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L eander kicked his feet and giggled as Birdy struggled to get him dressed for the day. His easy temperament had helped make their long journey more tolerable. Dressed at last, she pressed a kiss to his forehead before picking him up. Looking at her little man, she couldn’t help but feel wistful. He would never remember his time on Ziinzi Island. He’d likely already forgotten the sound of the drums. Perhaps it was for the good as, unlike her, he would have nowhere to feel homesick for.

Even the memory of Luke Who Wanders, his temporary big brother, would be lost to him. Both she and Crispin had shed tears over Luke’s decision to stay on the island, but she knew her aunt and uncle would continue to look after him. Staring Eagle, in his wisdom, considered their adoption of him repayment for the anguish they’d feel from her leaving again. She liked to think they’d see him again someday.

Her boy would be walking before the end of the year. Just because he smiled a lot didn’t mean he wouldn’t be a terror. In her dreams, they would have their own house by then. The house on Wimpole Street was adequate, but, like London itself, it didn’t feel like home. Would anywhere?

Crispin was so close to fulfilling his promise to his sister. Would Miss Lamb remember meeting her? If the child was where he was supposed to be, he and Leander would be raised as cousins. She’d had no cousins, but she wanted her son to be surrounded by them in lieu of a tribe.

Crispin’s father presented a dilemma. She did not trust him. His poor decisions damaged his son, and it took years for Crispin to conquer his feelings of inadequacy. Her husband wanted so badly to believe his father had changed. It was the dream of his childhood that his father would one day welcome him with open arms, without insult or scorn.

Today’s journey might prove to be their most dangerous yet. They now knew the name of the enemy, who always seemed to be one half step behind them. Someone was feeding Simon Turpin information on their whereabouts. Was it Crispin’s father? What would he gain?

The answer was nothing. Crispin’s father had nothing to gain from the death of his daughter and her child. He would not inherit Dunwoody’s fortune or his title. But, if not Crispin’s father, who could it be?

“You know I’m going with you.” Birdy glared at her husband across the breakfast table. They’d left the cradleboard behind, and she had to carry Leander on her hip through the house. The lad was eating soft foods now and feeding him was a messy affair. Still, she refused to be left behind with Crispin’s father. If he wanted her trust, he had to prove he was worthy of it.

“Arch and I will make a quick trip to the Mumford hunting lodge near Charlbury. You and Leander should stay here in Town.”

“Will you be traveling through Oxford by any chance?” Crispin’s father asked as he slipped Leander a bit of lemon cake.

“I suppose so. What’s so special about Oxford?”

“The note from the nurse who has your sister’s baby came from Oxford of all places. I’ll travel with you, and we’ll pick up the lad on the way. We can reunite Mary-Alice with her child.”

“We?” Crispin eyed his father dubiously.

“We. I will help right the wrong I created. It would do my conscience good to help with that endeavor. I’ll bring plenty of my magic powder. Besides,” he said with a hint of sarcasm, “you’ll need another traveling coach since my first one was burned to ash.”

“We’ll all go,” Birdy declared, refusing to be the one left behind. She’d not forgotten what her mother said in her dream so long ago. She had to return the lamb to its flock. If that meant the flock journeyed to the lamb, so be it.

An hour later, with plans made and horses hitched, she was packing a travel bag for her and Leander when Butterworth stopped by her open door.

“Lord Angleswood is much changed. When he asked me back into service, what I saw was a man filled with regret. I believe he wants to do right.”

“The trouble is,” she replied, “He always thought he was right. Crispin appears ready to forgive him. I need more proof.”

“I saved all your things from Mivart’s Hotel. They are packed away in the attic. I’m much obliged for the extra coin you left me. I must say, until my head was abused, I found the intrigue rather exciting. If his lordship will have me, I’ll be volunteering for this adventure as well.”

While Crispin and Arch Davies rode ahead in Arch’s chaise and Butterworth sat up top with their coachman, Birdy and Leander rode in the comfort of Lord Angleswood’s new traveling coach. She didn’t trust the old man yet, but she was willing to give him a chance. A single chance.

With little else to do, Leander scampered around the coach. Much of his young life had been spent traveling, and she yearned for the day they would put down roots. Crispin’s father made some effort at pleasant conversation but clearly did not know what to talk about. When the silence became irritating, she told him of their troubles in Grimsby and their travel with Luke Johnstone.

“Sounds like a brave lad. Why did he not return with you?”

“He stayed with the people of Ziinzi Island. My aunt and uncle wished to adopt him. He decided to stay with them.” She still missed him and wondered if they’d made a mistake in letting him stay. Crooked Foot promised to treat the boy as his own son, and Luke was already looking forward to the fall hunt. He promised to write a letter and post it the next time he journeyed to Sault Saint Marie.

