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His laugh was warm and deep and sent delight skimming across my skin. “But my cocklesadorethe attention.”

“As do my lady bits. What is good for the rooster is good for the hen.”

“Then I thank the gods that credible competition in the form of eligible pixies is in short supply. I would not appreciate being relegated too far or too often down the lover line.”

I laughed and kissed him. “Let’s get downstairs before Lugh starts getting antsy.”

“I would rather we go back to bed.”

“So would I, but I’d rather not spend the day with an annoyed brother.”

“Took you long enough,” said brother grumbled when we arrived in the dining room a few minutes later. “How’s the foot? You’re certainly walking better on it.”

“I am.” A lingering ache remained at the point where the claw had entered my foot, but I suspected that had more to do with the tightness of my spare boots. “Did you spend the whole twenty-four hours researching, or did you actually catch some sleep?”

He gave me the look. The one that said “don’t be daft.” “Of course I slept. And before you ask, I did also ring Darby.”

“Good. But those eye baggies are looking pretty fierce, and youdohave a habit of forgetting self-care and then lying about it when you’re nose-first in a computer or some dusty old book, looking for clues.”

He rolled his eyes. “Do you want to hear what I found or not?”

I promptly sat down opposite him. “I’m all ears.”

“No,” Cynwrig said, pulling out the chair next to me and then sitting down. “That would be me.”

Lugh groaned. “Seriously? Can we not make farcical attempts at comedy before coffee has even arrived?”

The waiter obviously heard the mention of coffee, because he hurried over to take our drinks and meal orders.

Once he’d gone, Lugh continued. “Remember those coordinates you found on the back of that photograph? They pinpoint an abandoned village called Pynwffynnon, about twelve miles outside Swansea.”

I frowned. “There’s tons of abandoned villages all around Wales—what makes this one special?”

“The fact I couldn’t findanythingother than the mention of a foot and mouth outbreak in the area just before the date on that photo.”

“Foot and mouth did—and still does—cause untold damage to many communities, so that’s not exactly odd.”

“No, but being unable to find anything else about the place is. It might as well have been erased from history.”

“Maybe it’s just a boring little village in which nothing interesting happens.”

He gave me that look again. My grin widened.

“Or,” Cynwrig said, “the mention of foot and mouth followed by deep ‘radio silence’ might have been a diversionary tactic. Governments back in the day sometimes used a so-called ‘outbreak’ to stop the wider public becoming too curious about what was happening in a particular area.”

Which wouldn’t work these days—not with the proliferation of smartphones—but back then TVs were brand new, expensive, and not something most people could afford, which meant they relied on newspapers and gossip for both their local and wider news. If the government wanted something covered up, it would have been fairly easy to do.

“Which is why,” Lugh said, “I called Mathi and asked if he’d seen any mention of the village while he was doing the date search through IIT’s records.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just call Sgott?” I asked.

“Ifhe was in the office, yes,” Lugh replied. “But he’s not.”

My eyebrows rose. “He’s still up in Scotland? Why?”

“Because they haven’t found a body yet, and he’s waiting for cadaver dogs. He wants to be certain she’s not on the property before he begins a wider search.”

I blinked. “How could she not be on the property? The red knife would have prevented anyone removing her—”