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  Shannon squeezed back and tried to stop shaking. She couldn’t. Had these new revelations affected Cally as adversely as they were affecting her? Earlier, when she hadn’t heard Cally speak or so much as move for a long time, she’d thought that perhaps the darkness had induced a case of the vapors, and Cally was unable to think—only sleep. Cally’s firm hand-squeeze confirmed that she was well enough. Despite everything that was going on around them, that simple act encouraged Shannon.

  “We had planned to make a sacrifice to the god of forces last night,” Leon declared. “But I asked them to omit that part of the meeting at Gatehaven since I would not be able to attend. Therefore, we shall sacrifice a young woman tonight. Pretty girl, too, according to the earl. He said her name was Cally.”

  Shannon grabbed Cally’s hand and squeezed it as tightly as she could.

  “After Cally, we shall sacrifice Miss Shannon Aimee and then, perhaps, her whole family. Now would that not be a feast? Care to join us, monk?”

  “I believe not,” Brother Julian said. “I might have rejected my vows as a monk and rejected every other law of God; but I will not go as far as you. Even I have my limits.”

  “Come tonight or not. As long as our—our partnership continues as it has so far, I have no complaint.”

  Shannon sucked in her breath. She’d already done it at least a hundred times or more. Her hands were over her mouth again, and if the men didn’t leave soon, she was sure she would explode.

  Her elbow bumped the door of the enclosure. Thump. The door opened a crack. A thin line of light blinded her for a moment.

  “I heard that noise again,” Leon said, “only louder. I think we should go in that other room and see what is there. If it is a rat, it must be bigger than a cat.”

  “It could be a cat,” the monk said. “Lucifer has been missing since yesterday.”

  “You have a cat named Lucifer?”

  “What else would I name a cat?”

  Leon laughed. “Perhaps you should come to the meeting tonight after all.”

  Shannon jerked, causing another sound. Leon’s words and satanic laughter hit her like the blast of a pistol.

  “That was no rat I just heard.” Leon reached for his cane and rose a few inches. He fell back down. “I do not think it was a cat either. Help me up. We should go and investigate.”

  Shannon bit her lower lip to keep from shouting out in protest. Then she shut her eyes—tight. She needed to pray as she’d never prayed before.

  She could hear footfalls coming closer and another sound—step, tap, step. She’d heard that noise before, and it was probably coming from the Frenchman’s cane. Would he beat her with his cane? Or hit her over the head with it?

  “See what is under that stack of hay,” Leon demanded.

  There was a brief pause, and then the monk said, “I see nothing, Monsieur.”

  “What are in those boxes?”

  “Supplies for the inn, but the boxes are small. Nobody could be hiding in them.”

  “What is behind them?” Leon asked.

  “The wall.”

  “I want to see what is behind those boxes.”

  Shannon heard a step-tap-step. It sounded much closer. She pressed her hands to her mouth so hard her teeth scraped against them. She could only hope that Cally was doing the same thing.

  If Leon saw the crack, he would know to look for a door. Shannon tensed. If that happened, they were doomed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  SHANNON HEARD SCAMPERING sounds like tiny feet. Was it a mouse—a rat—or something worse? Bang! Shannon jumped. She was sure Cally must have jumped too. The sound had a metallic ring to it—as if something made of metal had crashed to the floor. What was happening on the other side of that little door?

  “Catch that rat,” Leon shouted. “Before it gets away.”

  The monk laughed. “I will catch it soon enough. At least now you know what caused the sounds you heard.”

  “I expected the animal to be bigger. But it certainly upset that little pail it was perched on easy enough.”

  Shannon heard another step-tap.

  “I do not like rats, monk. I would like to leave here now. And I want all the rats removed from this inn before we meet here again.”

  Shannon kept her hand over her mouth long after the men apparently left the attic. When she could no longer hear their footsteps on the stairway below, she reached out and opened the short door a little wider.

  Ian left his room on the second floor of the vicar’s home and went downstairs. Pastor Steen drove to a nearby farm to visit a member of his congregation who was ill. While he was away, Ian planned to go to the physician’s home to report a murder. The vicar agreed that he should.

