Chapter 28
Everyone in the hall suddenly seemed to hold their breath, then let it out in a thin, ugly ripple.
“Unreliable,” someone near the wine table muttered.
“Like her faither,” another said. “And her braither.”
“Now she has taken the poor lasses,” a third voice added, low and eager.
Alex turned toward the sound. He did not need to see who had spoken. The tone was enough. He let his gaze sweep over them once, slow and cold, and the line of men bent their heads.
“She was here moments ago,” he said to the maid, already moving past MacGee, already tracking the last place he had seen Erica. “Which door?”
“The side door by the gallery,” the maid replied. “I turned to fetch more wine. When I looked again, she was gone. The nurse says the girls left earlier for the anteroom. She thought Her Ladyship went after them.”
MacGee stepped close. “Let me help. I have men outside. If there is danger—”
“Nay,” Alex said without looking at him. He took a step closer and lowered his voice. “If I find out ye are behind this, a wounded arm will be the least of yer worries.”
MacGee’s jaw ticked, but he nodded. “Ye must believe me, I would never do such a thing under yer roof.”
Alex straightened and faced the hall. Chairs scraped back in a nervous stutter, while the smell of spilled ale and hot wax hung heavy. Servants froze mid-step, caught between orders that had not yet been given and fear of breaking a silence that felt like a wall.
“Everybody out,” Alex ordered.
No one moved.
“I willnae repeat meself.” He did not raise his voice. He did not need to. “Out. Now.”
The command filled the hall, and conversation died in throats.
The men gathered their wives, and the mothers took their children by the hands.
The musicians stood with their instruments hugged close like work tools, not toys.
Boots thudded. Skirts brushed stone. A bench tipped and clattered, and no one righted it.
Grandmamma rose under the balcony, cane planted, eyes on Alex. He met her gaze. She nodded, small and grave, and stood.
Lady Bryden stood near the fireplace, scanning faces with a hand pressed hard to her mouth. He caught her eye.
“Ye can go with Grandmamma,” he said. “I will find ye both later.”
She swallowed and nodded, then followed the people leaving through the main doors.
When the last guest crossed the threshold, the echo of the crowd spilled into the passageway and then faded.
The hall felt larger while the fire snapped and settled. Two guards hovered near the side door, uncertain.
Alex pointed to them. “Bar the front doors. Two men on the balcony. Nay one enters, and nay one leaves without permission. Everyone must remain in the courtyard.”
“Aye, me Laird.”
He turned to the maid. “Who spoke to the nurse last?”
“I did,” she said. “She said that Bettie wanted to show Katie the ribbons again. They were in the anteroom near the gallery.”
Alex’s jaw tightened. He didn’t have time to think about the layout of the castle. He couldn’t even think properly about anything except his children and Erica.
He pointed to a runner. “Go to the nursery. Count every child and see if the girls are there. Then to the kitchens. Ask if any messenger came for the lady or the nurse.”
“Aye, me Laird.” The runner sprinted away.
Alex looked at the guard nearest him. “Fetch the nurse. Now.”
The man moved, quick and sure.
MacGee lingered at the edge of the hall, hands empty, shoulders squared like a man bracing for a blow he could not parry.
“MacMillan,” he said, voice low. “I swear on me faither’s name, I didnae send any note to the lass. If someone used me seal, then we have a problem. But I promise ye, I have nothing to do with this.”
“Ye will prove yerself later,” Alex said, eye already on the side door, on the scuff in the rushes where a heel had dragged. Small. That of a child. “For now, ye will hold yer men at the outer wall and keep them visible. Any man who tries to slip in will think twice.”
“Aye,” MacGee said. He bowed once and left.
Alex moved to the side door. He crouched, touched the scuff, then the floor near it. It was only a mark, but it told a small truth. Someone had gone fast.
He rose and looked back at the guards who had edged closer for orders. “Close the shutters of the hall windows,” he instructed. “Light every corridor on this floor. Nay shadows.”
“Aye, me Laird.”
The nurse hurried in, cap askew, eyes wild. “I only l-looked away f-for a moment,” she stuttered. “They were plaiting ribbons. Bettie said she had to fetch the good comb. I told them to stay. I did. I looked, and the door was moving and—”
“Enough.” Alex took her by the elbows, steadying her. “Tell me, where would they go if they disobeyed ye? Think. Nae the passageway. Where?”
She blinked hard and found her breath. “The short stairs behind the anteroom,” she said. “They use it for games when they think I cannae see. It runs to the east passage.”
“The east passage,” Alex repeated.
In his mind, he could see the directions to that part of the castle. It was narrow and cold, built along the wall like a vein. It fed three rooms and the old chapel.
He let the nurse go. “Ye, with me,” he said to the nearest guard. Then he pointed to the other. “Send a man to the north stairs, in case they doubled back.”
“Aye.”
He stepped once more into the center of the hall and lifted his hand. Another runner came at once.
