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Chapter One
ON THE RUN
England, Early March 1804 (or a variation thereof)
As the carriage rattled over the frozen ground, Sarah Mortensen, youngest daughter to Baron Hartmore, gazed out the window at the sky streaked with shades of orange and violet. Each branch of every tree had been coated in ice and was glittering in the fading light. The frigid air of winter chilled Sarah to the bone, and she knew that once the sun disappeared for good, it would cool even further. Thankfully, Sarah was tucked away in the carriage, sheltered under a pile of heavy blankets and with a hot brick at her feet. Next to her, her sister Kate was equally bundled up, her arms cradling her newborn daughter Frederica. Frederica’s older sisters, Augusta and Dorothea, sat opposite them, only their little faces and the tips of their fingers peeking out of the cozy nest the Whickertons had made for them before their departure from Whickerton Grove. Only Loki, Sarah’s recently adopted cat, appeared unaffected by the cold weather. He stretched and yawned lazily next to the basket of provisions the Whickertons had provided for their journey, then hopped onto Sarah’s lap. He kneaded her blanket with his little paws and then circled a few times before finally snuggling down and closing his eyes.
“How long?” six-year-old Augusta asked into the stillness of the carriage, her wide blue eyes sparkling with adventure.
Sarah frowned, running a hand over Loki’s fur. “How long? What do you mean?”
“Until we reach the island, of course.” A chiding look came to Augusta’s young face. “Hesaid we’re going to an island.” She jabbed a finger out the window at the shadowed rider. “Is that true?”
Sarah turned her head, her eyes settling upon the tall, broad-shouldered man accompanying the carriage. He and his steed almost seemed to blend into the approaching dark, only their silhouette visible. His dark hair was hidden under a wide-brimmed hat, and his face lay in shadow. Upon occasion he would ride ahead, scouting the road, before returning to the carriage, keeping careful watch. His movements were unhastened by unease or concern, and his calm demeanor soothed Sarah’s tense nerves.
“Yes, it’s true!” Dorothea exclaimed the moment her elder sister ceased speaking. The four-year-old wrinkled her little nose, her bright green eyes shifting from her mother to her aunt as though daring them both to contradict her. “I heard him say it! Honest! It’s true!”
Sarah chuckled and looked at her sister, seeing a warm, almost enchanted smile upon Kate’s face as she gazed at her beloved daughters. “Hetold me so as well,” Sarah assured her two nieces, delighted finally to have the chance to get to know them. “And his name is Keir, Keir MacKinnear. It is his home we’re going to.”
The girls’ eyes widened in awe. Indeed, the island in the far north Keir called home had to seem like a fairytale land to them. Sarah could not say she disagreed. Kate, however, looked far from enchanted by the prospect of their long journey, a shiver shaking her delicate frame and gritting her teeth.Of course, this is difficult for her. If only we could be certain not to be found out!
Sarah briefly closed her eyes, praying that they would reach their destination without delay, without being overtaken on the road by Kate’s enraged husband.
“Then it is true?” Augusta insisted for clarity’s sake. “We’re going to an island?”
Sarah nodded. “We are.”
Little Dorothea frowned. “How will we get there? The carriage has wheels. It can’t swim.”
“With a boat, silly!” Augusta rolled her eyes at her younger sister in a rather overbearing gesture that almost made Sarah laugh out loud. “How else can you get across the water?”
Dorothea continued to frown. “But we don’thavea boat,” she pointed out matter-of-factly.
Two sets of expectant eyes turned to Sarah. “Oh, well… I don’t quite know. However, I’m certain Keir will know what to do when the time comes.”
“He speaks funny,” Dorothea remarked with all the directness of a four-year-old.
Even Kate had to chuckle. “He is not English, dearest,” she told her daughter. “He’s a Scot.”
Again, that scrunched-up expression came to Dorothea’s face. “Then what is he doing in England?”
Kate’s mouth opened… and closed before she looked at Sarah, an almost pleading look in her eyes.
Caught off guard, Sarah stammered a few rather unintelligible words before reminding herself to be simply honest with her nieces and use words that held meaning for them. “Well, he is a friend of the Whickertons, and—”
The girls’ faces lit up. “The fairy!” Dorothea exclaimed, and Augusta nodded vigorously.
“Yes,” Sarah agreed, “the fairy.”
As far as Sarah knew, Harriet—youngest daughter to the Earl of Whickerton—had posed as a fairy as she had sneaked onto the estate where Kate’s husband had hidden away their daughters. She had found the girls and gained their trust by promising to make their most-desired wish come true.
Of course, their most-desired wish had been to be reunited with their mother after months of separation.
“Well,” Sarah continued, choosing her next words most carefully, afraid to frighten her nieces, “while Harriet—the fairy!—went to fetch you, Keir came to fetch your mother.”
“Oh.” The sound left Augusta’s lips in a puff of cold air, the look in her young eyes suddenly far too mature. She looked at her mother and then held out her hand to her. Kate took it, tears brimming in her eyes as she gazed longingly at her child, undoubtedly filled with thankfulness to have Augusta by her side.
“I didn’t thank him,” Dorothea remarked in a somber tone, her wide green eyes staring out the window at the shadowed rider. “I must thank him for bringing Mummy back to us.”