  But even if he hadn’t, Ian would have reported the crime anyway.

  He came to England to rescue Shannon from an evil earl and to solve the twenty-five-year-old murder of a Frenchwoman by the name of Magdalena Petit who happened to be Pastor Petit’s cousin, and he hadn’t reached either of those goals. But at least he could tell what he knew about the body he and Buster found in the woods.

  Ian heard the sound of hoofbeats outside the vicar’s cottage. A rider had driven up on a brown-colored horse, but he hadn’t seen the man’s face yet.

  With the vicar away, it was up to Ian to answer the pastor’s door if someone knocked, even if it meant delaying his journey into the village. He hurried toward the entry door. He’d almost reached it when he heard a knock.

  Ian opened the door. Peter Aimee stood before him. Ian was glad to see his friend again and welcomed Peter with a smile. But the tight expression around Peter’s mouth indicated that things were not as they should be.

  “Gather a few things and come,” Peter ordered. “Shannon is in danger. We all are. We must leave for Scotland at once.”

  “I—I cannot just leave without saying good-bye to the vicar. He has been kind to me.”

  “Write him a note, and leave it where he will find it,” Peter suggested. “But do not say too much. Monsieur Gabeau and perhaps the earl might take possession of your letter.”

  Ian was so taken by surprise, he couldn’t reply for a moment. No matter what Peter said to the contrary, he would not leave England without first reporting the body he found in the woods.

  “Where is your room?” Peter asked.

  “Above stairs. First door to the right. Why?”

  “I am going up to gather your things. I trust you will have the letter completed by the time I return.”

  “I trust you will have my belongings gathered by the time I finish the letter.”

  Peter grinned. “I will return shortly.”

  Ian went to the desk in the sitting room by the window and sat down. The vicar had given him permission to use his pen, ink, and papers whenever he liked. Still, he felt a wave of guilt for using that privilege in such a way.

  Dear Vicar,

  I appreciate your kindness and all you have done for me, and I especially thank you for the excellent teachings you have provided since you returned to your parish church. I dislike leaving without saying good-bye. However, I have just received a bit of news that makes staying longer impossible. I must set out for Scotland at once. I will write a long letter and mail it to you as soon as possible after I get home.

  Your servant,

  Ian Colquhoun

  Ian was standing in the doorway when Peter flew down the stairs, and he hoped he looked as if he had been standing there a long time.

  “What kept you?” Ian asked, forcing a serious expression.

  “Your dirty clothes. You should try washing them sometime.”

  “Aye. And you should work a little faster.”

  “You have a point. So, saddle your horse. We must be on our way.”

  Ian shook his head. “I cannot take the horse I have been riding. It does not belong to me. I must leave it here.”

  “Then we shall ride double on my horse,” Peter said.

  “Double?” I
an laughed despite the deep trouble they were in. “As we did when we were boys?”

  Yes.” Peter laughed too then. “As we did when we were boys.”

  After all that had gone on earlier that day, it felt good to laugh again. However, Ian knew that he must tell Peter about the woman’s body he had found in the woods and that he thought she was murdered. Could these murders be related to the death of his pastor’s cousin somehow?

  As soon as they arrived in the village of Fairs, Ian asked that Peter stop his horse so he could get off.

  “I must pay a visit to the local physician and tell him what I know. As I mentioned earlier, I think the young woman was murdered. Her death must be reported.”

  “Of course. Meet me in the woods outside The Boar and Tongue as soon as you can. Shannon and her friend will be waiting with me there.”

  “Aye. I should not be long.”

  Peter put his horse in the barn near the inn. Though he was an employee at the inn, he stood in the underbrush near the door of the inn for a moment before going inside, to see what he could see. Plenty of unusual events had occurred that day. If the monk found Shannon and Cally while he was away, he needed to find a way to rescue them. He would also need to map out in advance every step he would take until they left England

  A fine carriage pulled up in front of The Boar and Tongue. An expensive-looking brown gelding was tied to the back of it.