“Find Calum,” he ordered. “Tell him I want a search on every floor. Two men in every passage. Check the chapel, the east passage, and the short stairs behind the anteroom. They are still in the castle.”
“Aye, me Laird.” The runner sprinted for the door.
Alex took the east passage at a run, past the cold windows and the old chapel door. His boots clipped the stone in a steady beat. A guard shouted from the stairs above. Another answered below. Somewhere, a door banged, and a woman cried out and was hushed.
He rounded the corner to the gallery and almost collided with a small body.
Bettie.
She stumbled, and he caught her, his hands closing around her shoulders. Relief hit him so hard it made him sway. He pulled her close for a breath, then drew her back and crouched to her height.
“Where is yer sister?” His voice came out rough.
Bettie blinked up at him, cheeks flushed. “I daenae ken. Erica went to find her.”
“Erica?” The word scraped his throat.
Bettie nodded, quick and earnest. “Aye. And I told her where she was.”
His fingers tightened. “Where is she?”
“With yer friend,” Bettie said, uncertainty tugging at her mouth. “The one who watches the men.”
Friend landed wrong in his gut. It was a small word, and for some reason, something suddenly cracked in his spine.
The passageway tilted and became steady again. He stood, every thought narrowing to a name.
His blood ran cold.
“Do ye ken the direction she went?” he asked.
Bettie nodded.
“Can ye take me there?”
The little girl grabbed his hand, and they took off.
The stables smelled of hay and damp earth. Erica registered it almost as an afterthought. Her mind chased a sound. A sharp intake of breath. A small, choked whimper. She moved down the row of stalls, the hem of her dress catching on stray straw, breath tight in her chest.
She had left the hall to take a breather. Then, she decided to go check on the children after the nurse dragged them out of the hall because it was their bedtime.
Now she was here, looking for the other twin, because the nurse had looked away for a second.
“Katie?” Her voice softened. “Katie, love, answer me.”
Another small sound answered.
She turned the corner and froze. Katie was pressed against the far stall wall. A thick arm banded across her chest, pinning her small hands to her collarbone. Her face was red, and her eyes were wide and shining. Confusion sat larger than fear. Behind her stood Calum.
Erica’s heart sank. It was like seeing the wrong piece of a puzzle.
“Calum.” Her voice cracked, but she steadied it. “What are ye doing?”
He did not shake or even look intimidated by her presence. He turned his head a fraction and studied her like a man checking the sky for rain. “Trying to save ye, me Lady.”
Her breath caught. “Save me?”
“And them,” he added, tipping his chin toward the doorway.
The air whooshed out of her lungs, and she felt her knees wobble. She let her hands hang open at her sides and willed her voice to remain steady.
“Look at me,” she said. “Ye can tell me anything ye like, but do it without hurting the lass.”
Calum frowned, as if she had said the wrong figure at a market stall. “Hurt her?” he asked. “Why would I hurt me own daughter?”
The words hit her like a full hand, and she almost swayed. The stall swam and steadied. She stared at Katie’s small fingers, at the arm across her chest, at the knife.
“Yer… daughter?” The word tasted wrong in her mouth.
Calum sighed in a way that sounded almost kind. “Oh, ye truly have nay idea what is happening, do ye?”
Her thoughts scrambled, hunted for a path, and found none. She kept her hands open and her feet planted, and tried to keep him talking.
“Then tell me. Tell me now. Let the lass breathe.”
Calum eased his hold a hair. Katie drew a thin breath. The knife did not lower.
“I am saving ye,” he said, calm as if he were naming a chore. “From an unhappy marriage.”
Her stomach dropped to her feet.
“I failed the first time,” he said. The arm across Katie’s chest tightened. Her small body jerked with a stifled sound. “I willnae fail again.”
The knife caught the torchlight and flashed.
He turned his face to Erica, patient, almost tender. “I watched ye from the first day,” he said. “I saw how the castle tried to make ye its own. I saw how he tried to make it neat. He cannae marry ye. He will break ye to fit the hole that was left. I willnae allow it.”
“Calum,” Erica said, forcing a breath past the knot in her chest. “Listen to me. Whatever ye think ye are preventing, ye are wrong. Let Katie come to me. We will talk in the yard. We will talk where ye can tell me everything ye want. Where there are more eyes.”
He shook his head once. “Oh, please. Eyes lie. They always have.”
Erica’s mouth felt dry as stone. She lifted her hands higher, her palms bare.
“Ye said Katie is yer daughter. If ye love her, daenae hold her so tight that she cannae breathe. Let her stand behind ye. Let her hold yer coat or something. Just pull the knife away. Ye daenae have to do this. There is still time to lay it down.”
Calum tilted his head. “There is nay time. Nae for me. Nae for him. I gave him the chance to choose right. He chose wrong. I will choose for him.”
The knife lifted a fraction.
Erica understood then with terrible clarity that the danger had never been the man in the cloak at the market. It had never been letters or seals or whatever she had thought was keeping her up at night.
It was personal and intimate. And it had been standing guard all along.