“Thank you,” Harry said with heartfelt gratitude as he left for Delacourt Grange at dinnertime. He turned back with a mischievous smile. “By the way, if you are still trying to pretend that Martha is your sister, you should try and act in a more brotherly way toward her.”
“What the devil did the young imp mean by that?” Fraser asked, watching Harry’s retreating form with surprise. When Martha didn’t answer, he walked over to her and slid his hand under her chin, scanning her face.
“Perhaps he meant this sort of thing.” She removed his hand.
“Is that what troubles you, lass?”
“No. I made an assumption about you based on how you look.”
“Did ye now? Because I’m big and brawny and I speak with the tongue of a highlander, you thought I’d no have learned my lessons as well as that finely spoken feller called Lord Jack?”
Martha nodded. “Yes, and I’m sorry for it.”
“Well, I would’nae worry. I’ve been guilty of making a few assumptions of my own about you, Miss Martha Wantage.” She risked looking up at him, and the smile in his eyes nearly stripped the skin from her face with its heat. Luckily, he changed the subject. “Now we’ve the place back to ourselves at last, can we eat?”
“You put Harry at his ease so well. You clearly have a way with children,” Martha remarked as they finished their meal. “Are you used to being around them?”
The expression that crossed his face was so bleak it almost made her cry out in alarm. It was gone as quickly as it appeared. His handsome features settled back into a neutral aspect.
“Aye, you might say that,” he said, before lapsing into silence.
The temperature had been rising gradually for several days. The unspoken fear in Martha’s heart—in all their hearts—was that the thaw would bring the soldiers in its wake.
“Ye’d best show me this priest hole,” Fraser said one morning, as weak sunlight stole in through the kitchen window, warming the scene. He looked up in concern at the sound of dishes clattering to the floor and breaking. “Are you all right, lass?”
Martha nodded, unable to speak because she had placed her thumb in her mouth to stop the bleeding. She stared in consternation at the broken crockery. Fraser had startled her by mentioning the priest hole. It was a stark reminder of the danger that was lurking. That was all it was. That was the only reason her heart had plummeted so violently. It was nothing to do with the thought of him leaving.
Fraser helped her to clear up the mess, and then she led him through to the hall. “The house was built in 1588,” she explained.
“The year after Mary, Queen of Scots, was executed by Elizabeth I of England,” Fraser said. It was another reminder, if any were needed, of the chasm that existed between them.
“Yes, and Elizabeth then embarked on a mission to restore Protestantism to the land. But the Delacourt family were Catholics. The priest hole is located here, under the slats of the stairway.” She demonstrated by lifting a step to show him. Two of the stairs were linked by a hidden hinge that allowed them to be easily raised. “Apparently, the logic behind using the stairs in this way was a very sensible one, as there would often be guards stationed on them during a search. This made it a very safe place indeed for a priest to hide. No-one would suspect he was hiding beneath the very feet of the searchers.”
“Will I fit inside there?” Fraser looked doubtful.
“That’s the clever part. This isn’t the actual priest hole, it’s a decoy. Even if this secret compartment under the steps is discovered, it just reveals this small area that you see here. The family would hide a few treasures, or maybe some money, in this part. Behind this compartment, however, the real priest hole is concealed. It is reached through a secret panel, there.” She pointed into the darkness of the confined space where, if Fraser craned his neck, a wooden panel could be seen. “Those doing the search were unlikely to notice it since they were usually distracted by the hidden valuables. The second chamber is not huge, but it is larger than this and has a bench for the priest’s comfort, as he could be forced to spend hours, or even days, confined in there. I would imagine that most of the priests who were forced to hide here were smaller than you—” she turned her head to smile up at him, her eyes skimming over the width of his shoulders, “—so they could even lie down. I’m not sure you could manage to do so and be comfortable for very long.”
Horses’ hooves approaching the house made them both look up from their contemplation of the priest hole. Martha ran through to the parlour to look out of the window, her heart drumming out a panicky staccato beat. Horse and rider continued on past, clearly intent on reaching Delacourt Grange.
“It is Sir Clive Sheridan,” she said in accents of doom.
“Who is he?”
“A neighbour. I thought he was in London for the winter. He considers himself a suitor of Rosie’s. He is a thoroughly unpleasant man.”
Fraser’s hand strayed to the dirk that he now wore concealed in the waistband of his breeches. “Mayhap it is time to teach him to be a little more pleasant.”
“I beg you will do nothing of the sort. You must stay here. No, pray do not object.” She reached out and laid a restraining hand on the bare flesh of his forearm where his shirtsleeve was rolled up. They both looked down for a brief second at the connection between her slender fingers and his well-muscled flesh, before she quickly withdrew the touch. “He is a man who misses nothing. It is bad enough that he will encounter Jack up at the house. Both of you together will definitely arouse his suspicions. Let me go, and I will do all I can to deflect his attention.”
With a sound that might have been a grunt of agreement, Fraser watched as she snatched up her cloak and dashed out of the house. Sir Clive had taken a detour to leave his horse at the stables, so Martha was able to hurry along the path that joined the old dower house to Delacourt Grange and arrive at the main door at the same time as the visitor. She found him in a cheerful mood. He confirmed, in his usual pompous manner, that he had recently returned from a trip to London.
“When I heard the dreadful news of what had been afoot in my own home county, however, my conscience would not allow me to remain away, Miss Wantage. I returned at once to assure myself that all was well. I look forward to sharing the latest news from the capital, together with the military intelligence from Derby, with my good friend and neighbour, Mr. Delacourt.” His smile deepened. “And, of course, I relish the prospect of seeing the beautiful Miss Rosemary again.” It was a well-worn joke in the Delacourt household that Sir Clive had made up his mind. Rosie Delacourt was to become “my Lady Sheridan” so that his obsessive fantasies about her could be made reality. The prospect might cause Harry much hilarity, but something in Sir Clive’s eyes when he spoke Rosie’s name made Martha shudder. It reminded her of the way the reivers had looked at her.
Sheridan Hall, Sir Clive’s family estate, was the largest property in the neighbourhood, and as its owner, he was known locally as “the Squire”. Mr. Delacourt, meanwhile, was by far the wealthiest gentleman in the neighbourhood, and it was well known that his daughter would have a generous dowry and an enviable inheritance. Sir Clive made no secret of his intentions and publicly almost licked his lips at the thought of the bounty that would enhance both his coffers and his bed when Rosie became his. He seemed not to notice that Rosie did not share his enthusiasm.
Mrs. Glover, who admitted them into the house, said that Mr. Delacourt was shut up in his study, but Miss Rosie and Mister Jack were in the drawing room. Sir Clive’s brows drew together at the mention of the hitherto unknown visitor, but he waved the housekeeper aside, assuring her that he knew his way. Martha could hear Rosie’s laughter as they approached the drawing room. Through the open door, it could be seen that she was seated at a small table and was engaged in a game of chess with Jack, who had his back to the door. Rosie was holding one of her opponent’s chess pieces in her hand, and he was admonishing her, in his softly spoken, cultured voice, to stop cheating and return it immediately.