“Jennet,” he said wearily.

She pressed her face to his chest and then raised her head to look at him. “Why do you fight it so?”

There was a tenderness in his expression that she had only seen once before, on the day he left Scotland. It made everything inside her clench with hope and fear at once. Jennet touched his face lightly, traced the high sweep of his brow and the curve of his cheekbone and the hard line of his jaw, rough with beard. She touched him as she would touch a half-tame cat, for the pleasure of it and because there was the chance that this time he might allow it.

He caught her hand in his own and turned it, kissed her palm and let it go. “What I want doesn't matter, not right now,” he said. “What matters is your safety.”

“Tell me then if there's someone else,” Jennet said. It was the question that sat like a rock in her throat, one that she must cough up or choke on. “If you tell me that, I'll leave you be.”

“There's someone else,” he said, and before she could take even one more breath he kissed her, a sharp, hard kiss.

“Jennet,” he said. “There's a war. She's as jealous as any woman, this war, and greedier by far. I could be dead tomorrow.”

“But you aren't a soldier,” Jennet said, mystified and frightened too. “You aren't planning on joining the fighting, you've said so again and again.”

He shook his head at her, his gaze steady. “There's more than one way to fight in a war, girl. Not everybody wears a uniform.”

She stepped back from him and pressed a hand to her mouth. He was looking at her steadily, and Jennet realized that he had been holding back this information for weeks, and he was glad to be free of it.

“Does your father know?”

“No. Not exactly, at any rate. You're the only one I've told.”

She turned and walked away from him to sink down onto a boulder. Dusk had seeped into night; on the edge of the world a new moon was rising, a sliver of old bone pressed into the bruising flesh of the sky. Owls called, one and then another, and somewhere far off a wolf raised her voice in offering.

Jennet wanted to ask what government he was spying for, how he had been drawn in, what he meant by taking sides when he said he could not, would not. She wanted to know these things and she was afraid to know them. And she was excited, too, and trembling with it because they had come, finally, to the place where he would deny her no longer.

He was standing next to her, close but not touching.

“That's why I don't want to take Lily back to Montreal,” he said. “That's why it's better that you stay here.”

“So that if they catch you and hang you we won't be there to watch,” Jennet said numbly.

He gave a low laugh that was meant to comfort. “Ach, and what lobsterback is quick enough to catch a Scott of Carryck?”

“Ah,” Jennet said, for he had answered one question, at least: he was not working for the English Crown.

“Will you do what you can to keep my sister here?” he asked.

The anger came back to her in a rush, and she stood to face him. “No,” she said. “I won't do that because it can't be done, and because to have her there is the best guarantee that you'll be careful. For her sake, if not for mine. If not for your own.”

In the near dark his expression was hard to read, but Jennet knew suddenly that she must leave him or embarrass herself with tears. He reached out to stop her but she shook him off.

“There are things I need to say to you,” he called after her. “Things we need to have clear between us before I go.”

“You made me wait ten years, Luke Bonner,” she called back over her shoulder. “Now it's your turn. See how you like it.”

In Carryckcastle where she had been born and lived all her life Jennet could have hid for days at a time. As a child she had perfected the art of slipping from chamber to chamber as silently as a shadow, but there was no such escape at Lake in the Clouds. She was not so rash as to go out into the forests after dark, and so she must settle for the barn. There was an empty stall between the two horses and she made herself at home. She had been there no more than an hour when Hannah found her.

“The mosquitoes will eat you alive if you don't come in,” she said at the door.

“Too late.” Jennet slapped at her neck. And then: “What was decided about Lily?”

Hannah said, “She's going.”

“Of course she's going. But what about Simon?”

“Simon was politely refused,” Hannah said. “And Luke has agreed to take Lily under his wing.”

“There's no telling when she'll come home again.” Jennet said out loud the thing they were both thinking. Wars were unpredictable; this one might bleed out in three months or stagger on for years. Her own homeland was never at peace, not really.

“Elizabeth?” Jennet asked.

“She's putting on a brave face.”

“Daniel will be furious.”

Hannah said, “He's young. He thinks he can keep her safe if he ties her down.”

Jennet let out a harsh laugh. “The men of Carryck all think like that. It's bred into them, I fear.”

There was a small silence interrupted by a nightjar's call.

“Luke asked me to find you,” Hannah said after a minute. “He says you must finish your conversation.”

“Did he now. And here am I, too tired for talk. I'll sleep here, I think.”