“Not a relative of mine? Why, I have known Jack Brown since he was in his cradle.” Mr. Delacourt’s feigned confusion deepened. “I had thought that the prince turned back before the king’s troops arrived at the bridge?”

“That is correct, sir, but there was some fierce fighting at Swarkestone. Apparently one of the advance guard of rebels sent by the prince to hold the bridge was injured with a shot to the shoulder. Quite an important member of the Jacobite forces and a friend of the prince himself, no less. We have reason to believe the injured man is none other than Lord St. Anton.” He watched Mr. Delacourt carefully to see how this impressive piece of information was received.

“So this man is not only high ranking, he is in possession of abnormal powers as well?” Mr. Delacourt appeared mildly amused at the thought. “To have sustained a mortal injury, but to have escaped from your men, then travelled thus far and persuaded complete strangers to hide him would imply something other than mere humanity. Would you not agree, Martha dear?”

“It would certainly seem so, Cousin Henry.”

Their words appeared to echo Captain Overton’s own thoughts on the matter. The captain was a meticulous young man, however, and it was clear that he wanted to be able to assure his superiors that he had done a thorough job. He rose and bowed to both Mr. Delacourt and Martha, thanking them for their time.

“We will be checking the surrounding area, including your stables, barns and farmland, before we leave the area, sir.”

Assuring himself that the soldiers had indeed left the house, Mr. Delacourt set about finding out where his son was. He had a nasty vision of Harry trying to help his new friend Fraser’s cause by attempting to rout the soldiers with his wooden sword. Martha wasted no time in dashing down to the old dower house to check that Tom had made sure Fraser was safely hidden away.

“Yes, he is in the priest hole. Although he went most reluctantly,” Tom said.

“Did you give him food and water? He won’t be happy if he gets hungry,” Martha said.

“He has food, water and a blanket. He’d better remain hidden. If the soldiers come, we can’t risk a wild Scotsman springing out on them, dirk in hand.” Tom frowned at the staircase as if a wild animal lurked below its wooden slats. Which, in a way, it did, Martha thought.

“The priest hole cannot be opened from inside,” Martha explained. “Now that Fraser is in there, he can’t get out until I release him from this side. The family chronicles show that was a problem for one priest, who died when the family left the house, apparently forgetting he was in there.”

“I don’t think we will be able to forget about Fraser,” Tom said with a laugh.

“No,” Martha agreed. She turned away slightly to hide the little, secret smile that tried to claim her lips. “But he must be prepared to stay there for much of the day, since we don’t know for how long the soldiers will remain on Cousin Henry’s land.”

“I will send you word when I’m sure they are gone,” Tom assured her.

It was considerably later than she had anticipated when he returned to tell her that the soldiers had finally departed. The hour was so advanced that she was clad in her nightdress with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

“They have been scouring the estate for most of the day. Tell Fraser I will come back early on the morrow. We will need to decide what to do next. Jack continues to improve by the day, but I am not yet convinced that he is quite ready for the rigours of a ride to Scotland,” Tom said, as he bade her goodnight.

Holding her candle aloft, Martha raised the hinged stairs that gave her admittance to the first hidden chamber. As she stepped inside, her shawl snagged and caught on the rough stone walls. She allowed it to slip from her shoulders, reasoning that she would be just a moment and that she could collect it on the way back. Clad only in her nightgown, she carefully slid open the second panel and moved through into the wider space.

“Fraser?” He was lying on his back on the wooden bench that ran the length of the cell-like room and was sound asleep. A soft snore met her ears as she approached him. Leaning over, she shook him by the shoulder. “The king’s men are gone at last. It is safe to come out.”

Blinking away sleep, he sat up and stretched. His smile tugged at a point somewhere midway between her heart and—well, it would not be seemly to think about where else in her body it affected. Fraser rose to his feet, although he had to stoop in the cramped space. “I’m glad you have a candle to light the way, lass. It’s the one thing I didn’t think to fetch, and it’s woeful dark in here when you close the panel thus.” He reached out a hand and pulled it shut behind her.

“No!” Martha tried to stop him, but it was already too late. The panel was closed, imprisoning them both inside the enclosed space. In the flickering light of her single candle, she saw Fraser’s raised brows. “The catch can only be opened from the outside. We are trapped here now until Tom comes back in the morning.”

She shivered as she spoke, and Fraser’s glance took in the thin linen of her nightgown and her bare feet.

“Och, lass, I’m sorry.” He took up the blanket from the bench and draped it around her shoulders.

“Now you’ll be cold,” she said.

“I deserve it for being such a great, glaikit fool. And I ate all the food.” He pointed to an empty plate. “Although there is some water left.”

They sat on the hard bench in silence while Martha did her best to control the chattering of her teeth. Even the blanket around her shoulders could not ward off the chill that seeped through the thick stone walls and up from the flags of the floor. She jumped slightly when Fraser took one of her feet in his hand and chafed it between his warm palms.

“Ye’re frozen, hen.” His voice was full of remorse. His nearness and the intimacy of his touch were unsettling, and the golden light of the candle lent a surreal aspect to the scene. “I do know of another way to warm you up.” He paused, and she didn’t dare think about what his meaning might be. “If you’ll let me?”

She didn’t answer and he moved closer. Keeping his eyes on hers in the semidarkness, he reached out and took the blanket from her shoulders. She probably should have protested. Then he undid the laces at the neck of her nightdress, and the moment for objections had passed. His big hands felt warm against the cool flesh of her upper arms as he tugged the cloth down, exposing her small, pointed breasts to his gaze. The scars that marred her shoulder and upper arm continued across the top of her left breast, almost to the centre of her chest, making the undamaged skin below appear even whiter and purer in contrast. She closed her eyes, but she could still feel his eyes on her.

Slowly and softly, his hands moved across her scarred flesh, massaging and stroking. No-one else had ever touched her there—not since the nuns had treated her burns—and his caress made her shudder with a combination of shock and pleasure.

Then Fraser bent his head and very gently licked the tip of one pale-pink nipple. The sensation was so outrageously delicious that Martha didn’t move. She couldn’t.

He lifted his head and smiled into her eyes as she opened them again. “Just look at you, Martha Wantage. You’re not all hard edges and sharp points as you’d have the world believe. You choose these ugly clothes to hide yourself beneath, but under them, you’re all soft and round. Will you let me do it again?” Her eyes felt huge on his as, very slowly, she nodded.

He placed his hand beneath her breast, lifting it to his mouth as he lowered his head again, this time taking the whole of her left nipple between his lips and sucking it. How was it possible for his tongue to feel so soft and yet to rasp against her flesh? Martha’s head fell back as she gave a moan of complete surrender. Adroitly, Fraser moved his hands behind her, supporting her with his palms flat against her shoulder blades to prevent her from falling backward.