Jennet pressed her hands together in her lap. “But of course, Father O'Neill. I would be pleased. In the meantime there are a few matters I must discuss with the colonel.”

The priest's gaze never left her face. “Ah, yes. You've come to ask for favors for the prisoners, have I guessed it? I'm sure that Colonel Caudebec would be happy to see that your needs are met, is that not so, Colonel?”

Jennet thought of Sergeant Jones, and wondered if trading that problem for the one in front of her was such a very good idea. But the colonel was looking at her, his expression all eagerness. She took a deep breath, and presented her case.

“I'll tell you aye true,” Jennet told Hannah much later. “I came close to wetting my drawers when I saw him sitting there. As big as a house, and hawk-eyed, forbye.”

“You know this priest?” Hannah whispered, pulling Jennet farther into the corner where they had gone to talk. Next to them the boy slept on with his eyes open and fixed on nothing in particular. The regular slow hiss of his breath was the only sign that he still lived.

“I know of Adam O'Neill, aye,” Jennet whispered. “And so do you. The priest wha thumped Uz Brodie on the head with his crucifix. You recall, he told us the tale when we were here no two days, when he was on guard duty.”

Hannah said, “You're speaking Scots. You must be worried.”

“A wee bit, aye.” Jennet pursed her mouth. “I've known many priests in my time, but none like this Father O'Neill.”

“You knew that before,” Hannah said. “From the stories.”

“Och, I don't mean the fighting. There are stories enough about soldier-priests. I canna tell ye what it is exactly that bothers me. Nor can I tell ye what the man's doing here, beyond the fact that he's got some connection to Caudebec. It's no like I could ask, you'll agree.”

“All right,” Hannah said, forcing herself to breathe deeply. “Could he be some kind of spy?”

“I thought of that,” Jennet said. “I suppose it's possible, but what could he want to learn from this poor lot?”

She cast a quick look over their patients. Mr. Whistler, watching them closely while he tended to the brazier, nodded at her and she raised a hand in greeting. Then she sent Hannah a sharp look.

“I've been thinking, perhaps it would be best if I let the colonel know whose daughter I am.”

Hannah saw a particular look in her cousin's eye that made her nervous indeed. She pitched her voice a tone lower. “Jennet. We've discussed all this. If they know that, then they know that you're connected to Luke. And there's good reason to keep Luke out of all this, you'll remember that much.”

She pushed out a breath and the curls that fell over her forehead stirred irritably.

“Out of what? I'm here against Luke's wishes, am I no? You read the letter.” She flushed a little, remembering the single closely written page delivered by Simon Ballentyne. The only thing that had made it bearable was the fact that along with the letter came all the things she had asked him for: food and blankets and medicines. The gift of a good friend, an anonymous donor. The man she was supposed to marry. If she did not drive him away, first.

“Jennet,” Hannah said sharply. “Don't forget why we're here. As soon as Daniel is well enough to travel we'll be away. Runs-from-Bears and Sawatis will find a way. And how would it look, once we're gone? Then Luke would be connected to the escape, and maybe to worse.”

She didn't say the word, the one word that could bring disaster down on all of them. The Tories made short work of anyone they suspected of spying. It was one of the reasons that both of them were careful never to talk to any of the guards or soldiers about things even vaguely military.

The small red mouth contorted. “Aye. Aye, aye, aye. I see that, I do. But I just thought—”

Hannah waited.

“Had ye thought,” Jennet began again, “how much I could do for these prisoners, were the officers to know who I am? Jennet Huntar brings them a handful of eggs. But there's verra little they could refuse Lady Jennet of Carryck. And aye, it's far too great a risk. I'll bide my time, you have my promise.”

There was a small silence. Hannah smoothed her cousin's hair away from her face and managed a smile.

“What about the rest of it? Were you able to present our case to Caudebec? You do remember? Braziers, firewood, rations, Jones.”

“Och, aye. Of course I remembered.” Jennet was looking over Hannah's shoulder.

“And?”

Jennet pointed with her chin. “Yon's your answer on one point, at least.”

Sergeant Jones had appeared at the doors. His face was contorted with anger, white and red and trembling. Jennet and Hannah stood just as they were, unflinching.

For a moment Hannah thought the sergeant would speak, but then he turned on his heel and left. The doors closed behind him.

“That's the end of Jones,” said Jennet. “He's been reassigned to Halifax, I think the colonel said.”

It took a moment for Hannah to understand. “Caudebec has sent him away?”

“Aye. Father O'Neill said Caudebec should, and so he did. And then he promised braziers and wood and better food, forbye—and all in front of the priest. What Father O'Neill said was, to tell it all, that if the British army was living off American pork smuggled over the border, American prisoners should get no less.”