can fix yer axle.”
    It was the first time that I realized the full extent of our dilemma. My eyes flew to Greystone. He was giving the landlord an absolutely devastating smile. I blinked. “I am Mr. Grey,” I heard him say, “and this is my sister. We appreciate your help, landlord, but is there no way the axle can be fixed today?”
    “Smith is staying at Blackwell’s for the night.”
    Impossibly, the smile gained in power. “I will make it well worth his while to do this job for me.”
    The innkeeper was not unmoved, but he could offer no help. “Smith’s likely too jugged by now to do anything,” he said frankly. “Farmer Blackwell makes grand ale.”
    “I see.” The bay Greystone was leading chose this moment to nuzzle his pocket, obviously looking for a treat. The earl gently pushed him away. “Perhaps I can stay with you, and my sister can stay with your parson and his wife.”
    “Parson’s a widower,” came the reply. “Wouldn’t be proper for a young woman to stay with him.”
    Rueful gray eyes turned to meet mine. “It seems as if we have no choice, Kate.”
    I said to the innkeeper, “Surely there is someone else in this village who can fix an axle!”
    “Nope,” the innkeeper said cheerily. “Nary a one.”
    “Damn,” I muttered under my breath.
    Greystone removed the lead rope from my hands. “Go upstairs with the landlady, Kate,” he said. “You must be aching from that fall, and you need a wash. I will see to the horses.”
    “Oh, Jem will see to them, Mr. Grey,” the landlord said cheerfully.
    We all looked around for Jem. The landlord shouted his name. After a minute, a skinny young man came out the front door of the inn. At the landlord’s direction, he took both of the horses’ lead ropes and led them away.
    “If your taproom is open, landlord, I think I will have a beer,” Greystone said. He sounded as if he needed one.
    The men went into the taproom and I followed the landlady up a set of battered wooden stairs to the bedroom. It was quite small, and the roof was low, and it had cracks in the plaster walls, and there was only one bed.
    “Damn,” I muttered again.
    “I’ll fetch you some water, miss,” the landlady volunteered. “You’ll want to clean up some.”
    When I looked in the small mirror that was nailed above the clean but chipped washbowl I understood why everyone was urging me to wash. My face was indeed extremely dirty. My right shoulder had stiffened badly during the long walk, and when I examined it I could see the beginnings of what was going to be an ugly bruise.
    I