She had been agonizing over how to get a message to Olivia, but there had been no opportunities until today. Even if it would have been possible to leave Decatur village without detection, she’d been kept far too busy to make such an expedition.

The master of Decatur had been true to his word, and the new recruit to the ranks had been absorbed without reference to her sex or her relationship with the master. Her position was lowly, and she was regularly assigned to the boring and tedious tasks that went into keeping a full-scale armory in pristine condition. She took sentry duty according to the roster, and if it meant she was absent from Rufus’s bed, the commander accepted it without a murmur. And when Rufus went out on expeditions, he didn’t always include her among those he chose to accompany him. She’d challenged her exclusion on one occasion, only to be told that he’d checked the roster and seen she was assigned to culverin drill. And Portia had reluctantly come to the conclusion that Rufus genuinely had not considered the possibility of changing her duty to accommodate such conflicts.

Today’s little excursion had begun as routine. Will was checking up on the network of spies he had around the countryside and had taken a detachment of ten with him, including Portia and Paul. Ordinarily he would have been content just to pursue the rebel couriers, but the news that a small troop of Granville men was approaching from York had fired his blood. He wanted to conduct an engagement, without either Rufus or George. It would be the first time ever, and it was too good an opportunity to prove his skills as a battlefield commander.

Sending Portia and Paul after the couriers, not a particularly dangerous task since they’d be better armed than their quarry and would have the advantage of surprise, had seemed to Will to be the perfect solution. They had arranged to rendezvous for the ride back to Decatur village at sunset. Which gave Portia two hours to complete her business on the moat. Plenty of time.

She looked up at the castle, the standards flying from its battlements and keeps. On the ice, hidden by the island, she would be out of sight of the drawbridge and the watchtowers, and once on the island she’d be quite safe from detection. Nevertheless, it took a deep breath of courage to force herself to emerge from the safety of the bushes and step down onto the ice. It looked greenish and transparent, and there was a single ominous crack as she walked forward.

“Hell and the devil!” she muttered, and, crouching low, raced across the ice. She had no idea how deep the moat was, but even if it was shallow, she’d be in a pretty pickle if she went through the ice. She scuttled onto the island amid a quacking flurry of ducks and dived into the screen of bushes.

The boulder was there as she remembered. She took the letter out of the inside pocket of her jerkin and slid it beneath the boulder, then prepared to make the dash back across the ice.

She heard the voices the instant before she stepped out from concealment. They were a little way away and it took her a minute to realize that one of them was Olivia’s. But who the hell was the other one? It was one thing for Olivia to see her here, but she couldn’t afford anyone else to catch her.

There was nowhere to go. The island was little bigger than a large rock, and she was taking advantage of its only concealment. Perhaps Olivia was skating on the moat and would bypass the island. The voices came closer. They were high and intense, both female. Portia frowned, searching errant memory. There was something familiar about the second… ah, she got it. It belonged to Phoebe. Diana’s little sister. Not dangerous unless she’d changed dramatically. She perched on the boulder and waited.

The girls came onto the island. “The boulder is behind the bushes,” Olivia said, her voice somewhat breathless. “She p-promised to leave a message, but she hasn’t yet. I’m worried that maybe she didn’t get to Decatur.”

“I got there all right, duckie,” Portia said, relishing her moment of surprise.

Olivia squeaked with shock and delight. She flung up her hands. “Oh, Portia!”

Portia hugged her. “I left you a note, but it’s a bit superfluous now.” She regarded Olivia’s companion with a smile. Phoebe hadn’t changed at all. Her round face was pink with surprise, her candid gray eyes full of good nature.

“Good heavens, how you startled us,” she declared rather obviously. “Olivia was sure you were dead. What extraordinary clothes you’re wearing.”

“They’re very practical for the life I’m leading these days,” Portia said with a cheerful grin.

“Olivia thought you were going to be Lord Rothbury’s mistress. Does he like you in britches?” The question expressed simple curiosity.

“Not in bed,” Portia said wickedly.

“You’re wearing a sword!” Olivia gasped. “Why?”

“Because I’m a soldier,” Portia said patiently. “I always wanted to be.”

“Yes, that’s what you said in London,” Phoebe put in. “I remember. When we all swore to be true to our ambitions, and not to be ordinary.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ve broken the pact,” Portia said. “There’s nothing ordinary about being a soldier.”

“I haven’t got very far with my ambition,” Phoebe said a touch gloomily. “I’m trying to write poetry, but I’m not very satisfied with my efforts. There’s always something missing, it seems to me. And I can’t do good works when we’re not permitted to leave the castle because of the war.”

Olivia wasn’t listening to this exchange. “You c-can use the sword?” she demanded of Portia, eyes incredulous.

“Of course.”

“Show us, then.”

Portia realized how very far she had moved from Olivia’s life “It’s not a toy,” she said quietly, and changed the subject. “So, Phoebe, what brings you up north?”

“Oh, my father! He’s declared for Parliament and so he brought his own militia up here to join with General Fairfax, and he thought I’d be safest in Castle Granville with Diana,” Phoebe said in disgust.

“Yes, Portia. And D-Diana hates her more than she hates me.”

“Lord, that must be hard,” Portia said.

“It’s dreadful,” Phoebe stated. “She is such a horrible person. I thought maybe being married and having babies would make her kinder, but it hasn’t… oh, look, how did I get stains there?” She brushed dismally at a collection of spots on her cloak.

“And your petticoat flounce is torn,” Olivia pointed out helpfully.

“Oh God!” Phoebe wailed. “How?”

“When you fell on the ice.”

“I can’t skate properly,” Phoebe said with a glum sigh. “I trip over my feet just walking, so how could I possibly expect to remain upright with these on my boots?” She raised one foot with the bone blade attached.

“You won’t be able to skate much longer anyway. The ice is thinning,” Portia said, thinking to offer comfort.

“Yes, and it would be just my luck to go right through it,” Phoebe said “I’m so fat. Diana says I’m like an elephant.”

Portia regarded Phoebe critically. “You’re not fat. You’re round.”

“I couldn’t wear britches,” Phoebe stated. “Can you imagine what I’d look like?”

Olivia gave a little choke of laughter and Portia said, “Why would you want to?”

“I don’t,” Phoebe said. “Fortunately.” Then she went into a peal of merry laughter that transformed her countenance, chasing away the self-deprecatory frown in her eyes.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here to keep Olivia company,” Portia said. “I’ve been worried about her.”

“I told Phoebe about what you did to Brian,” Olivia confided on another choke of laughter.

Portia grinned. “What we both did, duckie.” Then she sobered. “What did your father say when I disappeared?”

Olivia shook her head. “He was very angry. But I said I didn’t know where you’d gone, or why. He seemed to believe me. And then something really bad happened. I don’t know what. But I know he blames you for it.”