Page 21 of Married to the Cruel Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #5)

21

E rsie was sitting cross-legged on the cold floor of the small library, Trouble curled up like a warm stone against her hip as she examined the notes spread out before her. The fire snapped and popped across the room, casting long shadows that reached toward her.

She pored over the parchment again and again, her fingers tracing the inked words as if they might whisper more to her this time. As if she had somehow missed something before this.

The keep was a labyrinth. She knew that better now.

The passageways she’d discovered were narrow and hidden. Clever, little things tucked behind heaths, within wardrobes, beneath staircases. It’d taken her navigating through them all these past few days to really know when to spot them.

“Through the northern cellar,” she muttered to herself, her eye narrowed, “up the servants’ staircase, then behind the tapestry by the nursery.”

It would be far too easy to slip in, if one knew where to look, and the escape was just as simple.

A loose stone in the outer wall had led to a slope that descended straight to the thicket of trees by the loch. No need for an elaborate escape plan when the land itself offered protection.

She chewed on her bottom lip, glancing at Trouble. The kitten stirred, purring in his sleep. She reached across him and grabbed a large, cold bannock from the tray she had brought with her hours ago.

“Who kenned about them, then?” she whispered, before taking a bite, her eyes landing on the inky black sky beyond the window. She sighed.

Another long night, then.

Her mind flashed back to the lad she’d met at the festival, the one who’d spoken quite freely after one too many ales. His brother was a known thief—he bragged about it even—knew every twist and turn, but she didn’t know for sure if he had been talking about the keep or something else.

She drummed her fingers on her knee. “There could be a connection, Trouble.”

But it wasn’t only the lad’s brother. There was also Rona.

The words written on the journal were branded in her mind.

She was frightened, hasty, and desperate. But she was also aware. Much too aware. Then, she vanished, and the Kitarnes are now protecting her . But why?

Ersie did not dare suspect Mrs. Morrigan, not when the woman’s gaze pierced her dreams to the bone like a hawk staring down a hare.

“Was it a warning or a promise or more? Did she foresee such a horrid thing happening to his son, and did she just leave?”

Ersie huffed out a breath and shook her head, finishing off the cold bannock and washing it down with the sweet wine.

“Too many threads and not enough loom to weave them,” she muttered.

And the guards at the southern border. The hissing Malcolm heard—not an animal, but something more… human.

It all niggled at her.

Whoever had taken the bairn hadn’t simply grabbed him and ran. They were careful. Precise.

They knew the keep. They knew the halls.

They knew how to get in and out without being seen.

And had a reason to hide in the mist and whisper across the loch like a phantom.

Ersie shifted, picking up another piece of parchment, her heart pounding steadily in her ears. Every bone in her body told her that the truth was closer than ever. It was crouching in the shadows, waiting for her to see it.

“I need to find ye,” she whispered into the night. “But I only have one more week.”

In the span of a week, she felt as if she hadn’t really gotten anywhere. The thought gnawed at her. At first, this entire venture was a challenge that she believed would be easy to beat. But now? Now, she dreaded the thought of letting Keith down.

She knew that the only way not to do that was to solve the puzzle. And yet she knew that if she achieved that, she would have to leave him.

“God’s blood,” she muttered under her breath. “I dinnae ken what I’m missin’. Is it obvious?”

She had combed the ledgers, traced the passages, and tried to fit together the frayed ends of what little she knew. Yet each thread she tugged at unraveled into more questions.

Only more questions, Keith had said when she asked him what he found when he went in search of Rona.

“Dead-end? Or just dead? Or alive?” she mumbled.

Too many pieces. Too many shadows.

Trouble yawned and flopped onto his back, pawing at the edge of one of her notes.

“If only ye could talk, wee one,” Ersie said, scratching his chin. “Maybe ye would be able to tell me where the answers are hidin’.”

The kitten blinked up at her, wide-eyed and trusting.

She sighed heavily and leaned back on her palms, staring up at the ceiling.

I stayed to help him, to make up for losin’ the bastard who claimed the bairn wasnae his .

“So confident… Ersie Barcley, what are ye even doin’?” she groaned and let her head loll back.

Here she sat, the clever and capable second-in-command of Laird MacGordon and Laird MacAitken, one of the deadliest warriors in the Highlands, surrounded by flimsy paper and consumed with immense doubt.

