They left us to ourselves all day. With the chinks in the planking anyone could have been listening and watching, so there was no guarantee we were truly alone. The only way we had any privacy was to get close and whisper, and then they would know we were plotting. So we talked the day away in useless chatter, and the occasional murmur. I was glad I wasn’t here alone. I would have given way to despair, but having Tom here meant I had to put up a front of bravery. But I was sorry he was in this mess with me. If he could have got away he might have got help sooner. That went for me, too, but there’d been no chance.

No one came that day, and we were left to manage the night as best we might. It wasn’t cold in that little room, so we managed to sleep well enough again, but now the excitement and terror had diluted, anxiety surfaced once again. I thought I would never sleep, going over in my mind what we could do, what they would do to us, if we’d ever be allowed to leave. There was a heavily armed man left outside the door at all times, and for all we knew, another stationed where we couldn’t see him.

In a deliberate attempt to soothe my agitation, I mentally went over the night Richard and I had spent together. At least we’d had that. I fell asleep as I had done that night, imaginary arms around me, holding me safe.

It was light when we woke up again, as light as it got in that little chamber. When the man came we asked him for light, but he didn’t reply, and we didn’t get it. Perhaps they thought we might try to set fire to the little room, an action I would have strenuously resisted, as it would be tantamount to suicide.

We ate and washed in the fresh water they brought us, and then sat down on the floor again. “What day is it?”

“We’ve slept twice,” Tom replied. “It must be Thursday.”

“It’s my wedding in a week. If I last that long.”

Tom reached over and patted my hand. “Of course you’ll be there. And I’ll be there to dance with you.”

I rested my chin on my knees. “We’re supposed to go for a rehearsal on Saturday,”

“That might be doubtful now,” Tom said with the vestige of a grin. “But you might make the more important appointment.”

“Richard will kill them,” I told him in a conversational tone.

Tom stared at me in surprise and then laughed. “I know you love him, but really, Rose, what can your popinjay do against a vicious gang of smugglers?”

I didn’t want to go into specifics, to tell him about Thompson’s, so I held my tongue. And Tom hadn’t seen Richard fight off the two bullies in the village that day. He had no way of knowing Richard’s fighting prowess.

“I believe Cawnton,” Tom continued. “If it’s Thursday, the run takes place tomorrow night, and we’ll be free on Saturday. He seemed to know what he was about. There is one thing—” He bit off the rest of the sentence, but I couldn’t let him leave it at that.

“What? Tell me, Tom, I have a right to know.”

He bit his lip. “All right. It only occurred to me this morning. The thing is, Rose, we’ve seen Cawnton. We can identify him. Nobody has seen him before, except his most trusted men.”

I thought this over, digesting the uncomfortable implications. “But if he kills us, there’ll be the devil to pay. Richard will let him know he’ll be hunted down and executed when he tries to make terms.”

Tom could agree with that. “He doesn’t seem to be the sort of man who would let an insult pass. Even if he could do little himself, he’d make sure the authorities caught them.”

“An insult?” I echoed and only just remembered to lower my voice, so nobody could overhear us. “If I were taken from him after he’s let me so far in, it could kill him. It would destroy him as a person. He’d never trust anyone again, never let any tenderness in.” I would have cried, had I not been so angry. Not with Tom, but with the thought anyone should hurt Richard to that extent. I remembered what he had told me on that night we spent together; how I would be the last person he lost. I didn’t doubt him. My death would mean his death, too.

No one must know the power they had over Richard by holding me. I’d told Tom, but I don’t think he believed the half of it. I trusted Tom not to tell anyone, but no one else must know.

I wondered what they would do now, what would be the best course to take. “What would you be doing now, Tom, if you were in your father’s shoes?”

Tom had obviously been thinking along the same lines, because he answered me promptly. “I’d alert the authorities, such as they are, get a band of men together and begin to search. It seems the most sensible thing to do. I’ve been hoping they’ll find us, but I’ve heard nothing, and I’ve been listening.” So had I. “I still have no idea where we are, but they must be sure of us. I think we’re in one of those places they use to hide contraband, perhaps in a barn or a cottage.”

I thought hard, frowning. I saw the truth of it. “They won’t know that. They don’t know where we are. I wonder if I’ll