It took all of her self-control to walk and not run out into the open for all to see. Soon, she was back beneath the cover of trees, the kitchen area now in sight. All she could think about was how Hodge would react when he realised she was gone. Who would bear the brunt of his mood? And how far would he go to recover her this time?

Movement above drew her focus to the sky. And there was Margery, gliding silently above her, willing her forwards. It was amazing how much strength Isabel drew from her presence. She could jump a fence if she knew the eagle was waiting for her on the other side.

She was almost to the kitchen when she heard shouting in the distance. Those shouts could have been about anything or anyone, but her feet hurried forwards all the same.

The kitchen was alive with women washing bowls and scrubbing pots the size of sheep. None of these faces were familiar, so she had no reason to trust any of them, but she continued anyway, because there was no turning back at that point. Many cast curious glances her way, but no one said anything as she headed for the woodpile.

Her hands clammed up when it came into sight. What had Ita told her? That if one got a run up, they could use it as a step to reach the top.

She had also said the wood needed to be stacked correctly or it could result in spectacular failure.

There was really only one way to find out if it was stacked correctly.

‘Not yet,’ a woman whispered, appearing next to her and handing her a pile of forks and a cloth.

Isabel looked down at the items, confused.

A horse cantered by the kitchen. ‘I want every guard on alert.’

Isabel recognised Hodge’s voice and began rubbing the forks with the cloth, praying her trembling hands would not drop them and draw attention to her. The urge to run was strong with her exit barely thirty feet away, but she waited, knowing she only had one chance to get out—and she needed to get out. She could not help these people from the inside. And she could not marry Hodge.

The woman returned and took the forks and cloth from her. ‘Now.’

Isabel took off at a run, eyes on the top of the fence above the woodpile. That was her target. She leapt up onto the pile, as though she had sprouted wings, and died a small death when she felt the wood shift beneath her weight. She kept her focus, though, reaching. One hand caught the fence. The other missed, but she managed to swing herself back to try again. It worked, and she grabbed hold of it.