Chapter 16
The study had begun to smell of damp wool, sealing wax, and stale frustration.
Frederick stood at the edge of his desk with one hand braced against its scarred surface, listening as the guard before him finished his report.
Lennox had taken up position near the hearth, though he had not relaxed into it.
He never did when the matter at hand involved uncertainty, borders, or women vanishing from Highland roads.
The guard was young enough to still carry some stiffness in the shoulders when reporting to his laird, but old enough to have learned the value of precision.
Mud marked the hem of his cloak and dried in a pale streak along one boot.
He had come in hard from the north and had not paused long enough even to fully warm himself.
“There is nay mistake in it, me Laird,” he said. “Another woman is gone. This one from Cairn.”
Frederick’s expression did not change, though his breath caught painfully all the same.
Cairn sat near the northern perimeter, small and unremarkable at first glance.
A village of shepherds, traders, and families who had lived long enough in one place to think themselves beyond notice.
It was not the sort of place that should have drawn attention from men who hunted with coin in mind rather than hunger.
“How long since she vanished?” Frederick asked.
“Two days, perhaps three,” the guard replied. “The husband said she went out just before dusk to fetch one of the goats that had slipped a fence. She did nae return.”
“Nay signs of struggle?”
“Nay.”
That alone told its own story now.
A missing woman with no disturbance, no blood, and no cry heard in time was no longer coincidence. Not after the first. Not after the attack in the wood. Not after the runner who had bled across Frederick’s land only to vanish near another clan’s edge.
“The hounds?” Frederick asked.
The guard nodded at once. “They took the scent from the edge of the goat track and held it well for most of the morning. The trail crossed the ridge path and went east.”
Lennox shifted his weight. “East, where?”
The guard glanced briefly toward him, then back to Frederick. “Into the O’Douglas clan’s land, or near enough to it that none of the men wished to press forward without your word. About a day away if a man rides with purpose.”
Frederick was silent for a long beat.
A day away. Nae an accident, then.
The pattern sharpened, not into certainty, but into shape, and he immediately wished that his brother-in-law were there. He had a run-in with O’Douglas about a year ago, and he would certainly not stray from another opportunity to bury them.
I will send word to him about this.
The guard stood waiting, his breathing steady but his attention taut.
He knew, as any man with eyes would know, that each new report tightened something inside the keep.
A laird could endure one unexplained loss and call it misfortune if he was a fool.
Two and a trail crossing borders was something else entirely.
Frederick inclined his head once. “Ye did rightly.”
Relief flickered across the man’s face, though he kept his posture firm.
“See that the hounds are rested and fed,” Frederick continued. “Then have the riders who went north give their statements before nightfall. I want every detail set down while it is fresh.”
“Aye, me Laird.”
Frederick’s gaze sharpened slightly. “And send word to the watch at Cairn that nay woman goes anywhere alone after dark. I do nae care if it offends half the village. They will obey.”
“They will,” the guard said.
Frederick nodded once more. “Go.”
The man bowed his head and withdrew, closing the door behind him with more care than force.
For a moment, the study fell quiet again, save for the muted crackle from the hearth and the faint rattle of the window latch in the wind. Frederick remained where he was until the guard’s steps had fully faded from the corridor.
Then he exhaled through his nose and moved toward the map table.
Lennox was already there, waiting.
The large parchment lay open across the wood, held flat by a dagger, a stone weight, and the corner of a ledger Frederick had no interest in now.
Clan lines carved the Highlands into shapes men pretended were stable.
Villages marked in ink sat like promises that land could be kept orderly if enough names were attached to it.
Frederick planted both palms against the table and looked down.
“Cairn,” Lennox said, already tracing the northern route with one finger. “Then east.”
“Aye.”
Lennox followed the line farther, toward the neighboring territory a day’s ride from the village. “That gives us the second trail crossing into land that is nae ours.”
“It gives us a report,” Frederick corrected. “Nae proof.”
Lennox’s mouth shifted faintly. “Ye grow tedious when ye are cautious.”
“And ye grow reckless when ye think ye smell certainty.”
