A Traitor's Touch. Helen Dickson

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      Puzzled by her words, Simon glanced across at her. ‘What do you mean by that?’

      She smiled awkwardly. ‘Nothing. I was merely thinking aloud.’ She looked ahead. ‘See, the clouds are gathering. I’m sure there’ll be rain before nightfall.’

      ‘I believe you’re right,’ he agreed. ‘If my words have frightened you, I apologise. It was not my intention to upset you.’

      Simon’s voice was surprisingly gentle and the unfamiliar sound caused an embarrassed flush to sweep Henrietta’s cheeks in a crimson flood. His head was turned towards her and for a moment she fancied there was a strange expression in his face she had not seen before. ‘You have not upset me, and do not forget that my sole purpose for going to Scotland is to visit my uncle. But now you have spoken of what might be afoot, I can perceive the danger and act upon it should the time arise.’

      ‘The picture may not be so bleak. I may be wrong.’

      ‘And I am afraid that you may be right,’ Henrietta whispered, nudging her horse to a gallop as the first drops of rain began to fall and a gust of wind swept the land.