Ned laughed.
“I am not giving up on Aunt Darlington.”
His expression became instantly sober. “I know. Neither am I. But we have to be sensible. We’ve almost certainly walked into a trap. That farmhouse is our only hope.”
“But we can’t fly it without a wheel and sextant.”
“Have you never bodged a wheel together out of spoons and fencing wire? And we don’t need to navigate, just get away.” He grasped her hand and without further argument they ran across the field to the quiet, unsuspecting house. Darkness pressed heavily against them, as if rain was on the way. The air seemed to moan. Stumbling onto the rough mat of the farmhouse threshold, they caught their breath for a moment and then Ned knocked politely on the door.
“I’ve never stolen a house before,” Cecilia confessed. “What is the etiquette?”
“Less direct than with a coach, and it’s a little harder to get in. But once you do there’s usually tea and a comfortable sofa.”
The door opened and a man with profuse brown whiskers peered out suspiciously. “What?” he demanded.
“Good evening,” Ned answered, all languid charm and innocent eyes. “My name is Mr. Albert, and this is my wife, Victoria. We were on our way home from Bible study when we broke the wheel of our carriage. We’re hoping you might be able to point us in the direction of shelter for the night. We will happily pay for any advice you can offer. And perhaps, if you would be so kind, a drop of tea?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not pirates, are you?”
“Do we look like pirates, sir?” Both he and Cecilia smiled broadly at the farmer.
“Well... Pay me, you say?”
“Absolutely.”
“As it happens, my wife has just put on the ket—”
He stopped, his eyes growing wide as he stared with horror at something above and beyond Ned’s shoulder. The pirates looked at each other and sighed. The farmer slammed his door shut. Bolts clattered into place.
“Well, at least we don’t have to go to the trouble of house-stealing,” Cecilia said.
“True. I say, have I told you how lovely your eyes look in the spotlight from an enemy’s turret?”
“You’re kind to say so.”
They turned to watch the vast dark abbey descend from the sky in front of them.
Cecilia squinted up at the dozen windows bristling with cannons and guns. “Goodness, this is a shame,” she commented mildly.
Ned stared at her openmouthed.
She shrugged. “I told you I wanted to get inside that abbey. If that means being captured, I really don’t mind.”
“You’re mad. We need to run!”
But suddenly the great abbey door slammed open and three armed men dressed in black appeared.
“Lightbourne!” one growled. “Traitor! Do me a favor and try to escape, so I have a reason to shoot you.”
Ned raised his eyes with amusement. “Don’t be so dramatic, Randall. You’re impressing no one. I’m here on Morvath’s doorstep with his long-lost daughter, just as I was ordered to be. Far from being a traitor, I expect I’m due a pay rise for a job well done.”
He winked at Cecilia. She gave him a vicious look and stepped back as if he was suddenly filthy.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, catching her arm, pulling her back against him. “No trying to run away!”
“I wasn’t,” she began to say, but he clamped a hand over her mouth. She struggled, but his grip was serious and unbudging. “Randall, there’s a bottle of chloroform and a handkerchief in my coat pocket. Get them out for me, will you?”
“Mmmph-mph!” Cecilia declaimed.