“Because sometimes certainty smells exactly like this.”
Frederick ignored that. His attention had settled on the cluster of villages running along the northern and eastern lines.
One woman taken from the village near Erin’s cottage.
One attempt on Iona and Jamie. Now another woman missing from Cairn.
The spaces between the incidents were no longer wide enough to dismiss.
“What if they are nae taking these women at random?” Lennox said.
Frederick lifted his head slightly. “Go on.”
“What if the women are nae the target, but the method,” Lennox replied. “They take one there, search here, send men elsewhere. Enough confusion and fear, and nay one sees the pattern until it has teeth.”
Frederick considered it.
Fear as cover. Movement mistaken for chaos. A net cast wide enough that no single village understood itself to be part of something larger.
“What if the attack in the wood was separate?” Frederick countered. “Men paid only for a description, nae for the women missing elsewhere.”
Lennox frowned at the map. “Then someone is hiring fools at the same time women vanish over two borders, and we are meant to believe those things have nothing to do with one another.”
“It would nae be the first time men were both cruel and disorganized.”
“Aye,” Lennox said. “But it feels too clean now.”
Frederick shifted one of the weights and leaned farther over the parchment. “What if the clan whose land the trails entered knows nothing?”
“Then their roads are being used.”
“And if they do ken something.”
“Then they are either involved,” Lennox said, “or they are looking the other way because it suits them.”
Frederick’s jaw worked. A formal visit, then.
That was where the thinking led, though neither man had spoken it outright yet. To ride there openly would be to acknowledge suspicion. To do it without preparation would invite denial and leave them no stronger than before. Yet to remain still while another woman vanished would be worse.
He pointed to the marked border route. “What if we go as though it is only a courtesy between lairds?”
Lennox snorted softly. “Nay laird believes in courtesy when armed men arrive with questions.”
“What if I bring few men?”
“Then ye look weak.”
“What if I bring too many?”
“Then ye look as though ye are prepared to take insult where none was offered.”
Frederick straightened slightly. “There is nay configuration that pleases everyone.”
“There rarely is.”
The fire popped behind them. Neither man moved.
Lennox tapped the map once more, nearer the eastern line. “If we visit, we need more first. Nae proof, perhaps, but enough that a denial sounds thin.”
Frederick gave a short nod. “Aye.”
“And if another woman vanishes before we get it?”
Frederick’s gaze hardened. “Then I stop asking what keeps peace and begin asking what prevents the next burial.”
Lennox said nothing to that. He did not need to.
The room tightened around the thought.
There was a line in these matters, always. A point beyond which patience ceased to be prudence and became failure by another name. Frederick had no intention of crossing it too late.
He reached for the charcoal beside the map and marked Cairn with a darkened circle, then another near the village where the first woman had gone missing. A third mark followed at the eastern boundary where the earlier trail had died.
The pattern looked worse now that it had shape.
“What if they are testing response?” Lennox said quietly.
Frederick’s hand stilled above the table.
The thought had already occurred to him, though he disliked hearing it spoken aloud. “Then they have learned enough.”
Lennox looked up.
“So we make the visit,” he said.
Frederick did not answer immediately.
His eyes stayed on the map, on the inked lines that meant less than men liked to think when danger chose its own path.
He was still weighing approach, numbers, timing, insult, necessity, and what he would need from the next set of reports when the study door flew open hard enough to strike the wall with a crack.
Both men turned at once.
Iona stood in the doorway, breath fast, eyes blazing, and all the contained force of her fury arrived in the room before a single word left her mouth.
Lennox did not delay.
The door had barely settled against the stone when his man’s absence made itself known.
Frederick remained where he stood for a moment, his attention fixed entirely on Iona as the echo of her entrance faded into the quiet. The room seemed smaller now, the air sharpened by the force she had carried in with her.
He had seen her angry before.
This was different.
There was no deflection in it. Whatever had driven her here stood close to the surface, raw and unguarded.
“Iona,” he said, his voice steady, though his gaze searched her face with more intent than he usually allowed. “What is wrong?”
She did not answer at once.