Lord Grange was agreeable and pleasant in his manners and his speech. A younger man than me, but I was growing used to the reality that many men I met these days were younger. He could not yet have been thirty.

“I was hoping,” he remarked to Helen, as he took his own seat with us at the table, “that your husband might be here.”

“No, I regret he’s still away, and likely will be for another fortnight.”

“A shame.” Lord Grange seemed genuinely sorry. “I came to ask a favor of him. Just a minor job, but one that wants discretion, and is urgent. I could think of no one better than Lieutenant Turnbull to perform it, but it cannot wait. I must arrange things now. Today.”

On Helen’s face I saw the changing flow of her reactions from dismay to rapid thought to inspiration, so I had a sense of what was coming. “Adam—Sergeant Williamson—has been my husband’s friend for years. He has my husband’s trust. He would be eminently qualified to start this work, I’m sure, and then my husband could complete it for you upon his return.”

They looked at me.

I was less sure than Helen I was suited to the task, whatever it might be, but Turnbull had my loyalty. By taking on this job now as his surrogate, I’d hold his place and make sure that it did not go to someone else, for if he won the gratitude of Lord Grange and the Earl of Mar, my friend might also finally win his captaincy.

I felt the weight of all their eyes. MacDougall’s coldly disapproving. Those of Lord Grange waiting patiently. And Helen’s, holding hope.

“Of course,” I said, “if I can be of any help at all.”

Lord Grange pronounced this excellent. “I’ll send one of my clerks to you this afternoon, then. Shall we say, at two o’clock? He’ll bring the papers you’ll need, and explain things.”

He didn’t stay long after that.

“I regret,” he told us, “I must travel up to Alloa tomorrow, and stay awhile on business. I should have been there already, but with circumstances being what they were…” He coughed, apologized, and took his leave.

“Poor man,” Helen said, as her hand went once more to the round of her belly. “His wife fell extremely ill Friday last past, and she miscarried. They are but recently wed. It is said that he would not have married her had she not carried his child, for her family does not have the best reputation. Her father was hanged as a murderer, here at the cross, years ago, and the stain of an act like that cannot be easily washed from a bloodline. Lord Grange’s wife, so they say, has a fierce temper. But I am still sorry she lost her child.” She sat a moment in silence, then allowed, “And that, at least, is one sorrow a bachelor is spared, I suppose.”

“The loss of a child?”