"Send her back as soon as she has seen Monsieur Dupuis," said Flora. "Will you promise me that?"

"I promise you to try," said Elizabeth, turning again to go.

Flora came running after her again, just as she was about to turn the corner.

"Mrs. Bonner!"

There was an expression on the girl's face that Elizabeth recognized as uncertainty and willfulness all at once.

"What is it, Countess?"

"The earl sent Walter to Edinburgh to arrange for your passage to New-York." The words came tumbling out. "You are to sail as quickly as can be arranged."

Elizabeth tried to speak, but Flora cut her off and came very close.

"Pretend that you are in agreement," she whispered, taking Elizabeth's free hand to press a bulging purse into it. "Let everyone believe that you have boarded whatever ship Walter has arranged for you. But find other passage in secret. Do you take my meaning?"

Stunned, Elizabeth nodded.

"A hundred pounds," said Flora. "It is all I have to hand, but it should be enough." Her eyes were bright with tears.

Elizabeth put her arms around the girl and she felt her trembling, as she herself trembled. "Thank you," she said softly.

Flora pulled away, and wiped her face. "Take care of Isabel," she said. "She's all I have." And she ran off, her heels kicking up the hem of her skirt.

Nathaniel paced the room while she talked, asking questions now and then but mostly listening. When Elizabeth had recounted her last remarkable conversation with the young Countess of Loudoun, he stopped in his tracks.

"Walter Campbell's not a complete idiot," he said grudgingly. "It would be easier to get rid of all of us at once if he got us on that ship."

"I am so glad you approve of his methods," said Elizabeth dryly.

He grunted as he slipped the pistol back into its holster. Elizabeth lifted Daniel, still napping, into the cradle of her arms. He stretched and turned toward her, nuzzling sleepily. The weight of him was an anchor that brought her back to herself; she was still shaking a little, and she could not get Isabel's face out of her mind.

There was the sound of a carriage pulling up at the door, and Elizabeth was overcome with dread. She said, "The last time I had this feeling was when I set off by myself to fetch Robbie and I didn't know if I'd find you alive when I came back."

"That took a good end, and so will this," said Nathaniel, meeting her gaze. He was perfectly calm, and that did her more good than any promises.

"This time we're together, Boots. That makes all the difference."

The coach was pulled by a double team of eight horses. It had been outfitted for an invalid, with one seat as broad as a bed and deeply upholstered for comfort. Lady Isabel sat partially upright, her back supported by cushions and her body wedged carefully in place with pillows. She held her hat with its veils in her lap, perhaps because she felt she had nothing more to hide from Elizabeth; perhaps because she wanted Nathaniel to see her for what she was.

He showed no surprise at the sight of her ruined face, but Isabel hadn't anticipated Daniel. She looked from the baby to Nathaniel and back again.

"It's nae wunder that ma faither doesna want tae let ye leave," she said. "For sae many years he's wanted a son, and got none. And there ye sit, the answer tae aa his woes."

"It ain't that easy," said Nathaniel.

"Oh, but it is," said Isabel, closing her eyes briefly. "Let me explain it tae ye, for I'm sure Moncrieff nivver did."

Nathaniel might have stopped her, but Elizabeth put a hand on his arm. Isabel saw this, and she dropped her gaze to study her gloves as she spoke.

"What ye must understan' is this: I go tae my grave childless, and that will leave my faither wi' nae legal issue. If Daniel Bonner will no' come forward as the son o' Jamie Scott and claim Carryck, the peerage title will be extinguished and the lands will go tae the Campbells of Breadalbane anyway, according tae the entail o' 1541."

"Carryck could claim Jennet as his own," said Nathaniel.

Something slid across Isabel's face-- jealousy or perhaps simple disbelief--before she banished it. "He could try tae claim her. But Breadalbane will prevail in the courts, that's a certainty."

Elizabeth said, "And if he married again, and had a son?"

"It's that verra thing that Breadalbane fears above aa else," Isabel conceded. "But I dinna think my faither can bring himsel' tae leave Jean, and it's been ten years since she brought a livin' child intae the world."

Nathaniel had been watching Isabel with a blank expression, but now he leaned forward suddenly and said, "Why is it you want to see Dupuis?"

Isabel lifted her head to look hard at him, her eyes intelligent and calculating, so strangely human and familiar in a face stippled bronze and black. For a long moment she was silent, but then she pushed out a sigh and answered him with a question of her own.

"Why should I care if ye think the worst o' me? I'll soon be deid."

"You didn't answer my question," said Nathaniel.

"But I will," said Isabel with a weary smile. "If ye'll listen tae the whole story. And if I live through the tellin' o' it."

"I met Walter Campbell at the Lammas Fair five years syne," began Isabel. "I was twenty-five years old, and nae man called me his sweetheart. Pridefu', they said o' me. Bonnie Isabel, the laird's massie dauchter. It's true, I was proud o' my beauty--but it was my faither wha sent the suitors awa'. "A dauchter o' Carryck canna marry where she chooses," he said that tae me oft and oft. "Ye owe Carryck fealty." And I--" She smiled bitterly. "I believed him.