‘Damn,’ says Tilda, only now aware of how fragile her newfound positive frame of mind is. For a moment she considers returning to the cottage, but a gnawing hunger tells her she must continue on the next part of her mission. She walks along the short stretch of road past the church and down to the lake, intending to turn left and loop around to the village that way. But when she reaches the shore, her attention is taken by the activity from the north end of the water, where the archeologists appear to be particularly busy. She still cannot bring herself to look through her binoculars, so she has not been able to follow their activities. She remembers Dylan’s offer to show her around the dig and wonders if he will be there.

Surely he wouldn’t go diving through the ice.

Before she has time to change her mind, Tilda climbs the gate to her right and follows the stony path that winds through the water meadow. As she nears the sight of the excavation, she can make out voices and counts at least five people, all of whom seem to be focused on a patch of earth set a short way back from the waterline. They are so intent on what they are doing that no one notices her approach until she is standing only a few paces behind them. Thistle keeps close, suddenly tense and alert, reminding Tilda that the dog has suffered at the hands of men before and might well be nervous of raised voices, mistaking excitement for anger. She briefly considers clipping the lead onto the dog’s collar, but reasons that restricting the animal might make it feel panicked.

‘It’s okay, girl.’ Tilda strokes her ears gently but Thistle shows no sign of relaxing. A familiar voice makes Tilda turn toward the large canvas tent that serves as the operations room for the dig.

‘Hello,’ says Dylan as he makes his way toward her. ‘Come to witness the great event?’

‘Sorry?’

‘They are hoping to exhume the skeleton today. From the grave they found. Or at least, that was the plan. I’m told the weather may hold things up.’

‘A body? Shouldn’t the police be here?’

Dylan smiles at her line of thinking. ‘I don’t think they work on cases over a thousand years old.’ He points toward the huddle of students, archeologists, and hangers-on. ‘They reckon the burial took place somewhere between the ninth and eleventh centuries. They’ll know much more once they can start testing the bones.’

‘Isn’t it strange to have a single grave like that? Why wasn’t the body buried by the church?’

‘Aside from the fact that it wouldn’t have been there then, you mean?’

Tilda shoots him a look, not enjoying having made herself sound dim.