April Moon by Susan King, Merline Lovelace, MIRANDA JARRETT

full moon, and now she was being followed.
    Over the rattle of the cart and the thud of the bay’s hooves, she heard the relentless drumming ofother hoofbeats. Looking back, she saw that the lead rider was even closer. She sensed the steel of his determination. Behind him the others—including two dragoons, for she glimpsed their white gaiters in the darkness—pursued her steadily, as well.
    “Halt!” shouted the rider in black once again.
    Jenny slapped the reins, and the bay gave a burst of effort. The little cart rumbled over the turf, wooden crates sliding about in the cartbed, tin lantern jangling on its hook.
    Was the new excise officer chasing her? Her kinsmen had learned that the new man would be nothing like the complacent, sly fellow who had accepted smuggler’s bribes for years. The new preventive man would cut through the net of Solway smugglers like a hot blade through butter, or so her kinsmen had heard it said in the town.
    As yet, no one knew his name or had seen him yet—he was that freshly arrived from Edinburgh—but word had spread throughout villages, crofts and hills. Everyone with a cellar or a cupboard full of hidden, untaxed goods, every man with a whisky still tucked away in the forest or on some remote hill, would stay wary until the measure of this fellow had been taken.
    Had these men watched her father’s house at Glendarroch, in the hills north of the moor, waiting for suspicious activity among Jock Colvin’s kin? Had they seen her take the cart and head for thecoast? The new man must have begun his patrol before the dust of Edinburgh was even wiped from his boots.
    Another rapid glance showed her that the rider in black was within reach of her cart now. Frantically Jenny whipped the reins, bending forward with the increased pace.
    Her pursuer shouted again, then drew alongside her, sending her a dark and furious glare, but she did not slow. Streaming past her, the man leaned over and snatched the bay’s bridle, then rose in his saddle as if to leap onto the horse.
    Jenny pulled hard on the hand brake, and both horses and cart pounded to a halt. The rider turned to glower at her over the wide shoulder of his caped greatcoat. Black brows furrowed over blue eyes that were brilliant with anger.
    “What the devil are you about, driving a cart like that?” he demanded.
    Jenny stared, stunned. His face was so familiar—and so totally unexpected—that she felt the impact like a pistol shot.
    Simon Lockhart.
    Moonlight revealed the handsome, all-too-familiar planes of his face, now drawn down in anger. She should have recognized his tall, strong silhouette, the limber grace of his horsemanship. She should have known. Her heart slammed as shegazed at the man who had disappeared from her life four years earlier, taking her hopes with him.
    “I might ask what the devil you’ve been up to,” she said crisply, “for four years.”
    “Still swearing like a rogue, Jenny Colvin,” he growled, as he let go of the bay’s bridle.
    “I’m a rogue’s child,” she snapped.
    She was not sure of his reaction, or even the moment when he had recognized her in turn. He had always been like that, keeping his secrets and his thoughts close. Now he stroked the horse’s neck and muzzle, murmuring calmly to the bay, which soothed readily beneath his leather-gloved hand.
    Frowning, Jenny irrationally wished that the horse could resent the man, too.
    “Hey, Sweetheart,” he told the horse. “I see at least you recall me kindly.”
    “Sweetheart remembers you for the carrots you gave her,” Jenny said. “It will take far more than carrots for the rest of us to remember you kindly.”
    He folded his hands on his saddle pommel and regarded her. “Greetings to you, too, Miss Colvin. How nice to see you again.”
    “I canna say the same, Mr. Lockhart.” She had dreamed of seeing him again, longed for it—but she was not such a fool as to admit it.
    “Actually, it’s ‘Sir Simon’ now. I was