The morning mist still clung to the rolling hills surrounding the Thompson estate, but the sun was fighting its way through, casting long, pale beams of light across the damp grass. The air was crisp, filled with the sharp scent of pine and the earthy smell of horses.
"Woah!" Derek said softly.
His black mare slowed from a canter to a trot, her hooves rhythmic on the gravel path leading to the main courtyard. She snorted, shaking her mane, eager for the stable and a bucket of oats. Derek reached forward, his gloved hand patting her neck firmly.
"Easy, girl," he murmured, soothing her. "We made it. We are home."
It was already the fifth day. Derek had ridden hard from the military encampment, leaving General Rogers to finalize the supply lines. He had pushed himself and his horse, driven by a singular need to return and stay a bit longer with his family before the army marched. He had promised Marissa. And he was a man who kept his promises.
