Darkness swallowed the barn.
Outside, a horse snorted.
Clara’s breathing became audible.
Elias crossed to her and crouched.
“Three men,” he whispered.
“You said half a day.”
“I was wrong.”
“Valcourt’s?”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“One way to find out.”
He removed his revolver.
Clara stared at the weapon.
“No shooting.”
“If possible.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
He looked toward the loft.
“There’s a ladder.”
“It’s broken.”
“Can you climb?”
“With him?”
“Yes.”
She followed his gaze.
“I can try.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Clara looked at Luc, then back at him.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
She started toward the ladder.
Then Elias caught her wrist.
She turned sharply.
He released her immediately.
“If I tell you to run, don’t wait.”
“What about you?”
“You don’t know me.”
“You said that already.”
“Then remember it.”
A fist struck the barn door.
“Vane?”
Elias closed his eyes briefly.
He knew the voice.
Gabriel Marchand.
Valcourt’s estate captain.
Not a tracker.
Something worse.
A loyal man.
“Elias?”
Another knock.
“We know you’re inside.”
Elias looked at Clara.
Her face had gone pale.
He motioned toward the loft.
She climbed.
The old ladder creaked beneath her.
Luc began to whimper.
Clara pressed him close.
Elias stepped toward the centre of the barn.
Marchand called again.
“Open the door.”
Elias opened it.
Three riders stood outside.
Marchand in front.
Tall, black-bearded, military posture.
Two estate men behind him.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Elias asked.
Marchand looked past him.
“You found her.”
“Found a barn.”
“Horse tracks lead here.”
“So do mine.”
Marchand smiled slightly.
“You’ve never liked people looking over your shoulder.”
“I don’t.”
“Valcourt doesn’t like wasting money.”
“Then he hired the wrong men to follow me.”
One of the riders shifted.
Marchand ignored the insult.
“Where is she?”
“Gone.”
“Where?”
“River.”
“Which river?”
“The Penfao.”
Marchand looked toward the barn.
“Mind if I check?”
“Yes.”
That changed the air.
Marchand’s smile disappeared.
“You were paid to return the child.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you making this difficult?”
Elias shrugged.
“Because I was almost finished.”
“Finished?”
“She crossed the ice.”
Marchand stared.
“And?”
“It broke.”
Above them, the barn remained silent.
Too silent.
Elias could feel Clara listening.
“The woman?”
“Gone.”
“The child?”
Elias reached slowly inside his coat.
Marchand’s hand moved toward his weapon.
“Easy.”
Elias pulled out the folded contract.
Then, from beneath it, the embroidered linen he had cut from the outer edge of Luc’s wrapping while Clara climbed.
He had done it without asking.
That might cost him later.
If later existed.
He held out the cloth.
The silver stag caught moonlight.
Marchand stared at it.
One of the riders swore.
“Where did you get that?”
“From the ice.”
Marchand took it.
His face changed.
Not grief.
Not disappointment.
Fear.
Tiny.
But Elias saw it.
“Did you recover the body?”
“No.”
“You’re certain the child went under?”
“I watched it happen.”
Marchand looked at him.
“You watched?”
“Yes.”
“And did nothing?”
Elias’s expression remained flat.
“It was ice water in January.”
Marchand continued staring.
Then he looked toward the barn.
“Search it.”
Elias drew his revolver.
No one moved.
The moment widened.
Marchand looked at the gun.
Then at Elias.
“That would be a mistake.”
“Yes.”
“Move.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Elias tilted his head.
“If I’m lying, you already know why.”
Marchand’s jaw tightened.
“If you’re telling the truth?”
“Then you’re wasting my time.”
The two men behind Marchand shifted uneasily.
They were hired men.
Not martyrs.
Marchand knew it.
So did Elias.
“You’ve changed,” Marchand said.
“No.”
“You used to understand arrangements.”
“I still do.”
“Then understand this one. Valcourt wants the child.”
“The child is dead.”
“Valcourt will want proof.”
“You’re holding it.”
Marchand glanced at the linen.
For one second, Elias thought it might work.
Then Marchand looked at the barn again.
And smiled.
“The woman wore red.”
Elias said nothing.
Marchand pointed toward the hay near the entrance.
A small thread of red cloth had caught on a nail.
Damn.
Marchand stepped forward.
Elias lifted the revolver.
Above them, a floorboard creaked.
Everyone heard it.
Marchand looked up.
“Clara?”
Elias fired.
Not at Marchand.
At the lantern hanging from the outside beam.
Glass exploded.
Oil flared across the snow.
The horses reared.
One rider fell.
Marchand shouted.
Elias slammed the barn door and dropped the wooden bar into place.
“Run!”
Clara descended from the loft almost falling.
“There’s another door,” Elias said.
“Where?”
“Back wall.”
They moved through darkness.
Men struck the main entrance.
Wood cracked.
Clara clutched Luc beneath Elias’s coat.
Elias kicked away a rotten panel near the rear stall.
Cold air poured in.
A narrow service door appeared behind stacked timber.
He forced it open.
Snow.
Darkness.
Freedom for perhaps thirty seconds.
“Go east.”
“You said south.”
“I lied.”
“To me?”
“To everyone.”
Behind them, the main door splintered.
