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A thin thread of puzzlement began to weave into the tapestry of anger and apprehension already forming. Peter was a much better poacher than this. It wasn’t something to be proud of, but it was true; so how was it he was being so cavalier now? He hadn’t returned with any spoils from his three previous clandestine outings either, she realised for the first time—hardly surprising when he was thrashing about with all the grace of a wild boar.

She frowned as somewhere up ahead a bird took flight, easily escaping, where with a little more care Peter could have sneaked in and claimed it. It didn’t make sense that he’d bother creeping out only to scupper his own chances of any gain, perhaps even risking drawing the attention of the gamekeepers… but then he began to slow, and an entirely different set of questions replaced those currently flitting through her head.

Peter had reached a small clearing. It was as dark and murky as the rest of the woods, but to her surprise in the thin silver haze given off by the moon she saw a cloaked figure standing at the edge of the trees. With its hood raised she couldn’t make out its face, but her heart gave an involuntary start of fear as her brother walked towards it, the stranger’s tall, imposing frame and shadow-wreathed features so eerie she couldn’t restrain a shiver.

She shrank back into the shade of an old oak tree, watching with burning curiosity as Peter approached whoever he’d arranged to meet.

Both distrustful and intrigued, Meg peered through the gloom towards them. The stranger was definitely a man—his height and build were too daunting to be anything else—and she felt a prickle of unease to see how he towered above Peter’s boyish head. Such a mismatched pair was odd in the extreme, the secrecy alone more than enough to set alarm bells ringing, and when the man nodded towards the treeline, obviously in an invitation to walk with him, she knew it was time to intervene.

‘Wait.’ Pretending more boldness than she felt, she stepped forward, raising her voice as she went. ‘Who are you, and where do you think you’re taking my brother?’

Peter and the stranger spun round. She’d addressed the cloaked figure but it was her brother who answered, and as she strode fiercely towards him she saw a flicker of trepidation cross his moonlit face.

‘Meg? What are you doing here?’

‘I might ask you the same question. What do you think you’re doing? Why are you sneaking out to meet strangers at night?’

Her brother’s eyes darted to his mysterious companion. The man was hanging back slightly but at Peter’s hesitation he came a little closer, albeit still with his countenance hidden by the heavy fabric of his hood.

‘He’s not a stranger,’ Peter said reluctantly. ‘Estranged, maybe, but not a stranger.’

At Meg’s frown the figure raised his hand. He paused for a moment—but then he pushed aside the folds covering his features, and instantly she kicked herself for not grasping the truth long before.

‘Good evening, Meg. I’m sorry if I alarmed you.’

She stared up into Jacob’s wonderfully familiar face. It was like a dream to have him materialise before her and she found herself gaping at him without a single thought, the way the pale light sharpened the slant of his cheekbones easily displacing any awkwardness she might have expected to feel at coming across him so unexpectedly.

That mute state of affairs did not last for long, however.

‘Jacob? Why are you meeting my brother? Here in the woods? At this hour?’

He met her barrage with admirable courage, but all the same she could tell he would have preferred not to answer.

‘Ah. Well… If you really want to know, he’s been assisting me.’

‘Assisting you? With what?’

His reply didn’t diminish her confusion in the slightest. As far as she knew Peter disliked her husband but, even if he hadn’t, what could a village lad possibly do to aid a viscount? Surely anything they had to discuss could have been done without the need for such subterfuge, and when Jacob didn’t seem inclined to enlighten her any further her bafflement continued to climb.

Fortunately, Peter wasn’t so reticent. ‘We’ve been trying to prove your innocence,’ he piped up from behind Jacob’s shoulder. ‘We’ve been working together to show the world you aren’t a mad woman with a saw.’

‘What?’ Meg’s eyes flew wide. ‘How were you planning to prove that?’

Jacob shot Peter a long-suffering look. Clearly, he hadn’t wanted the truth to be phrased quite so brusquely, but now the cat was out of the bag it couldn’t be put back in.

‘It was something your father said when he came to the house,’ he said unwillingly. ‘He told me people were talking about you in taverns, and it occurred to me that if I frequented those taverns myself I might possibly learn something helpful.’

‘Oh.’ Meg felt her breath catch. ‘And have you?’

‘Not yet. But I haven’t given up hope.’ Jacob gave her a cautious smile that stoked sparks in her chest. ‘That’s why I was meeting Peter. He’s been my guide to the local drinking dens. I realise involving him might not be something you’re happy about, but…he was very persuasive.’

‘I can imagine.’

She looked at her brother. Swamped in their father’s too-big cloak, he seemed younger than ever, his smooth cheeks some years from seeing the same kind of stubble that covered Jacob’s. He could indeed be convincing when he put his mind to it, and she almost smiled herself to think it wasn’t just her who was unable to resist.

‘I don’t understand why you felt the need for such secrecy. Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?’

Jacob scuffed one foot through the leaf mould. ‘I didn’t want you to know until I’d found something worthwhile. It’s hard enough having my own hopes dashed night after night and I couldn’t bear the thought of raising yours too.’