He slipped unnoticed along the line of a thicket fence toward a copse of trees and walked off the manor estate without a cry being raised. His long legs ate the mile or so distance to Lybster. He had hunted in this area. He knew the backways and paths followed only by the locals. Lambert’s men did patrol a distance from the manor house, but they were watching for an armed force of men, not a lone walker taking the back ways.
Aidan prayed he could play upon Lambert’s faults. Within half an hour, he found himself on the grounds of the church at the crossroads where they’d stopped earlier in the day for the funeral procession.
It was the dead of the night. The good people of Lybster were sleeping soundly in their beds. Sheltered by dark, shadowy hemlocks, the cemetery lay on the opposite side of the church, away from the village, so the superstitious need not see the ghosties in spite of it being holy ground.
The hemlocks protected him from discovery while the same moon that had helped him smuggle in the gunpowder now let him find the freshly dug grave. He located a shovel and pick in an unlocked shed attached to the church. It took him approximately another hour to dig up the body.
He’d have to move faster.
Packy Gilbride, the man in the grave, had been a good-humored character known for his love of a prank. He also hated the English.
Aidan used the pick to lift the lid off the coffin. For a second, what he was about to do threatened to overwhelm him. He looked down at Packy Gilbride’s moon-shadowed outline. The man was peaceful in his repose without the lively skepticism that had marked his spirit when he was alive. “I’m sorry to disturb your peace, Gilbride, but I need you. Do you understand?”
A cloud passed the moon. In the changing shadows, Packy seemed to smile.
It was benediction enough. Aidan hoisted Gilbride’s body out of the grave and lifted him up on his shoulders. The body’s deadweight would not be hard to carry, not for a man as strong and desperate as Aidan.
A sheet wrapped around her toga style, Anne anxiously paced the length of the room taking care to avoid the window. It had been impossible for her to climb back into bed and pretend all was well.
She’d started to dress and then had changed her mind. If by some chance Major Lambert barged in, she could not be fully dressed—not after the man had caught her naked in bed with her husband.
Of course, if the major discovered her “husband” was nothing more than a mound of bedclothes, Anne didn’t know what she was going to say. She’d worry about it later.
The soldier guarding her door barely made a sound. She discovered why when she overheard soft snoring, which came to an abrupt halt as heavy boots clumped out into the downstairs hall.
Major Lambert had been right: sound did travel in the house. The conversation he and his guest were having flowed all the way up the stairs, waking her sentry and alerting her.
Quickly she hopped into bed, giving the door her back.
Lambert’s voice bounced off the walls. He slurred his words a bit, as if he’d been drinking. Her heart almost stopped when she heard him mention Tiebauld. Then the men walked outside.
Anne scurried over to the window, anticipating their direction to be the cellar. She was right.
Major Lambert’s guest was a trim officer probably no taller than herself. The two men disappeared inside the cellar. About five minutes later, they came out, but she couldn’t make out their expressions, except that the guest was talking earnestly to Major Lambert. She didn’t know what any of it signified.
Anne rushed back to the bed, expecting Lambert to check on her at any moment. The memory of the door to her childhood home being rammed opened with a splintering crash the night the soldiers had come for her father echoed in her ears.
She willed the memories away. This was no time for panic.
Checking the shape of the bedclothes to make sure it would appear Aidan was there, she lay down, her back to the door. She closed her eyes.
The front door into the house opened. Booted steps started up the stairs.
Anne tried to breathe evenly. It was impossible.
Major Lambert and his guest paused right outside her door. “Tiebauld is in here, Colonel,” Lambert said. His voice lowered, but she could still hear him say clearly,