“And my son, how did he fare on your island?”

“He did well,” she said with pride. “He killed a mountain lion with his knife. The people called him Lion Heart . There was much dancing and singing around the fire that night. The drums were beat for him. When Leander was born, they called him Little Lion . I was proud to be his wife.” She smiled at the memory.

“My son killed a lion? Who’d have thought it. Did he have it mounted? Imagine hanging that over the fireplace. I can’t imagine him doing such a thing.”

“We did not have it stuffed. He was, however, given two of the beast’s claws. You’ll have to ask him to show you sometime. That is, if you care to see such things that prove his bravery.”

“What you must think of me,” he said, shaking his head. “I am not the monster he must remember.”

“Even a rock can grow moss,” she said, remembering her advice to Crispin when they married.

“It’s a bit awkward to ask at this point, but how shall I address you?”

“Lady Morgan,” she replied, secretly enjoying the look of contrition on his face. “Crispin and my father call me Birdy . My given name is Nenokaasi . It is the Ojibwe word for hummingbird. If you are our friend, you may call me Birdy. If you are not a friend to us, do not call me at all.”

“Thank you, Birdy,” he said. “My name is Abernathy. My friends call me Nate. Perhaps, one day, you’ll call me Father Morgan. We’re nearly there,” he added after a pause, “I’m as eager as a schoolboy.”

“I hope you’re prepared to ride in a coach with two energetic toddlers.”

“I will enjoy every moment,” he said as the coach shuttered to a stop.

The widow Duckworth was already in her nightclothes when they presented themselves at her doorstep. The maid would have denied them entry if Birdy hadn’t stuck her foot in the door and pleaded their case.

With proper paperwork presented, Mrs. Duckworth’s suspicion eased, and she appeared relieved to be unburdened of her charge. With Lord Dunwoody’s death, she was eager to find a new employer. One with less intrigue.

Waiting for the kettle to boil, she told them of their mad dash from Grimsby. Someone had broken into the house and an old shed was burned to the ground. She’d felt they were being watched and no longer felt safe there. They’d packed the baby into a food hamper to hide him and left the house as if going no farther than local picnic grounds.

With no direction from Dunwoody other than to keep the baby from harm at any cost, she’d retreated to her childhood home of Oxford, where she’d felt safe. Dunwoody had approved the move and continued sending funds until the day he died. Now, when informed that the child’s mother still lived, her surprised reaction appeared false.

“You were the midwife,” Birdy said. “You had to have known the child’s mother lived. How could you not reach out to her? Why did you continue to keep the child?”

“I’m a widow forced to live by my own wiles. It isn’t my business to pry into the lives of lords and ladies. I was paid to perform a service, and I did so. The child was not supposed to have ended up with me. I quickly discovered the wet nurse his lordship had hired was unreliable. She began entertaining men, so I took it upon myself to take charge of the child.”

“What men?” Birdy asked, wondering if she’d found the informant.

“All manner of them, apparently,” Mrs. Duckworth replied with disgust. “I had to wean the boy a bit early. The wet nurse disappeared altogether in Grimsby with no warning. It was unlike her and part of why I left so secretly.”

“I need to see the child,” Crispin demanded.

“Can it not wait until morning? The little terror has just begun sleeping through the night. I’m not a young woman and I value my rest away from him. Come back in the morning.”

“Absolutely not.” Birdy stood and walked a few steps to the stairwell. “If he wakes, I will tend to him with my own little one and leave you to your sleep. Besides, we need a place to stay.”

“What! You cannot expect me to accommodate so many people on such short notice. My maid will revolt.”

“Then give her some of this,” Crispin’s father produced a coin purse and emptied the coins onto a table with a clatter. “For your trouble in sheltering us.”

Mrs. Duckworth squinted as she counted the coin. Her decision was made quickly. “You’ll have to sleep where you fall. We have but one spare bedroom.”

“Dibs,” Arch called out. When everyone turned to stare, he added, “Just kidding. It’s for you and your wife, of course,” he said, addressing Crispin.

“Birdy and I will sleep in the nursery with the children. You can arm-wrestle my father and Butterworth for the room. My money’s on Butterworth.”

“I’ll sleep in the coach if I have to,” his father said. “Show me my grandson first.”

“We must see him.” Not waiting for permission, Birdy marched up the stairs with Leander on her hip, and Crispin and his father followed. The child, a blonde-haired cherub despite the nurse’s description of him as a terror, slept peacefully, innocent of the turmoil surrounding his existence.

“He looks like Mary-Alice,” Crispin’s father whispered.

“Thank God he doesn’t look like Dunwoody,” Crispin remarked. “For a while, I tried to convince myself that this child didn’t exist. Look at him, he’s perfect.”

