Celia stared in dismay at her brother, Edward Fotheringhay, Captain in the Duke of Crenshaw’s Brigade, who gazed down at her in bafflement.

His expression held no outrage, she realized in the next heartbeat. He must not have heard of her elopement.

“What are you doing here?” she countered. “I thought your regiment was in France.”

“On leave,” Edward said quickly, but his eyes flickered.

Edward had always been bad at lying. Something was not right. “Then why not stay at the house?” Celia asked. “Or is the ale tastier among villagers?”

She put a teasing note in her voice, and Edward looked relieved. Celia perceived that Edward was more disconcerted that she’d seen him than that he’d seen her.

“As you say,” Edward answered, but distractedly. He caught sight of Mrs. Reynolds and frowned anew. “Why is Mrs. Reynolds chaperoning you? Is Lady Flora here?” He looked about more swiftly, nervously, as though ready to flee on a moment’s notice.

“London was growing too hot and close,” Celia said, waving her hand. “I wanted to come home for some air.”

Again, Edward looked relieved, and nodded. “Mother is very angry with you.” He spoke offhand, as though searching for something to say.

“So are you—I thought.”

“I was. I mean, I am.” Edward dragged forth a scowl, but he seemed preoccupied. “You were too hasty and obstinate. I have forgiven you, because I’m so fond of you, Ceil, but you know you ruined your chances. All you can do now is wait upon Father and Mother, or hope that a steady gentleman someday will overlook the incident and take you on.”

Celia was sharply aware of Alec, who’d kept himself near the coachman, his back turned. But he listened, his stance tense, boots planted firmly on the yard’s dusty stones.

Mrs. Reynolds said nothing at all, fading politely back a few steps, as would be expected of a mere companion. No help would be forthcoming from her.

Celia could put Edward off and hope he went about his business, whatever it was, but if he was on his way to Hungerford Park, he’d be puzzled if she didn’t accompany him. He would also discover, sooner or later, that Celia had run off with Mr. Finn—a letter might be heading to him even now.

Might as well get it over with. “Edward, I’m married,” Celia blurted.

Edward blinked, as though this were the last thing he’d expected her to tell him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I married. A few nights ago. To a drawing master.” Celia gestured to Alec who was now patting the horses, every line of his back rigid.

“A drawing master?” Edward’s eyes widened, and his distracted air fled. “Have you run completely mad? Really, Celia, you have gone too far. Papa will annul this marriage right away—if he refuses, I will insist.”

Edward’s hazel eyes, so like Celia’s, blazed, his chest puffing out with indignation.

“You will do no such thing,” Celia said hotly. “It is a legal marriage. Mr. Finn is a gentleman, and none of the conditions of annulment can be met.” She flushed as she spoke the last.

A marriage could be annulled upon one of three conditions—if a man were already married, or if the couple were too closely related, or if the man were impotent. Alec had proved fairly often the last few nights that he was not the latter.

Edward couldn’t meet her eyes. “Celia, you are unseemly.”

“I am practical,” Celia said. “The marriage is true and will remain so. Not the brilliant match everyone expected, I know. I’m certain Mama will write reams to you about it, once she ceases raging. But I am happy. I hope that is enough to assuage your anger. ”

Mrs. Reynolds broke in gently. “Perhaps an inn yard is not the place to quarrel about it. Lady Flora speaks highly of the man. Would you be willing to shake his hand?”

Celia did not want her brother, a soldier who’d fought under Cumberland to come face to face with Alec Mackenzie, but on the other hand, the sooner, the better. No one knew Alec as Alec—as far as most of the population of Britain was concerned, Lord Alec Mackenzie was no more.

Alec turned from the horses and came forward, hand outstretched. He’d pressed his hat firmly down to his ears, and took on the befuddled expression he’d been using with the innkeepers.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he said to Edward. “How do you do?”

Edward peered under the shadow of Alec’s hat as he accepted his outstretched hand, as though trying to decide what to make of him. “So you have married my sister, have you?” he asked in a stern voice. “Is she correct that you make her happy, or will I have to call you out?”

Alec flinched, the very picture of alarm and confusion. “Good heavens, no. Of course not. I am very much in love, sir. Very much in love. I wouldn’t know one end of a sword from the other.” He chortled nervously. “I believe Mrs. Finn is pleased with me. At least, she has said so.”

Celia, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, could say nothing at the moment.

Edward withdrew his hand, disapproval in his eyes. “A drawing master, eh? That sounds as though you don’t have many coins to rub together. How will you support her?”

Alec produced a convincing blush. “Oh, ah. Her ladyship, Lady Flora, has found me well-paying pupils, and I do have a small inheritance from my father. Enough to keep Mrs. Finn in fresh linen and decent wine, don’t you know.”

“Finn. Sounds Irish.”

“My father has a small landholding in that country. Very small. Nothing to what your father has. No, no.” Alec gave a breathy laugh, his expression holding just the right amount of humility.

Edward peered again beneath Alec’s hat brim, and this time, his eyes widened. “But you—”

He stood staring at Alec, mouth open, while Celia held her breath. Mrs. Reynolds had her hand in her muff, where Celia knew she kept a pistol. Alec had tensed, his hand edging to the top of his boot.

Then Edward shook himself. “No, no. Forgive my bad manners, Mr. Finn. I understand now why you didn’t continue to the house, Celia. Best to stay apart, let Mother and Father grow used to the idea—am I guessing correctly that they did not condone this marriage? That you eloped?”

Celia dropped her gaze, pretending shame, which was what Edward would expect. “We did. Mama was going to push me into yet another unfortunate match, and I’m afraid I ran away. I had already developed an attachment to Mr. Finn, and he had the kindness to help me.”

