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s of his heaven-sent mount.
He strained to read the names on the paper and his breath caught. Three names remained—only one name was missing. Robert Campbell’s.
Eliza!
Thomas’s blood stilled and threatening tingles stung his back. He glanced behind him again and his breathing charged. Because of him, Eliza and her sister were in grave danger. He had to save them—had to get them out before Donaldson followed through on Martin’s wicked plan. Thomas had to try and right this terrible wrong. But where did the Campbell’s live?
Lord, what have I done?
He jerked his head in front and behind him, straining for any sign that he’d been spotted. Only silence answered. Thomas followed his instinct to continue on this road. He kicked the horse into a faster gait when he remembered Robert’s description of his home.
“It’s a modest estate on a good piece of land. I built it with my own two hands—chose a perfect spot next to three strong maples.”
The words came with staggering clarity—three strong maples.
He kept the horse moving at a steady pace, ready to rein-in at any moment should he happen upon his intended destination. Sweat dripped down his neck and his muscles continued to seize from the pressing anxiety.
How could he convince two women who hardly knew him that they were in danger? With his urgent appeal and haggard appearance he would most likely scare them to death. Only God could make them believe him.
Thomas glanced at the home on his right.
Three maples.
He yanked on the reins and swung off the horse, slapping the animal on the rump to make it race down the road and out of sight. Hopefully the horse’s escape would be enough of a decoy to take the soldiers in the wrong direction.
Thomas raced up the steps and pounded on the door.
Please, Lord. Help us to get out in time.
Eliza woke from her slumber to a loud pounding. Had she been dreaming? She rubbed her eyes and lay back down.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
There it was again.
Sleep vanished from her body, replaced by a powerful alertness.
Who would be here at this hour of the night? Whatever their reason, it must be serious.
Kitty still slumbered undisturbed, so Eliza scooted out of bed and grabbed her gray shawl, pulling it around her shoulders.
Her hands shook as she lit a small candle. The pounding intensified. She walked down the cold stairs in her stocking feet, her heart hammering with furious percussion.
“Who is it?” Her uneven voice betrayed her.
“Miss Campbell, ‘tis Thomas Watson—the man from the press. This is very urgent. I must speak with you.”
Mr. Watson? The man she’d just met earlier today? Her heart jumped to her throat. What could he want?
Eliza hesitated only a second before opening the door. The moment she took in his appearance, a fearful shiver pierced her like a razor-sharp arrow. Sweat dotted his face and his eyebrows were pinched. His cravat lay haphazardly on his chest, untied and spattered with blood. The shoulder of his coat was ripped and several buttons were missing from his waistcoat. Mud stuck to his shoes and stockings.
“What’s happened, Mr. Watson? Are you all right?”
“There’s no time to explain, Miss Campbell. You and your sister are in serious danger. You must leave right now.” He rested one hand on the doorframe, panting as if he’d just run all the way from Fish Street.
Eliza couldn’t move.
Danger? Impossible. What kind of danger?