“His name is Ethan,” Crispin’s father said. “Ethan John Cornelius Turpin.”

“His name is Hammond,” Birdy corrected him. “That is the name your daughter chose for him. After what he did, his father doesn’t deserve to name him.”

“Hammond it is, then.” Crispin’s father reached down into the child’s bed to touch his cheek. “Tomorrow he will meet his mother.”

When the last candle was extinguished, Birdy found it difficult to close her eyes. The memory of the fire in Grimsby kept her on edge. Someone should be keeping watch.

“I know you’re awake,” Crispin whispered. “Butterworth volunteered for guard duty. He’s patrolling outside. Please sleep, my darling. Tomorrow will be a busy day, and we’ll all need to be alert.”

“Remember the note in Mr. Shaw’s pocket last year?” she asked, still unable to rest. “Could it have said Simon Turpin? I think that’s why he was killed. Dunwoody drove us from London, but it was his nephew who forced us to leave for Canada. We are dealing with a very dangerous man.”

“There’s a lot of money at stake,” Crispin explained. “If the child dies, Simon is the only blood heir with any claim to the fortune and the title. It is his only way to return to society.”

Morning came too soon and getting two toddlers ready for a coach journey was a job for two women and a very patient grandfather.

“You are the only parent this child has known,” Birdy said as Mrs. Duckworth packed the last of Hammond’s things. “While this was only a job, surely you’ve developed some affection for the boy.”

“How could I not? When he’s not being a terror, he’s quite delightful. I could not have asked for a better diversion from my own lonely existence. I do not fool myself into thinking he will remember and pine for me. The misadventures of his early years will be lost to him. He will make memories with Lady Dunwoody.”

“I suppose you’re right. While I do not condone Lord Dunwoody’s actions or your part in his schemes, I appreciate you taking good care of the child. What will you do now that your employer is dead, and the child is no longer your responsibility?”

“Lord Dunwoody paid me well. I will find a few rooms to let in a quiet village somewhere and live out my days in peace. Maybe I’ll meet a man and marry again.”

“I wish you the peace you seek.”

While it took longer than they planned, they were finally on their way. Though the distance wasn’t far, the roads were treacherous from rain, and they needed more than one detour to find dry roads upon which to travel. For the most part, the children entertained themselves. Crispin’s father’s neckcloth became a snake for them to chase, a game of tug of war, and when tied into knots, a ball to play catch with.

The Mumford hunting lodge, located between Charlbury and Milton-Under-Wychwood, was difficult to locate and it was nightfall before their soggy group arrived.

At first glance, it appeared abandoned. No flicker of candlelight brightened a window, no smoke rose from the chimney. Birdy looked at the two small bodies sleeping on either side of her and sighed with disappointment. She’d been so hopeful.

“There are footprints in the grass,” Crispin said, as he opened the coach door and stuck his head in. “I think they’re here.”

Exchanging concerned glances with Crispin’s father, they both grabbed a child and made their way to the door as Crispin knocked. They could hear fumbling on the other side, and when it opened a crack, they were confronted with the barrel of a pistol.

“State your business,” a voice demanded.

“Shut up, Callum, It’s me, Crispin Morgan. I’m here with Arch Davies. I’m looking for my sister.”

“Thank God,” Callum replied as he opened the door to let them in. “How many people have you brought with you?”

“The entire flock,” Birdy said as she pushed past him into the house.

“Lady Morgan?” Callum stumbled back. “I didn’t recognize you without your buckskins.” Even in the dim light, Birdy could see the man blush in embarrassment.

“We’ve brought Mary-Alice’s child. If she’s sleeping, wake her.”

“Is that him?” Callum reached for Leander as Birdy stepped away. “Wait,” he said, looking around. “Why are there two babies? Have you brought a decoy baby?”

“Certainly not, you dullard,” Crispin spoke up. “That one is my son. Mary-Alice’s child is over there. Why would we need a decoy?”

“Because someone is trying to kill us.” Callum squinted against the darkness. “What the hell is your father doing here?” He raised the pistol once again.

“Don’t shoot, you idiot.” Crispin stepped in front of his father. “You might hit Mary-Alice’s son.”

“I come in peace,” Crispin’s father said as he passed the child off to Crispin. “To help correct the mess I created. I mean no harm to you or my daughter.”

“We haven’t any shot for it anyway,” Callum said, tossing the gun on the table. “Damn thing is a hundred years old, and the frizzen is missing. I was bluffing.”

He frowned at Lord Angleswood. “Mary-Alice has told me her pleas for your help fell on deaf ears. You granted me permission to court her and then married her off to that monster within days. Why should I believe a word that comes from your mouth?”

