That Friday evening was slightly chilly. True to his words, Anthony had been gone all day, and it was estimated that he would only return the next day. Margaret had r****h next to a tree outside the back entrance. She filled her sheath with arrows and pulled the strap tighter around her so that it would not jostle around while she was riding.
The wind cooled her overheated skin and pricked at her face as she rode frantically in the light of the setting sun. On she rode, covering acres and acres of uncultivated farmland, cutting somewhat diagonally across the land that sat between Rochester and Warrington. It was the most direct route, and she wondered at the fact that such heinous criminal activities could be happening so close to her new home, so close to the Palace and the city, right
