Too late, she thought. Too late.

The duke’s reaction to his glimpse of Moray’s ring had left her little room to doubt that he had recognized it, and knew all too well to whom that ring belonged.

But she was not about to let him learn about the child.

She’d reached the stand now where the spools of ribbon, lace and silk were all arrayed in bright display. Sophia took a moment to examine one, and then another, then in what appeared an accident she knocked three spools of ribbon so they tumbled from the stand and spilled their rolling trails of color on the stones and caused confusion in the steps of people passing.

‘Oh!’ she cried, pretending great dismay, and begged forgiveness.

‘’Tis a trifle,’ Mr Hall assured her, bending to assist the ribbon-seller in retrieving all the tangled rolls. ‘Do not distress yourself, we soon shall have things right again.’

Sophia waited through two more unsteady breaths, until she saw that everyone around was well embroiled in the mess, and then she turned and slipped into the shadowed gap between the houses and began to run as fast as she was able. The alley was tight-walled and smelled of refuse, but to her relief it brought her out into a steeply downhill street that seemed deserted, and from there she made her way through twisting lanes and winding closes till she came at last upon a churchyard with a high stone wall and gate, and taking shelter there she pressed herself into as small a form as possible behind the leaning stones, among the shadows.

She did not dare to attempt the road in daylight, for she knew that once she left the town’s last limits she would be exposed and vulnerable. The duke, on being told that she had run away, would surely seek her on that road before all others. Better she should wait for dark, and hope by then he’d think that she was either well away or safely hidden in the town.

It was the longest afternoon and evening she had ever spent. Her head ached, and the hunger raked like claws against her insides, and her thirst was something terrible, and every footfall on the street outside the little churchyard made her heart begin to race again in panic.

But at length the shadows deepened, and the noises in the streets grew more infrequent, and she took a breath for courage, straightened out her stiffened limbs, and cautiously set off again.

She did not afterwards remember much about the journey back along the open road, except that it was long and dark and filled with terror and imaginings, and by the time she finally reached the Malcolms’ house she’d nearly reached the limit of her strength.

But she had some small portion of it yet to spare. Her entrance caused much turmoil in the house as Kirsty and their hostess met her at the door with questions and concern, but she brushed all of it aside and would not sit in spite of all their urgings.

Struggling to catch her breath, she fixed her gaze on Kirsty’s. ‘Has anybody been here?’

Kirsty answered, ‘No,’ but in a tone of apprehension. ‘What has happened?’

‘We must go.’ Sophia looked to Mrs Malcolm. ‘Can you find us horses, or a coach, at this late hour?’

‘I can but try.’

‘And Anna…’ Turning worried eyes toward the closed door to the bedchamber, Sophia said to Kirsty, ‘We must wrap her well, the night is not a warm one.’

‘Sophia,’ Kirsty tried again, more firmly. ‘What has happened?’

But there was no way to answer that in Mrs Malcolm’s presence without giving more away than would be wise. She only said, ‘We are not safe here any longer.’

‘But—’

‘We are not safe,’ Sophia said again, and with her eyes implored her friend to silence.

It was best, she knew, if Mrs Malcolm did not know the details of their journey, for then no one else could force her to divulge that information. Sophia did not know herself how she and Kirsty would be able with the baby to endure the hard trip north to Slains—she only knew that they must somehow manage it, for Anna’s sake.

They must return to Slains, and to the countess. She alone, Sophia thought, would know what they should do.

It had started to snow.

It was only the last feeble blast of the winter before it conceded defeat to the spring, but the wind cut like ice through the front of my jacket till Graham moved closer in front of me, blocking the cold while he took my lapels in his strong hands and folded them together with the care of someone dressing a small child to ward off chills. His eyes smiled faintly when they touched upon the bold stripe of his old rugby jersey underneath my coat.

‘You’d best not let my brother see you in that shirt.’

I hadn’t thought of that. ‘You’re sure you don’t mind me stealing it?’

‘You’ve given it more use this weekend than it’s had in years. And anyway, the color suits you.’ As another swirl of snowflakes blew between us he leaned closer still and gathered me against him, with his chin resting comfortably close to my temple.

It felt strange to be so openly affectionate in public, standing out here on the bus station platform with other people only steps away from us. I was used to keeping how we felt about each other secret, but in Aberdeen I’d finally had a taste of how things could be. How they would be. And I liked it.

Graham sensed my subtle change in mood and bent his head to ask me, ‘What?’

‘Nothing. It’s just…I had a really good time this weekend.’

‘You don’t have to go.’

It was, I thought, a bit like being tempted in the desert by the devil. But I resisted. ‘Everyone expects me back today, that’s what I told them, and I don’t want to worry your father.’ Drawing back enough to tilt my head so I could see his face, I pointed out, ‘It’s not like you can call him up and tell him where I am, now is it?’