Four shadows rose out of the darkness of the moor, darting from patch to patch of vegetation. Here and there they found cover behind a boulder, now and then they huddled together under a stunted tree, gliding noiselessly due north. It was too early for birds, so when a sharp whistle cut through the air the leading shadow set off at speed, his companions slinking after him towards a protective outcrop of stone.

“Hush!” Matthew Graham sank down, the three men accompanying him doing the same. He pointed to where a group of six riders were making slow progress on a marshy stretch of ground.

“More soldiers,” he said, his voice a low hum.

“And here was I thinking they were but angels of deliverance,” the man sitting closest to him said, and despite their situation Matthew smiled. The speaker moved closer to Matthew, his mouth a scant inch from Matthew’s ear. “They won’t find us.”

“You think not?” Matthew tried to sound unconcerned but his eyes were stuck on the approaching group of soldiers, his brain scrambling to find a way out of this neat little corner. Summer dawn was only hours away and no matter that he and his companions were all cloaked and hooded in dark colours somewhere between brown and grey, they would be visible the moment they stood to run.

“Nay,” Minister Peden replied comfortably. “They may look, but they won’t see.” With a slight nod he indicated the strands of fog that were multiplying over the wetter ground. Days of insistent heat had dried out the moor, resulting in clouds of evaporated water that reverted to fog and mist when night was at its coolest.

“At least the weather is with us,” another of the men commented in a low voice.

“God, my friend,” Sandy Peden corrected. “God is with us, and this is yet another sign that he hasn’t forgotten us.” Without another word he moved off and one by one the others followed him, shrouded in the early morning mist.

“That way,” Matthew said a bit later. “If you keep to the left of yon trees you’ll find a passable path that will lead you all the way to Kilmarnock.”

“Thank you,” the tallest of the three men said. “And be sure to convey my gratitude to your wife as well.”

“Aye,” Sandy grinned. “Please tell Alex how appreciative we are of your hospitality.”

“Umm,” Matthew said. Alex wasn’t quite as enthusiastic about extending help to their Presbyterian brethren as he was. Even if she cooked and packed baskets with food, sending along blankets when she could, he knew she didn’t like it, in particular not now, not since the last few arrests that had dragged at least one of their neighbours before the court to answer to charges of treasonous activities. The man had been flogged publicly.

“Truly,” Sandy said, and now there was no laughter in his grey eyes. “Do thank her, Matthew. I know it costs her in fears.” With that he was off, taking the lead as the three ministers made for the depths of the moor. Not until they’d dropped out of sight did Matthew set off for home.

“Where have you been?”

Matthew started when his brother-in-law popped up to block his path.

“Out,” he said.

“I gather that,” Simon Melville said. He frowned, taking in the sword and pistol, the long cloak that was now bundled over an arm. “This is no game.”

“Hmm?”

“Never mind.” Simon gestured in the direction of the yard. “You have visitors.”

“Visitors? At this hour?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Simon said with a certain edge. “They’re not soldiers here to drag you off for questioning – not this time. It’s your ex-wife, no less.”

“Margaret?” Matthew came to a halt. “What might she be doing here?”

“I have no idea; mayhap she’s hankering for long morning walks over the foggy moor.”

“I’m doing what I must, Simon, you know that.”

“What you must? You’re helping them break the law! They’ve been ousted as ministers, they’re not allowed to preach or teach, they may not perform any types of rites, and to aid and abet them is to risk the full displeasure of the powers that be.”

Matthew just shrugged.

“Oh well,” Simon sighed. “You’ll do as you please.”

“Aye.”

Simon threw him a sidelong look. “She brought Ian with her.”

“Ian?” Matthew increased his pace.

“She’s in the yard. I don’t think Alex intends to invite her inside, and even if she did, I doubt Margaret would enter. She insists she’ll wait outside until she can talk with you.” Simon’s face broke out in a wide grin. “I don’t think she helped herself by reminding Alex that any decisions are yours to take anyway, so why waste breath telling Alex what she will then have to repeat to you?”

“Nay,” Matthew said, smiling faintly. “I reckon Alex didn’t like that.”

The two women turned towards them when they entered the yard. Of similar height and colouring, with dark, well-defined brows, high cheekbones and shapely necks, at a distance they could be taken for sisters. But where Margaret was all willowy grace, Alex was rounder of breasts and hips – assets presently accentuated by her very trim waist. She must have tightened the stays a notch or two before going out to receive their visitors. He studied his wife; silent, arms crossed over her chest and dark blue eyes never leaving Margaret or the half-grown lad beside her, Alex looked icily impressive – and displeased. With an inward sigh Matthew went over to greet his guests.

Alex watched Matthew come towards them, long legs striding at such speed that Simon was jogging to keep up. She gave her husband a thoughtful look; yet another morning waking to an empty bed and she had a pretty good idea of what he’d been doing. It was a constant source of contention between them, his insistence that he had to help his brethren, her loud protests that it might come at too high a price. Bloody stubborn man! She gnawed at her lip and frowned.

Having Margaret show up with Ian in tow hadn’t exactly improved her mood, nor did the fact that Margaret, as always, looked gorgeous. No practical skirts in brown for Margaret, oh no; dear Margaret sported a gown in a vibrant blue that complemented her eyes, her neckline was adorned by Brussels lace and on her head she wore a rakish hat of the same hue as her dress, with glistening, black hair falling in arranged ringlets well down her back. Long riding gloves in soft red leather completed the outfit, although on a day as hot as this Alex suspected they were quite uncomfortable to wear.

“Mama?” Mark tugged at her skirts. “Who’s that?”

Alex smiled and brushed his hair back from his brow. Nearly six, Mark was normally his father’s shadow, but the tension in the air had made him gravitate towards his mother, with his two siblings in tow.

“That’s your cousin, Ian.”

She was convinced Mark had forgotten the events surrounding the last time he’d seen his cousin nearly two years ago, but from the wary look in Ian’s eyes she could see that he had not – and nor had any of the adults presently in the yard. Not that she blamed them; two grown men, brothers, fighting with deadly intent until their respective wives managed to step between.

“He’s my son,” Matthew had said on that occasion, pointing at the then nine year old Ian. “My son, and you know it, Luke Graham.”

Alex threw a quick look in the direction of Ian; still a startling copy not only of Matthew but also of Mark – same dark hair highlighted by chestnut strands, same hazel eyes fringed by thick, dark lashes. The resemblance as such was not all that much of an issue, given that Luke and Matthew were brothers – or it wouldn’t have been if it hadn’t been for Matthew’s angry outburst. Why have you brought him back, Alex thought, throwing eyebolts at Margaret. Why couldn’t you stay well away from me and mine?

“I have nowhere else to go.” Margaret kept round, imploring eyes on Matthew as she spoke.

Smart move, Alex fumed, because for some inexplicable reason Matthew had a soft spot the size of an elephant when it came to his ex-wife. Totally incomprehensible, given how the woman had behaved – married to the one brother while betraying him with the other.

“And I had to get away. People are dying like flies and I hope you’ll allow me the use of the wee cottage yet again.”

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