“I was a fool. That is the only excuse I will make. I’ve only recently come to appreciate the fleetingness of life and the importance of the decisions we make within that brief time. Before I die, I vow to mend as much as I can. God will judge my efforts.”

“I’m going to get Mary-Alice.” Birdy started up the stairs.

“She’s not up there,” Callum said, pointing to the back of the house. “She sleeps in the sick room off the kitchen. She says she feels safer there.”

“Safe from what, you?” Crispin balled his hands into fists.

“I’ve already told you! Someone is trying to kill us. That’s the only reason we’re here and not safely back in London.”

“Are they here now?” Arch Davies stepped away from the window.

“I have no idea where they are or even who they are.” With shaking hands, Callum lit a brace of candles on the table and took a seat, motioning for the others to join him. “It’s a long story.”

“Summarize,” Crispin stated. “I don’t want to be dead before you’re finished.”

“We’re safe here. The trouble was back in Chipping Norton, where Mary-Alice was hiding. When I heard Dunwoody had died, I asked the Black Widow for a favor. Well, I owed her money and accepted the favor as repayment.”

“Give him to me.” Mary-Alice burst into the room. “Where is my baby?”

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Crispin said as he placed the boy into her arms. Mary-Alice’s cries of happiness echoed through the house, and she sank to her knees, holding her son to her chest.

“I knew he was alive,” she said at last. “My son, my son,” she said, rocking the now crying baby. “My son.”

“Why didn’t you send a message, Callum? I’d have come for you sooner,” Arch Davies asked. “Why didn’t you contact anyone?”

“When I reached Mary-Alice’s cottage, it was dark. I decided to spend the night at the local inn and see her in the morning. I had a pint or two and walked out to use the privy. The next thing I knew, I felt a pain in my shoulder. I turned and tried to fight, but I got hit over the head with something.”

“You never saw your assailant?”

“No. It was still dark when I came to. I didn’t know who to trust, and I knew I had to get to Mary-Alice. I made it to her doorstep before collapsing again. I didn’t realize I’d been stabbed until then.”

As Callum told his story, Birdy noticed Crispin’s father sitting on the floor next to his daughter. He didn’t speak, he just sat there watching her joy. It was a sight she wasn’t certain he deserved to see.

“Mary-Alice tended to my wounds, and we were going to set out for London in the morning,” Callum continued. “Just before dawn, we heard breaking glass and smelled smoke. It was lucky that neither one of us could sleep that night. Lanterns had been smashed against both doors and the downstairs windows. Someone wanted us dead.”

“This sounds familiar,” Crispin said, looking at Birdy. “Why did you come here?”

“It was the nearest safe place I could think of. My wound went putrid, and I developed a fever. Bedridden for two weeks, I was unfit for travel. God’s grace and Mary-Alice’s skill kept me alive. I’m weakened, but with your help, I could make it back to London.”

“We all need sleep,” Crispin said. “We’ll leave tomorrow.”

“I’ll take first watch,” Crispin’s father spoke up. “I’m too excited to sleep anyway.”

“You shouldn’t have come at all,” Mary-Alice said, dismissing her father. “I don’t need you or whatever help you’re now offering. Which is too little too late, by the way.”

“It cannot be too late,” Crispin’s father replied. “As long as I draw breath, it is not too late the change things.”

“What say you?” Mary-Alice asked Crispin. “Do you believe him? He was just as cruel to you as he was to me. Have you forgiven him?”

“Forgiveness is overrated. I’m not certain it’s required. But, yes, I do believe him.”

“I remember you,” Mary-Alice turned to Birdy. “Thank you is too weak of a phrase to convey the gratitude I feel. When we met, I didn’t know how important you’d be in my life. Is my big brother a good husband?”

“The best.” Birdy walked over to stand by her. Both boys were awake and starting to fuss over being held so tightly. She placed Leander on the rug so he might crawl around a bit. Hammond squirmed out of Mary-Alice’s arms to join him on the floor. Even with their age difference, they’d found a way to play, and the air was punctuated with their laughter.

“Do you believe my father? Is he here to help?”

“I think your father has much to atone for. I also think he should be given a chance to do so.” Birdy hoped her optimism wasn’t misconstrued. It was difficult for her to trust the man, knowing what harm he had done to his son. Yet, no one could change if they weren’t allowed to. “I believe he will help.”

“I’m confused,” Callum said at last, rubbing his head. “Is that man your valet?”

“Mr. Butterworth is now a man of all things,” Crispin explained. “If there is trouble, he’s handy to have around.”

“I got your letter. Where did you end up?” Callum asked.

“At a trading post on Ziinzi Island in Upper Canada. Also a long story. I’ll tell you over a pint someday.”