The small but distinct creak of the windowsill to the left of her bed alerted Phoebe that someone had entered her room. Only a few minutes earlier, the clock had softly gonged once. So, the intruder had had chosen climbing the trellis leading to the portico, instead of risking the lighted hallways. Choices a practiced thief would make.
Through slitted eyes, Phoebe watched him move stealthily from the window to the armoire. He inched open the door and rifled through her cloak and gown. She had removed her reticule and stuffed it beneath the mattress, her father’s letter intact. Had Kiernan read the letter, he would have realized his error in mistaking her for Hester. If only she could show him the letter. But the one piece of evidence that could free her was the one thing she couldn’t hazard revealing for fear of incriminating her father.
The intruder cursed softly. Phoebe tensed. He abruptly turned as though to exit the way he had come, but paused and gazed at her. Moonbeams shone through the window in front of him, but he remained in the shadows. She resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut. He couldn't possibly discern the fact her eyes were cracked open. He lingered, and Phoebe realized he struggled with some inner decision. Could it be the same indecision she had sensed in Alan Hay that afternoon? Was this Alan Hay, or had he sent one of his men to do the robbing?
He hurried back to the window and climbed back onto the roof. Phoebe waited until the count of three before throwing back the covers that hid her fully clothed body. She sat up. No dizziness or pain. Just as Dr. Connor had predicted, today was a turning point in her recovery. She hurried to the window. Peeking outside, she spied the man on the edge of the roof. He turned and fitted a boot into a trellis rung and quickly disappeared from view. Phoebe thrust her hand forward, intending to shove the curtains aside, only to have her fingers catch in the intricate weave of the Nottingham lace.
“By heavens,” she muttered.
She disentangled her fingers and yanked aside the curtain. She grasped her skirts, but hesitated. Climbing through the window was no difficult task, but climbing from the roof to the ground might prove too much despite her improvement. She scanned the lane between the inn and the stables, but the intruder didn't appear as expected.
Phoebe hurried to the door and, a moment later, reached the hallway’s end and crept down the stairs. At the bottom, she paused and listened to the silence for a moment, then headed for the kitchen door. Once outside, she sidled alongside the building to the corner. The lane between the inn and the stables stood empty. She hurried to the stables, around the building, and located a stall door. Phoebe eased open the bolt on the upper half of the Dutch door. When no sound came from within the stall, she opened the door and reached inside for the bolt that locked the lower half. The bolt held firm. She pressed harder, with no better luck.
Phoebe grasped her skirts and hoisted herself up and over the door into the hay-littered stall, then eased the door shut. She inched forward until her outstretched hand contacted the far wall and felt her way to the stall door leading into the main part of the stable. The metal of the bolt was cool beneath her fingers and she held her breath while easing it free. A tiny creak of hinges sounded behind her. Phoebe jerked her head around in time to see the upper door she had entered through opening. Her heart thudded. The door opened more and a large figure became visible in the doorway.
“Heddy,” came a harsh whisper.
Despite recognizing Kiernan MacGregor’s voice, Phoebe knew an instant of confusion.
“Come here,” he commanded.
Before she could respond, a door creaked and muffled voices broke the silence within the stables. Kiernan muttered something incoherent and she startled when he hoisted himself over the door and started toward her.
Upon reaching her, he grasped her arm and yanked her to him as he whispered, “What in blazes are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same,” she retorted.
“No, you could not.”
She started to reply, but the voices grew louder.
“Rest assured we will discuss this later,” he said.
“Nothing,” a low voice was saying. “I told ye they were too poor.”
“Did you search the fine gentleman’s room?” another said.
“Are you daft?”
Phoebe recognized Alan Hay’s voice.
“Hush,” the other said.
“Never mind,” Alan shot back. “No one inside the inn can hear us.”
“You didna’ find anything in the woman’s room?” the other voice asked in such a miserable tone Phoebe felt sorry for the speaker.
Kiernan’s hold on her arm turned painful.
“He was in your room?” Kiernan demanded in a harsh whisper.
Phoebe pressed a finger to his lips to quiet him. His free hand closed over her hand, but he stilled when Hay's companion said, “What are we to do next? We canna’ go on much farther without provisions.”
“We’ve come this far,” Alan replied. “We’ll make do the rest of the way.”
“But we have come only half way,” the other replied, “and ‘tis the easy half. The north is rough land.”