Every word true, except Alec’s name.

Edward kept his reproving expression but at last gave Celia a nod. “I understand. But you, sir, if you cause my sister any unhappiness, you will have to discover which end of the sword to hold and answer to me.”

“Yes, yes, indeed.” Alec bowed nervously. “Of course, your lordship. I am quite aware of the honor, Lady Celia has bestowed upon me, quite aware—”

“Enough.” Edward took on his bluff, superior tones. “Good day, Celia. Mr. Finn. Mrs. Reynolds. I hope we all may meet again in happier times.”

Edward tipped his hat then swung around and strode again for the gate, the tails of his red coat stirring.

Celia let out a long breath. Mrs. Reynolds moved swiftly into the inn, requesting rooms for them, and Celia followed. Alec hung back to confer with the coachman, who’d also watched the conversation with great uneasiness. Celia realized that all three of them—Mrs. Reynolds, Alec, and the coachman—had been prepared to kill or at least incapacitate Edward if he’d guessed who Alec was.

The knowledge shook her. She had married Alec, and she was falling in love with him, but Edward was her brother. Would it come to making a choice between them?

She prayed not. She also sent up a brief thanks to the Deity that no other soldiers were in the halls of the inn, or the taproom—she glanced inside as she passed. Edward had been alone.

And then that fact bothered her—Edward was always accompanied by his batman or some servant, and usually a friend or two. So what was he truly doing here, alone in this inn, instead of riding straight for Hungerford Park? She mulled this over as she followed the landlady to her rooms above to wait for Alec.

Celia was washing her hands and face in the basin when Alec came in. Celia turned to him, her face dripping, and reached for the linen towel that hung at the washstand.

Alec closed the door quietly and tossed his hat to a hook, but his face held grim tightness, and his eyes sparkled with fury.

“It’s here,” Alec said as Celia dried her face and came to him. “Will is in that house, Celia. I feel it in my bones. And your brother knows all about it.”

* * *

Celia’s distress reached Alec as they ate the meal he barely tasted and on into the darkening night, but Alec couldn’t concentrate enough to reassure her. He knew in his heart Will was in that old manor house, and it was all he could do not to ride off immediately and rescue him.

At a certain time in his life, Alec would have torn off at once, damn the consequences. Only experience and what he’d learned from Will himself stayed his hand.

If he charged through the woods, no matter how stealthily, the guards who were certain to be posted would stumble upon him, and if he wasn’t shot outright, he’d end up inside the prison, keeping Will company.

He needed a cool head, and a plan.

Alec stared out the window, though he couldn’t see much but the corner of the yard. He half expected Edward to return, bringing a contingent of soldiers with him. He was certain Edward had realized Alec was a Highlander, and had thought one of the prisoners had escaped.

Celia remained on the stool at the fire, staring into the flames, an untouched cup of coffee on the table.

Alec pried himself from the window and went to sit with her. “I’m sorry, love.”

Celia looked up at him, and Alec was startled to find her eyes full of anger. “Not your fault if Edward has a part in locking men into secret prisons. Oh, Alec, if he has done this, what am I to do?”

“I wish I could tell you.” Alec rested his hand on her cold one. “My only worry at the moment is to decide how I rush in and take my brother out. I won’t have the wherewithal to ponder the grand implications of it all until later. That’s why I’m sorry.”

Celia let out a breath. “I’ve always admired my brother. So proud when he decided to become an officer instead of idle away his time like so many first sons do, waiting to inherit. We were so fond of each other as children. He was angry at me, yes, when I wouldn’t marry Lord Harrenton, but I held out hope that we’d reconcile.” She shivered. “But I couldn’t forgive this.”

“We don’t know for certain your brother is involved,” Alec said. “I know I said that, but I could be wrong.” Alec didn’t think he was, but Celia’s anguish cut at him.

“He was very nervous,” Celia said. “Far more worried about me catching him here than I was of him. It took him a few minutes to realize he ought to wonder why I’d come. Then when he looked at you …”

“I know,” Alec answered. “It was a bad moment.”

“So, what do we do?”

Alec lifted Celia’s hand and kissed it. “For that, I have a few ideas. We need a council of war—I’d like Mrs. Reynolds in on it, if ye don’t mind. She and Lady Flora are a devious pair.”

Celia agreed. Not long later, Mrs. Reynolds entered the room and they gathered around the small table, speaking in low voices.

Mrs. Reynolds, now that they were in private, lost the quiet deference she assumed even in Lady Flora’s house. She gave Alec a blunt stare and declared they should all return to London at once.

“Aye, I was thinking so,” Alec said.

Celia flashed him a look of surprise. “I thought you wanted to investigate the house. You said you felt it in your bones—are you thinking that perhaps your bones are unreliable?”

Alec gave her the ghost of a smile. “No, I still believe Will’s here. I can feel it. Mal’s theory is that because I’m quick to learn the layout of a place and remember it that I catch clues that most people miss—even I miss them until I reason out what I’ve seen. However, you are right. I can’t say for certain he’s there. But it’s only a matter of getting close enough to find out.”

Celia shuddered. “Please go no closer than this, at least not tonight.”

“Not with your brother roaming about. He might have alerted the soldiers.” Alec leaned across the table to her. “I have an idea how we might search. You won’t like it, love, but I can think of no other way.”

“What?” Celia asked, torn between curiosity and anxiety. “Disguise ourselves as farmers and pretend we’re looking for lost cows?”

Alec’s eyes crinkled. “I like that, but I don’t believe I could be convincing. No, lass, I was thinking we’d return to London, as Mrs. Reynolds suggests, and you face your mum and dad, and ask for their blessing.”