The tears started again, but this time Isabel did not cover her face. She hugged Ita back, breathing in her buttery scent. She always smelled like the ingredients her mother used to cook with. She smelled of home.

‘I thought you were dead,’ Isabel said.

‘It was safer that way.’ She drew back, tucking Isabel’s hair behind her ears. ‘Nobody hunts the dead.’ She searched Isabel’s eyes. ‘Why on earth are you out here by yourself? Rabbit almost shot you through the neck.’

Isabel looked past Ita to the scowling man. ‘That is his name?’

‘We don’t use real names,’ Ita explained. ‘It protects others if you’re caught and questioned.’ She looked back at him again. ‘The name came about from the fact that he can survive on very little food. He seems to grow stronger while the rest of us wilt.’

Isabel glanced briefly in his direction. ‘And what do they call you?’

‘Twitch. It started when I was learning to hunt—and unfortunately the name stuck.’

Rabbit shifted his weight. ‘Are we in the clear here or what?’

Ita rolled her eyes at Isabel. ‘He takes safety very seriously.’ She turned to him once more. ‘Yes, all clear.’

Rabbit whistled, and two more people stepped out from their nearby hiding places, coming to stand on either side of him.

‘Seal and Walnut,’ Ita said, pointing. ‘Walnut because she’s quite palatable once you’re through the tough exterior. I won’t tell you the story behind Seal, because it requires a rather strong stomach.’

The others ventured closer but not too close.

‘How did you know where to find us?’ Walnut asked.

Isabel glanced back at Ita. ‘I saw your mother. At the camp.’

‘You were at the camp?’ Rabbit asked.

Walnut looked Isabel up and down. ‘As an invited guest, not a prisoner. This is Lady Isabel, the future Countess of Hereford. Hodge’s muse.’

Isabel’s eyebrows lifted. ‘I see the St Clare group is up to date with news from Hampstead Keep.’

‘How is she?’ Ita asked. ‘How’s my mother?’

Isabel thought carefully about her answer. ‘She seemed well.’

There was a beat of silence, and then Ita released Isabel’s hand. ‘And what did you think of the camp?’

‘I could barely believe what I was seeing. They have children locked in pens, men chained together in the fields. Hundreds of people packed into sleeping quarters.’

The St Clare group all exchanged a look, one Isabel could not interpret.

Ita crossed her arms. ‘It doesn’t end there. The man you’re to marry is capable of more than you know.’

Isabel shifted her weight. ‘I know him well enough by now.’

‘I doubt that’ was Ita’s reply. ‘Tell me why you came here.’

‘You know why. To find you.’ Isabel raised her chin. ‘Tell me why you let me believe you were dead all these years.’

‘Because I couldn’t reach you without him knowing.’

‘Why can he not know?’

‘I already told you why.’ Ita’s voice was laced with agitation. ‘I’m safer dead.’