Max led the way, his men laughing and talking as they followed him into the village. His gaze swept the area and found Murian, who flushed. A lopsided smile curved his firm lips and he nodded a greeting that was oddly intimate, even though he was on the other side of the village.
She wrapped her arms around herself. He looked as tasty and welcome as warm, honeyed porridge on a frosty winter morning.
As the deep rumble of the soldiers’ voices grew louder, curtains flickered in windows, followed quickly by doors flying open one by one. Widow Brodie stood in her doorway, her five boys pouring out into the yard, waving and jumping and whooping. Orlov and Demidor pulled up beside their gate and leaned down to talk to the boys.
Widow MacDonald hurried to her gate and called out to Golovin as he rode past. Murian caught the phrase “venison stew,” and whatever else the widow had said, Golovin’s craggy face brightened and he nodded.
Widow MacCrae and her daughter hurried past Murian to wave at Pahlen, who grinned, his teeth flashing whitely in his bearded face as he directed his horse their way.
The other women and children poured from their cottages, all of them waving at the men, excited voices rippling through the once-quiet town.
“ ’Tis like a parade,” Murian said.
“Aye,” Ian replied. “While I’m glad they’ve been here to help, I hope e’erone realizes ’tis only temporary. The prince and his lads’ll be gone soon enou’.”
Max pulled his horse to a halt beside Pushkin’s, which was tied to the gate, and dismounted. He handed the reins to Orlov, who took both horses and led them with his own to the stables. The other men, leaving the villagers, did the same.
Murian was suddenly aware of how she must look. Her hair, damp from the snowfall, stuck to her face and neck in wet curls, and she was certain her nose was cherry red from the cold.
Max reached them and she felt his gaze flicker over her, lingering on her face and cheeks. “Lady Murian.” He bowed and glanced past her to the stack of shutters. “I didn’t expect anyone to be working on such a cold morning.”
“O’ course we were workin’,” Ian huffed. “Now tha’ we’ve wood, there’s no stoppin’ us fra’ wha’ needs doin’.”
“Excellent. Though the wagon wouldn’t make it through the snow, the horses needed exercise, so we are here.”
“You canna expect to work on the roofs in such weather.” Murian clapped her mittened hands together to keep them warm.
Max held out his hand. “Give me your hand.”
She obliged.
He peeled off her wet mittens and placed them on a ladder rung. Then he pulled a glove from his pocket and tugged it onto Murian’s bare hand. The supple leather was lined with the softest fur she’d ever felt, and warmth enveloped her hand. “Thank you.”
His gaze darkened. “You must have better gloves if you’re to be out in such weather. Give me your other hand.”
She held it out, and he pulled the matching glove from his pocket and tugged it on her hand. She held her gloved hands before her, admiring the well-stitched leatherwork. “They’re beautiful.”
“They were made by the Gypsies from my country. They make beautiful things with leather.”
She looked at him inquiringly. “These are too small to be yours.”
“They belonged to my grandmother.”
“I’ll thank her if I see her again.”
“Pray do not.”
He spoke so flatly that she cast him a suspicious glance. “I take it she dinna know she’s been so generous.”
“She knows. She assumed I wished the gloves for, as she put it, ‘a village wench.’ I would rather she did not call you that, for it would make me very angry.”
Murian’s lip twitched. “Your grandmother sounds very spirited. I think I would like her.”
Max thought Murian would enjoy Tata Natasha’s brazen ways, as well. Sadly, the two would never meet. He forced a smile. “We should discuss the mission scheduled for Rowallen. Orlov is waiting for us in the barn. The others are to join us.” He looked at Ian. “We’ll need you, too, and Will. The more minds we apply to this, the fewer errors there will be.”
“I’ll tell the lad ye need him.” Ian left, leaving Murian with Max.
He proffered his arm. It was a silly, formal thing to do, but she smiled and accepted. They waded through the deep snow to the barn and went inside.
Orlov had placed a plank across two barrels, creating a table. “Good morning, Lady Murian.”
She returned the greeting, removing her new gloves.
Max noted how she carefully placed them in her pocket, patting them as if to be certain they would not fall out.
Orlov removed a leather packet from the saddlebags he’d hung over a stall and brought it to the makeshift table. There, he undid the flap and pulled out some folded papers. Murian watched as he smoothed them out.
“Why, these are sketches of Rowallen.” She turned through the other papers. “And schedules for the guards, too.” She looked at Max, astonishment in her gaze. “Where did you get these?”
He smiled at the admiration in her voice. “We made them. This is not the first battle we’ve planned.”
Orlov moved a piece of paper to the top of the pile. “There are fifty-six guards. Here are their names and what we know of them. Most of them are military trained.”
“How did you find out?”
Orlov’s teeth flashed in his black beard. “Vodka. Lots and lots of vodka.”
Max explained, “It is a drink, much like your whiskey, only stronger.”
“Much stronger,” Orlov agreed.
“Ah,” she said. “I hope the information you gleamed was accurate, and not drunken bragging. I—”
The door opened and Demidor and Golovin entered.
“Where are the others?” Max asked.
