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When the cloud of snow cleared, one hind had disappeared, completely buried, but the other hind’s legs stuck out of a large mound.

“We might as well have this one, too,” said Will, gesturing to the hind whose legs rose above the snow. “Nick, I’ll need you and Nash to help lift the hind out of the snow.” He hadn’t asked Martin and perhaps it was due to Kit’s fearful expression as she clung to her husband.

Calling her dogs to her, Ailie approached Kit. “Are you all right?”

“She’s fine,” Martin answered for her as Kit nodded, “just a bit shaken.”

“Aye, even I have not seen an avalanche before. But I’ve heard of them trapping people beneath dozens of feet of snow. We were lucky.”

Midway down Bridge Street, Robbie darted into the recessed area in front of a door as Hamish turned to look back over his shoulder. The big Scot might not remember him from the tavern but Ferret Eyes would. It would be disastrous for Robbie to be caught now.

His heart pounded in his chest as he stole glances at the retreating men. A minute later, they turned right onto Marketgate.

As soon as they were past the corner, Robbie left his hiding place to follow. Were they leading him on a fool’s errand, aware he followed? Or, was this the way to their lodgings? It occurred to him that they might take a different route each day. Were he guarding Kinloch, that would be his strategy. Keeping to the same routes made finding one’s prey easier.

Robbie peeked around the corner to see the five men disappear through a door halfway down the street. He did not pause as he passed the door but turned his head to note the address: 7 Marketgate.

The building looked to be a boarding house, two stories high. Clean and presentable from all appearances, yet not a place the gentry would stay. However, sitting less than two streets from the harbor, it provided a good place to hide if one waited for a ship.

Satisfied he had what he needed, Robbie walked on, his boots echoing on the stones beneath his feet. From behind him, he heard another set of footfalls where previously there had been none. It could be just another passerby, but his senses immediately went on alert, the spy in him rising to the fore. Was he being followed?

That night at dinner, the only thing anyone wanted to talk about was the avalanche. Nash listened to his fellow hunters recount their fearful exploit in the glen that could have left them buried in snow like the hinds. Hearing them speak of it, a knot formed in his chest as he relived the horror he had experienced when Ailie had failed to move from the path of the thundering snow rushing toward them.

All day, stalking the deer, he had been acutely aware of her presence. As they rode to the moors, she sat her horse like a lady on a jaunt in Hyde Park, her back straight, her head held high. But once they left the horses with the groom and set out across the moors, Ailie became the stealthy hunter, her eyes searching the landscape for prey, her commands controlling her dogs. When the hill began to violently shed its snow, his only thought had been to get her to safety.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he confessed to her on the way back.

Her reply had come with a small smile. “You were right to do so. I was dawdling. Besides, how can I complain when you might have saved my life?”

He shuddered when he remembered how close the snow had come to the very spot on which she’d been standing. Having been concerned for Ailie, he sympathized with the anxious look Emily had given William upon their return. As they were called to dinner, their hostess had not taken her usual seat, but sat adjacent to her husband, reaching out for his hand.

William made light of what had befallen them, telling his wife not to worry, that they were never in danger. But watching Emily, Nash thought she remained unconvinced.

Sharing a look of exasperation with Muriel, sitting across from her, Emily said, “You see how it is, Muriel. William does not understand how I worry whenever he goes hunting, now more than ever.”

Muriel muttered, “In my experience, one cannot call the hunter back from the hill if he has a mind to go, my dear. ’Tis a waste of time.”

“The good news,” William interjected, putting a stop to his wife’s fretting, “is that we shall have venison for dinner tomorrow and on other occasions as well. And tonight we celebrate the huntress among us.” Raising his glass, he said, “To Tara, the only one of us to get off a successful shot all day!”

Nash cast a glance at Tara who, along with Ailie and Kit, had changed back into a lady’s attire for the evening. She appeared quite pleased with herself. “As Nick reminds me, it was a lucky shot. My fellow hunters also had deer in their sights but the hinds failed to cooperate.”

Everyone raised their glass. “To Tara!”

“I’m glad I had time to sketch the beauty of the glen before the avalanche,” said Kit. “Afterward, all was under snow.”

“Do you intend to sketch the avalanche?” asked Emily. “Since I was not there, I’d be interested to see it.”

“I might, though it would be from memory.”

“It’s not something one could easily forget,” suggested Tara. “The closest thing is the crashing of a towering wave on a ship’s deck, threatening to sweep you into the sea.”

Robbie gave Ailie one of his winning smiles. “How did the Mistress of the Setters fare today?”

Jealously rose within Nash when he glimpsed the attraction in his brother’s eyes for the girl Nash had begun to think of as his.

“I enjoyed the moors and the dogs had a good time. The avalanche was terribly exciting, of course.” She gave no indication of how close she had come to getting buried in snow. “How went your game of piquet?”

When they had returned from the hunt, Robbie was in the library with Muriel and Emily, but Nash had no idea when he had returned. They had not had a chance to speak. Robbie’s time in Arbroath must have taken up much of the morning. He wondered how creative Robbie had been in covering his absence from the game.