Martha stared at him in horror. She knew, of course, that he had to go. February had passed and each day spent here brought danger closer. But the reality of his going suddenly hit her like a blow to her stomach. Fraser met her gaze with a question in his eyes. Before either of them could speak, the door flew open and Mrs. Glover rushed in, her face red and her eyes wide in terror.

“Soldiers!” she gasped, pointing a shaking finger in the direction of the window. “Dozens of them…coming across the fields.”

“Get up into the attic. Both of you. Jack, you know where the hidden room is. Stay there until I come for you,” Tom said to Jack and Fraser. When the big Scotsman didn’t move, he gave him a shove. “Now. Go.” Reluctantly, Fraser followed Jack out into the hall and up the stairs. He turned back with his foot on the first step.

“Martha?” She paused in the midst of the flurry of activity around her and looked at him through the open door. “Take care.”

“I will.” She gave him a quick, reassuring smile, and he followed Jack. Martha turned back into the chaos of the dining room and drew in a deep breath. “Rosie, Mrs. Glover, quickly, help me to clear Jack’s and Fraser’s dishes so that there is no trace of them here at the table.” They had just completed that task when a heavy pounding on the door made them all start.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion, Captain Overton?” Mr. Delacourt asked, with a touch of frost in his mild voice when Mrs. Glover ushered the captain into the room. “You have searched my property once. Surely that was sufficient to assure yourself that I am not harbouring a dangerous criminal. Must my family and I also be interrupted as we eat our dinner while you and what appears to be half the county’s militia pound on our door?”

Captain Overton’s manner was distinctly less conciliatory this time. “Your pardon, sir. But I have received information from a very reliable source that, not only have you been sheltering Lord St. Anton since the battle at Swarkestone Bridge, you have also had another gentleman—none other than a dangerous highlander—staying here as well.”

“Was it by any chance Sir Clive Sheridan who gave you this information?” Rosie asked quietly. The captain, noticing her for the first time, blinked as this vision of loveliness smiled sweetly up at him. “I only ask because I think Sir Clive may be a little put out that I have not responded to his advances.” She lowered her eyes shyly. “I think perhaps this might be his way of avenging himself upon my family. I am only sorry that your time has been wasted on this nonsense, Captain.”

Resolutely, the captain turned away from the wide grey eyes that were uplifted to his at the end of this speech. “My orders are to search the house and the grounds again, sir. You and your family will oblige me by remaining in this room until my investigation is complete.”

“Well, how long will you be?” Harry asked. “I have to walk my dog each evening. He will be most restless if I keep him waiting.”

“And I have matters to attend to in my own house,” Martha said, attempting to infuse a touch of impatience into her voice. “This is really most inconvenient.”

“Stop wasting my time!” Captain Overton’s voice cracked out sharply, stunning them all into silence. Beau gave a low, warning growl. “And shut that hound up unless you want me to do it with my boot. Let us get one thing settled. I have not come here to negotiate with you. My men will search your property, and they will take as long about it as is necessary. Now, if you will excuse me…” He gave a stiff little bow and backed out of the room.

Rosie exhaled slowly. “Detestable man,” she muttered.

“He is following his orders, my dear,” Mr. Delacourt said.

“I meant Sir Clive. Will they search the attics, Tom?”

“Unless they are completely stupid—and I don’t see any reason to doubt Overton’s intellect—they will. But Jack and Fraser are concealed in the hidden room behind the attics. They should be safe. We will all just have to wait it out.”

“Should be?” she exclaimed, twisting her hands in her lap. “Oh, I can’t bear it.”

“Well, you must,” Martha said calmly. “We all must. Harry, isn’t there a deck of cards in the bureau over there? Let us play a hand or two to while away the time.”

“Oh, Martha, must you always be so cold and practical?” Rosie wailed. “I don’t know how you can remain so calm and unfeeling. But then I suppose ’tis easy for you. After all, you do not have someone you love in danger up in the attic.”

Martha regarded her steadily over the top of her spectacles for a moment. Rosie could not have hurt her more if she had flayed her face open with a horsewhip. But Rosie couldn’t know that Martha wanted nothing more in that moment than to find an outlet for her own feelings. She longed for the luxury that Rosie had of allowing the gnawing panic that consumed her to show openly. A razor-sharp sword of fear sliced through her resolve and tried to shred her outward composure. All she could think of was that Fraser was in danger and she could do nothing to help him. The thought played on a persistent, agonising loop in her mind. The hand that held the pack of cards shook, and she lowered it quickly.

She must concentrate on making everything appear normal. They all must. Things were bad enough anyway, but if Captain Overton glimpsed any nervousness in them, he would rip the house apart. That was what she could do to help Fraser. She could make this a scene of normality so that the captain’s suspicions were lulled. Pushing her spectacles up her nose in the gesture she always used to steady her nerves, she smiled at Rosie with an attempt at reassurance.

“Indeed, I am so very fortunate to have no man to care for and worry about, am I not, Rosie?”

Slipping back into the role of demure old maid that had stood her in good stead for so long, she picked up the cards. With a hand that was now steady, she began to shuffle. Turning to Harry, who was casting increasingly troubled glances toward the ceiling, she said gently, “You decide. What shall we play?”

Chapter Eleven

The hour was well advanced, and they had been yawning over the cards on and off for several hours. The footsteps of the soldiers pounding through the rooms around and above them punctuated their conversation.

“Why are they still here? They have checked each room over and over,” Rosie asked.

“To make us sweat,” Tom said. “They are showing us that they can stay here all night if need be.”

“Do you have your gun with you, Tom?” Rosie threw down a card at random.

“If you are going to play at all, play properly,” Harry said reproachfully, scooping up her discard and displaying a winning hand.

“Yes, I have carried my old flintlock with me since Swarkestone.” Tom pointed to where he had placed it on top of the bureau near the door. “When the Jacobites invaded, I was worried that deserters might turn to robbery and looting. I thought it best to stay armed in case I needed to defend the household.”

Rosie studied the gun with interest. “Do you keep it loaded at all times?”

“Yes, but of course it carries only one shot. It is probably more use to me as a cudgel.”

“Why all these questions about the gun, Rosie? It is not as if Tom is going to use it.” Mr. Delacourt raised his brows at his daughter’s flushed face.

“I just wondered if Tom would be able to go to Jack’s aid should the soldiers discover him.” She tossed her head defiantly.

“I would imagine that, if it came to a fight, Fraser might be of more help with his dirk. We must hope that no such eventuality occurs, however, since it would inevitably result in Jack and Fraser’s arrest,” Mr. Delacourt commented, and silence reigned once more.

At long last, Captain Overton reappeared in the doorway. He was clearly vexed to be forced into another admission of failure, and his eyes were narrowed as they scanned the room. It seemed to Martha that the captain’s gaze rested on her face for just a fraction longer than necessary. Telling herself that she was being foolish, she willed herself to return his stare calmly. Soon—pray God—this nightmare would end and she would be safe in Fraser’s arms again.