“They come,” Demidor said. The two men came to stand behind Orlov.
Max turned to Murian, who was reading one of the papers. “So much information,” she said, shaking her head. “You found all of this from plying the earl’s men with vodka?”
“Not all. Some of our information came from Loudan’s man of business.”
“Aye,” Demidor said. “A small man who is much given to complaining. And when he is complaining, he is also telling much information.”
“The night before last, Demidor became his best friend,” Max said.
“It was not difficult,” Demidor said modestly. “After some vodka, the man had much to say about his employer. But it wasn’t what he said that was of value, but rather what he wrote.”
“I dinna understand,” Murian said.
“He kept a ledger.” Demidor reached over and tapped the corner of a small blue notebook that was partially hidden under the papers.
Murian picked up the notebook. “You stole it? Willna he go to the earl once he realizes it is gone?”
“Nay, he fears the earl. Besides, we will give it back later today and he will think it merely misplaced.”
She flipped through the ledger. “Heavens! He wrote down everything: what he had for lunch, how his knee feels, how much sleep he had—”
“—how many guards are stationed and where, each and every day, how much those guards cost the earl, the names of every person on each squadron and their leaders—it is a complete record.”
The door opened and the rest of Max’s men entered, as did Ian, who hurried to Murian’s side. “Will is comin’. I thought Widow Reeves might be of help, too, seein’ as how she was once the cook and knows the lower floors.”
“Good,” Murian said. “Look at what the prince and his men have brought. Guard schedules, names of each squad commander, maps of Rowallen, and anything else we might need.”
Ian looked impressed. “Then we’ll be set.”
Max nodded as he crossed his arms. “Here is what we think. When the entertainment begins that evening, we will allow it to continue for an hour or so—”
The barn door opened a
gain and Widow Reeves came in, Will behind her. Widow Reeves peered at the papers on the table. “Och, bu’ tha’ is a guid drawin’ of the castle interior! Who made it?”
Demidor jerked his thumb at Golovin, who flushed.
She eyed him with admiration. “Ye did a fine job, ye did.”
Golovin didn’t seem to know where to look.
“As I was saying, Murian,” Max continued in a firm tone, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Once the entertainment begins, we will throw the signal for you to approach the castle. We don’t know the exact time, because you know how this sort of event can go.”
“Aye. Sometimes the singer is late, or the guests linger over dinner—one never knows.”
“Exactly.”
“Where is the singer performing?”
He placed his finger on the map. “The blue salon, here.”
Murian nodded “As we thought.”
“Da. It is being cleaned, the rugs beaten, and chairs arranged in preparation. No other rooms but that room and the dining room are being prepared.”
“How will you let me know when it’s safe to approach the castle?”
Orlov pulled another paper from the stack and placed it on the top. This map was of the lands around the castle, each outbuilding sketched in. “You and Ian and Will will wait here for our signal.” Orlov pointed to a ridge to the east of the castle.
“Tha’ willna work,” Will said.
“Why not?” Orlov asked.
“Loudan posts guards on tha’ ridge from dark ’til dawn.”
“The lad is right,” Ian agreed. “We’ve seen them many times.”
“True,” Max said. “But this night, they will not be there from eight o’clock onward.”
Ian’s thick brows rose. “Ye can arrange tha’?”
“Da, which is why you, Will, and Lady Murian will arrive at eight thirty and not a moment before.”
Ian’s eyes gleamed. “Takin’ care o’ them, are ye?”
“Aye, but gently.”
“Wha’ are ye goin’ to do?” Will asked, looking concerned.
“The guards will be convinced by two very willing housemaids to imbibe some forbidden whiskey while working. They will wake up in the stables the next morning with no memory of how they got there. I rather doubt they’ll admit to Loudan that they were derelict in their duties, but will instead pretend they were at their stations all night long.”
Murian nodded thoughtfully. “So you will clear the guards on this side.”
“Da. Once it is done, we will put a light in the small window of the yellow sitting room, which is beside the blue salon. Once you see the signal, you will come to the study window here.” Max pointed again.
“The second window over.” She frowned. “Why the study?”
“It is best. And come dressed as a thief, not as Maid Murian. It will make things easier, should we need to move quickly.” He cut a hard look at Will and Ian. “You two must see to it that Lady Murian makes it safely to this window as quickly as possible after the signal is given. Though the guards will be gone, there is a lot of open ground here. If someone should happen to look out of the window and see her, things could go wrong very quickly.”
“We will do wha’ we must,” Ian said firmly.
Will nodded. “Aye, bu’—no’ meaning any disrespect, is tha’ all we do?”
Orlov scowled. “What you will be doing is important and dangerous. You will be escorting her ladyship over open ground to the castle, and guarding her with your life.”
“And while she is inside the castle?” Will asked.
“You two will move to here.” Orlov pointed to the kitchen door in the back of the castle. “You will wait until we escort her out. Once we get her there, you will need to get her away from the castle as quickly as possible.”