The worst part was that she could feel eyes on her.

Not just Keith’s—though she was acutely aware of his gaze at all times—but the keep itself seemed to watch and judge her. The walls whispered secrets just beyond her reach. The staff was buzzing about marriage and heirs. The villagers were eager for a wedding they had no idea was naught but a foolish dream.

She was no closer to finding the truth but dangerously close to losing herself. Her confidence faltered.

She needed to let her blade do the talking. Needed to feel the steel penetrate through her doubts, wreck them, and shed them like the useless baggage they were.

Ersie hadn’t realized that amid her dark musings, she had pulled her blade from the scabbard on her thigh, pinched the tip, and flung it expertly at one of the large stacks of tomes along the wall. The thunderous thud of steel against the spine of an ancient book reverberated through her body, shaking her out of her spiraling thoughts.

“Pull yerself together,” she muttered fiercely.

Her mind started over and raced through the pathways again and again when a soft knock sounded at the door. Trouble stretched out and mewed in protest, before soothing himself back to sleep.

“Come in,” Ersie called, dragging her attention back to the present and kicking herself mentally for being slightly excited and hopeful that it was Keith.

It was Isla.

“Pardon.” The maid bobbed a curtsy and then swept into the room, collecting the tray from the table and gathering Ersie’s skirts.

When she came into the library, Ersie shed the dress she had worn for the festival and unfastened part of her corset because all of it was too tight to think clearly in.

“Isla?” she said smoothly.

The maid seemed distracted, and took a moment too long to answer.

“Aye, Me Lady?”

“Come sit.” Ersie patted the space beside her.

Isla approached hesitantly, smoothing her apron. She perched on the edge of a cushion, her hands clasped tightly.

“I wish to ask ye about the night the bairn went missing.”

Isla’s face paled, and she shook her head slowly. “I was new to the keep, Me Lady. I dinnae ken much.”

Ersie softened her voice. “Of course. I’m nae accusin’ ye, lass. Just tell me what ye remember. Even if it’s after. Anything strange?”

Isla bit her lip. “After… well, after, things changed.”

“Changed how?”

“People were frightened. Suspicious. Folk whispered.” Isla twisted her hands. “Rona wasnae the only one who left. The visiting healer who delivered the bairn had left too.”

Ersie shook her head, for she already knew about the circumstances of Mrs. Morrigan’s departure. “And what of the Laird?”

“He and Master Lucas left together,” Isla said. “To search, they said. After—well, after the bairn was washed ashore.”

Ersie nodded. “Did anyone seem… unmoved? As if they didnae mourn?”

Isla frowned. “Everyone grieved. But the Laird…” She hesitated.

Ersie’s heart lurched at the mention of Keith. “What about him?”

“It broke him,” Isla whispered. “Master Lucas was always near. They grew close in mind and spirit. Thought and moved as one.”

Ersie tilted her head. Not only did Isla’s rehearsed tone feel off, but something about what she had just said gave Ersie pause.

That’s… strange. How is she speaking so freely about Keith and Lucas and their relationship?

She filed the observation away.

“Thank ye, Isla,” she said, squeezing the girl’s hand lightly. “Can ye alert me when Master Lucas returns?”

Isla nodded her head, stood up, and curtsied before fleeing the room.

When they last spoke, Isla mentioned that the Airdhollows stood to gain if the Kitarne alliance fell through.

But would they go so far as to nearly incite war across their borders?

Though she was reminded that they did fill the gaps almost immediately, following the death of Mairead and the bairn.

What kind of people punish a grieving laird after losing his wife and heir?

She had never met anyone from Clan Kitarne before, nor did she particularly wish to after all of this had come to light.

“Would it nae be just so despicable if Mairead’s people had a hand in this? Someone she loved and knew dearly?” she whispered into the darkness.

Her mind whirled. There were too many pieces, and not enough of them fit together perfectly. This was much harder than she could have guessed when she had agreed to help.

She leaned back against the stone wall, cradling Trouble against her chest, and closed her eyes just for a moment.

Sleep claimed her swiftly. She dreamed of Keith’s strong arms encircling her once more, pulling her close to his body and deeper into slumber with but one lingering thing on her mind.

The man claimed the bairn wasnae his…