  Peter squinted in hopes of seeing who was inside. A footman stepped down from a narrow standing perch at the back of the carriage and went around to the door of the carriage. He wore a green uniform similar to the ones Peter saw at the estate owned by the Earl of Willowbrook.

  Could it be that the old gentleman who once rescued his parents had come to Fairs to rescue him and his sister? Nonsense; he couldn’t know the danger they were in. Still, if the person inside the sitting place of the carriage was the elderly earl, he couldn’t have arrived at a more advantageous time.

  The door opened. A much younger man stepped out. He wore dark clothing in the stylish design of the English upper class. Peter returned to a shadowy spot behind a clump of bushes.

  “’Tis been a while since I visited Gatehaven,” the man said to the footman. “I need directions. Tell the innkeeper that I am looking for Mr.Peter Aimee and a Miss Aimee.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Still in the shadows, Peter moved closer to the carriage. Should he go forward and make himself known—or wait a little longer? Fear didn’t cause him to hesitate; caution did.

  Peter moved out from under the trees. “My lord, I could not help but hear what you said to your man, and I would be glad to direct you to Gatehaven.”

  The gentleman turned and smiled.

  Peter was taken back. The quality didn’t often show acts of friendship to an underling like himself. Who was this man?

  “I am Lord Wilburn, and I appreciate your offer of help.”

  Lord Wilburn. Wasn’t that the name the Earl of Willowbrook used when referring to his son?

  “I am Mr. Peter Aimee, my lord, at your service.”

  “How fortunate.” The gentleman’s smile became a short chuckle. “You and your sister are the ones I came here to see. And to think, I found you as soon as I arrived. God is certainly with us this day. Come inside the inn and share a meal with me. We have much to discuss.”

  “I would be delighted to do so. But alas, I cannot. I promised to meet a friend in the woods near the inn. He should arrive soon, and I must be here when he does.”

  The footman came out of the inn and stood before Lord Wilburn. “I was given directions to Gatehaven, my lord, but the caretaker is away. Nobody has heard of Mr. or Miss Aimee.”

  “Thank you, Higgs,” Lord Wilburn said to the footman. “My friend is waiting for a friend to arrive. Keep a watch out for him, and tell us when he arrives. My friend and I are going inside, if he is willing. Are you?”

  “Yes.” Peter grinned. “I accept your kind offer. Much has occurred since we arrived in England, and I look forward to speaking with you about it.”

  Peter noticed that the cook was standing behind the desk instead of back in the kitchen working. And where was Brother Julian? Peter needed to find out. Lord Wilburn motioned toward a table near the back of the eating area with a clear view of the entry door.

  “I am employed here at The Boar and Tongue,” Peter explained. “I must speak to the cook before I sit down.”

  Lord Wilburn nodded. “Of course.” He moved toward the table.

  Peter stopped to talk to the cook, learning that not long before he and Lord Wilburn came in, Brother Julian and a Monsieur Gabeau left in a carriage to attend some kind of meeting, and Cook didn’t know when they might return.

  Shannon and her friend must still be in the attic. Would Peter be able to rescue them before the Frenchman and the monk returned? He would need to explain the situation to the English lord with haste.

  Peter crossed the floor to Lord Wilburn’s table, moving his chair slightly in order to have a clear view of the entry door before sitting down. He wanted to know the instant Ian came inside.

  As they drank cups of hot tea, Peter told Lord Wilburn all that had happened since he and Shannon and Ian arrived in England. Was Lord Wilburn as kind and trustworthy as his father, the Earl of Willowbrook, appeared to be? Would Lord Wilburn help them as his father had once helped Peter’s parents?

  The entry door opened. Ian Colquhoun stepped inside.

  “Is that the friend you were telling me about?” Lord Wilburn asked.

  “Yes. That is Mr. Ian Colquhoun of Luss, Scotland.”

