They rode on in silence, and quickened presently to a canter. “I want to rest you awhile,” Sir Anthony said. “Keep an eye for a likely barn.”
“The horses would be glad of it.” Prudence bent to pat the mare’s neck.
They were in farm-land now; it was not long before they found such a barn. It lay by some tumbledown sheds across a paddock, where a little rippling stream separated field from field. The farm buildings were hidden from sight by a rise in the ground; they rode forward, past what was left of a haystack, and dismounted outside the barn.
It was not locked; the door hung on rusty hinges, and inside there was the sweet smell of hay.
Sir Anthony propped the door wide to let in the moonlight. “Empty,” he said. “Can you brave a possible rat?”
Prudence was unbuckling her saddle-girths. “I’ve done so before now, but I confess I dislike ’em.” She lifted off the saddle and had it taken quickly from her.
“Learn, child, that I am here to wait on you.”
She shook her head, and went on to unbridle the mare. “Attend to Rufus, my lord. What, am I one of your frail, helpless creatures then?”
“You’ve a distressing independence, on the contrary.” Sir Anthony removed the saddle from the roan’s back, and led him into the barn. For the next few minutes he was busy with a wisp of straw, rubbing the big horse down.
Prudence went expertly to work on her mare, and stood back at last. “It’s warm enough here,” she remarked. “They’ll take no hurt. When they’ve cooled we’d best take them down to the stream. Lord, but I’m thirsty myself!”