Marian wasn't quite sure when she realized she was headed there.
She'd made all the choices, which road, how far, what direction. But she'd been a good third of the way there before it had formed as a solid thought with a conscious decision backing it. The tumble of thoughts between what she was doing, and why, against the confusion and anger and dry, only faintly chilly, night air which whipped her hair back into streams lost in the dark night.
You want your freedom back merged into an outburst had nearly a week beforehand. A worse reaction, not kept in check. A response to a truth, to a thing she had not seen, had to let go of without recompense. Even when it was going to overrun the limits of any reasonable time to and from Locksley Manor, she couldn't find a shred of will to turn her from her destination.
( Knighton Hall. Or whatever was left of it. )