Taking the slip-road exit off the A9, Elise spotted the CCTV sign when she entered the village. She unbuckled Sammy’s seatbelt.

“Get on the floor,” Elise commanded.

Without arguing, the lad did what she asked. Drawing on her hood to cover her bright hair, Elise turned away from the camera as they drove past.

“Stay down until I park.”

Elise had no intention of apprising Gilmont of the lad’s presence via camera feed. The man had his fingers in vital organizations scattered throughout the UK. Undoubtedly, those in Gilmont’s league had planned their mentor’s escape last year and had secured his whereabouts during the nationwide search afterward.

Alongside the Tay, she noticed a wee kirk surrounded by a well-tended graveyard. Downshifting, she entered the graveled drive and wove through the cemetery until she reached the kirk door.

“Time for a stretch,” Elise said when she pulled up to the chapel.

Sammy didn’t need to be told twice. He threw open the passenger door and jumped down, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

A stiff breeze blew off the river, bending the wild-growing wych elms, rhododendrons, and hawthorns about like gyrating dancers on an Off West End musical. Elise zipped up her anorak and looked about for the minister’s car. Not seeing one, she headed toward the parish entrance with Sammy at her heels.

The kirk was cold as an icebox and quiet as its graveyard.

“Hello,” Elise called, her boots echoing on the stone floor.

Sammy left her and beelined it for the facilities.

The minister’s office door stood ajar. Elise rapped on it and poked her head inside. Here the temperature was less arctic. Catching sight of the electric heater, she understood why. The parish was probably unable to employ more than a minister and organist.

She backtracked to the chapel, her steps hesitant. Standing on the threshold, she exhaled sharply. Years had passed since she had voluntarily stepped inside a house of worship.

“Hello,” she called again, her voice not as firm as she would’ve liked.

Halfway up the aisle, she stopped and faced the stained-glass windows above the altar. The panicky emotions that had accompanied her since Nigel’s call eased, and everything inside her quieted. A sense of all-encompassing love enveloped her. Elise hadn’t experienced those sensations since her teens, but she recognized the emotion. It was God’s love.

Unbidden tears burned in her eyes, and her breath hitched. A door slammed behind her, and Sammy trotted down the aisle.

“Lady Elise, the loo’s free.”

The moment shattered like a kaleidoscope’s prism. Elise exhaled and turned to face Harry’s son. The minister wasn’t in. For better or worse, they were in this together. The burden of responsibility descended on her shoulders, its weight as heavy as an ancient anvil’s.