  Ian had heard of the Earl of Willowbrook and his son, Lord Wilburn, from Peter and also from Pastor Steen. The vicar had said that the Earl of Willowbrook heard of Magdalena’s murder soon after she died. Later, he shared that news with his son, Lord Wilburn.

  The earl’s son was the gentleman who told the vicar about Magdalena’s death years after the murder. And here Ian was, sharing a table with him and looking at the man face-to-face. He’d hoped to meet with the earl and Lord Wilburn before he left England in order to discuss Magdalena’s death as he promised Pastor Petit he would do. But with Shannon and her friend in danger, this was not the time to pay the Earl of Willowbrook a visit.

  Ian looked up and found Lord Wilburn watching him. He realized he’d allowed his mind to drift a bit. Embarrassed, he forced a smile and sat down at the table.

  Lord Wilburn returned his smile. “I have a plan in mind,” he said. “I want you to have full use of my carriage on your journey back to Scotland as well as my horses and my footmen.”

  Peter shook his head. “That is impossible. We would never impose on your kindness to that extent.”

  “I insist,” Lord Wilburn said. “I have brought along a spare horse, and he is tied to the back of my carriage. I will ride back to my estate on the horse I brought with me. After you are safely home, my footmen will drive my carriage back to England and return it to me.”

  “But, my lord, I—.”

  “This is the way it must be. You see, my carriage, horses, and all I own belongs to the Lord. I am merely using these things until Jesus, the rightful owner, returns.” Lord Wilburn turned to Peter. “If I were the one in need, would you not do as much for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then it is settled.” The British lord rose from the table. “Mr. Aimee, while you go to the attic to gather your sister and her friend, the Scotsman and I will prepare the carriage. By the time you return, my footman should be ready to set out for Scotland. And may God go with you.”

  “May God go with you as well, my lord,” Peter replied.

  “Aye,” Ian nodded. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord. And I will pray for you and your family for the rest of my days.”

  “Godspeed. And I shall pray for you as well, Mr. Colquhoun,” Lord Wilburn said. “In fact, I will pray for all of you. But now we must make haste.”

  “Yes,” Peter agreed. “The
monk and Monsieur Gabeau could return at any moment.”

  Shannon stumbled climbing into Lord Wilburn’s carriage, and turned the same ankle she injured previously.

  “Oh, my.”

  If Ian hadn’t caught her, she might have fallen all the way to the ground.

  His smile and kind nature warmed her as he gently lifted her into the carriage, and for an instant, all pain was blocked from her mind. Then her ankle began to swell. The pain returned in earnest, as well as thoughts— memories of all the horrible things the Frenchman said in that attic.

  “The physician from Fairs warned you, Shannon, that your ankle would be weak for some time after you hurt it the first time,” Ian reminded her. “If you try to walk, the injury could become serious. You could lose the use of your leg entirely. Therefore, one of us will carry you until all the pain disappears.”

  “We must tell the driver to hurry,” Shannon said. “The Frenchman sent men ahead to bring the rest of my family to England in order to kill them.”

  For Shannon, the next few hours were a blur as they rode along. She thought of Ian, but she also kept thinking about what the Frenchman said. Were they being followed?

  At last, she whispered to Cally. “I think someone is following us.”

  “As do I,” Cally replied.

  “I heard that,” Peter put in. “But there is no reason for you to worry. The earl and Etienne Gabeau would likely expect us to be traveling in a cart pulled by an ailing horse.” He laughed. “But they would not expect to find us riding in a fine carriage such as this. And with footmen in green uniforms fulfilling our every wish, I think we are truly safe.”

  “I hope you are right, Peter,” Shannon said. “But Cally and I learned quite by accident that the Frenchman’s name is not Etienne Gabeau.”

  “Not Etienne Gabeau?” Peter’s face had astonishment written all over it. “Whatever can you mean, sister?”

  “The Frenchman’s real name is Leon Picard,” Ian put in. “That name was written in a book in the Frenchman’s library. I saw it with my own eyes. I’ve thought for some days that the Frenchman’s real name was Leon Picard but kept those thoughts to myself. Now we have proof that my conclusions were entirely correct.”