“You will have to hide while you wait,” Demidor warned. “There will be many servants bustling in and out. I have watched them for the last two days, and there are only a few places to hide: here at the stone wall by the well, and—”
“—behind the icehouse,” Ian finished, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “We lived there fer years; we know where to hide fra’ the cook.”
“I can vouch fer tha,’ ” Widow Reeves sniffed.
“How long will we be waitin’?” Will asked.
“As long as it takes Lady Murian to do what must be done.”
Will bent over the map, his gaze flickering over each room, each sketched-in window and door. “How do ye plan on gettin’ Lady Murian through the castle to the master bedchamber? If she’s goin’ in through the study, she’ll find herself facin’ far too many servants to keep her presence a secret.”
“Leave that to us. We have it well in hand.” Max nodded and Orlov began collecting the papers. “I think that is all—”
“Nay.” Murian pulled the papers out of Orlov’s hands and placed them back on the table.
Orlov stopped, surprised, while Max frowned.
“We need more details, if you please,” she said. “How do you expect to get from the study to the master bedchamber?”
“We’ve planned it well; you need have no fear of that.”
“I’m sure you have, with what knowledge you have collected. But you dinna know all you need to.”
“I appreciate your concern, but it’s unwarranted.” Max’s voice was sharp with impatience. “We’ve thought through every contingency. My men and I have handled far more complicated details than this, and we know how best to get you where you must go. Save your worry about where you’ll search once you’re in the master bedchamber.”
“Max, there’s much you can’t know aboot the castle unless you lived there day in and day oot, and had the running of it, as well. We know how things work there: what hallways are the most traveled, which rooms are never used. I’ll not put myself into your care wi’oot some details, when ’tis possible we may know some things that could make your plan better.”
Max stiffened, suddenly every inch the prince—stern, unsmiling, inflexible.
Her heart tumbled a little, but she refused to back down.
Will looked outraged for Murian.
After a tense moment, Ian’s deep chuckle broke the silence. “Easy, now, the two of ye. Mayhap we should discuss this tomorrow, when we’ve ha’ some time to think it through.”
“I think Lady Murian ha’ the right of it,” Will said stubbornly. “We should be included in the plannin’.”
“You have been,” Max snapped.
“Nay, we havena. Ye marched in here and tossed yer papers down, so pleased ye collected some number and wha’ no’. ’Tis no’ enough.”
“We’ve been inside the castle for several weeks,” Golovin pointed out. “What can you know that we do not?”
Murian asked calmly, “Which doorway does the earl use when he meets with his guards?”
“The eastern portal,” Demidor answered, looking proud.
The other men murmured in approval.
“Aye, when it’s dry,” Murian agreed.
Demidor’s smile faded. “I beg your pardon?”
“He canna use that door when it rains, for the window beside it leaks, and the stone floor becomes as slick as ice. So on those days, he goes out the main doorway and speaks with them there.”
Demidor blinked. “Oh.”
Max’s jaw tightened, but after a moment he said to Murian, “Fine. We’ll share our plans and hear what you have to say.”
She met his gaze, and her expression softened. “I know you have our best interests at heart.” She could see his genuine concern. His greatest fault wasn’t his plaguey confidence, but an overwhelming desire to always do right.
She pointed to the castle floor plan. “What should we know first?”
As she and Ian bent over the map, Max outlined the route he and Orlov had decided on to get Murian to the master bedroom. When he finished, Murian tapped a small room almost directly across from the study. “This could be a problem.”<
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Ian nodded. “I was just thinkin’ the same thing.”
Max leaned forward, his shoulder against hers. “We looked at that room. It’s quite small, and is never used.”
“Except during an event. Long ago, ’twas to be a butler’s pantry, to stage meals for the breakfast room, which is here.” She slid her finger down the hall and around the corner to a small room west of the foyer. “But as you can see, ’tis hardly convenient, so it was never used for that.”
“Which was a pity,” Widow Reeves agreed, “for ’twas difficult keepin’ dishes warm fra’ the kitchen all the way to the breakfast room.” She leaned close to Golovin, who stood nearby. “We placed hot stones under the serving dishes to keep ’em warm.”
“How is the room used now?” Max asked impatiently.
“ ’Tis used by the footmen to hold coats whenever there’s a ball or a dinner or such.”
“The real footmen, not the guards-pretending-to-be-footmen,” Ian clarified.
“Why is that a detriment?” Orlov asked. “They will put the coats in the room before dinner, and then get them as the evening closes. I fail to see the problem.”
“Nyet.” Max sighed. “The footmen will be in and out of that room throughout the evening.”
“Aye,” Murian agreed. “As people arrive, the footmen will hang the coats in this room. When there is time throughout the evening, various footmen will return to brush the coats so they are clean before being returned to the guests.”
“Which means,” Max finished, “they’ll most likely use the time during the performance to see to those duties. So the footmen will be in and oot of this room just when we most need the hallway empty.”
“So the study window won’t work,” Orlov said wryly.
“Exactly.” Murian leaned her elbows on the plank table and peered more closely at the map. “Which window should be used, then?”
Ian smacked Max’s shoulder. “Sorry, lad. Ye canno’ be right all the time.”
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