Page 32 of The Highlander’s Hunted Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #2)

32

“ A t least ye caught that stag,” Flynn commented, walking alongside Hector through the silent hallways of the castle.

Anyone with any sense had gone to bed a long time ago. And though Hector was on his way to do the same, he doubted he would sleep a wink. Until the devil from the woods had been found, his entire being would remain restless.

“Watch out for anythin’ strange tonight,” he said gruffly to his recently appointed man-at-arms. That very evening, in fact. “When everyone is asleep in the barracks, check the boots of every man. Any sign of fresh mud, ye let me ken.”

Flynn nodded. “Ye ken it was probably just a Peepin’ Tom, aye?”

“It doesnae matter,” Hector hissed, his fatigue and fury shortening the fuse of his temper. “Nay man of merit should be starin’ at a lass without her knowledge, and I dinnae want men of nay merit in me ranks.”

He’d informed his man-at-arms of the situation upon his return to the castle, needing someone to aid him in his search. Flynn might be odd at times, and irritating more often, but he had keen eyes and a sharp instinct for tracking. If anyone could be trusted to sniff out the Peeping Tom, it was him.

“Be discreet,” Hector added, coming to a halt outside his chamber door.

Flynn bowed his head. “Aye, M’Laird.” He hesitated. “Would ye like me to pay Miss Blake a visit? The lanterns were still burnin’ in her window. She must be sewin’ still.”

It should be me…

Hector’s jaw clenched, his thoughts torn. He wanted to see her again, to let her know that he was doing everything within his power to seek out the devil who had violated her, but he also didn’t want to go to her without the culprit in tow.

“Aye, see if there’s anythin’ she wants,” he replied, puffing out a sigh. “She’ll need somethin’ to eat, somethin’ to drink, and a firm suggestion that she might go to bed. I dinnae want her killin’ herself over a dress.”

Flynn nodded. “At once, M’Laird.” He paused. “And thank ye for makin’ me yer man-at-arms. I willnae disappoint ye. If I’m the scout I claim to be, I’ll have that lurkin’ man found by dawn.”

Wearily, Hector turned to his bedchamber door and opened it wide… only for his blood to freeze in his veins as he laid eyes on a bizarre and unsettling scene.

Rhona was sitting at his desk, humming to herself. She glanced coquettishly over her shoulder at him, an innocent smile on her not-so-innocent face.

“What are ye doin’ in me chambers?” Hector snarled. “Who let ye in here?”

She twisted around in the chair. “I came to see if there was anythin’ ye wanted, to ease yer nerves before the weddin’.”

“If I wanted anythin’, I’d have asked for it,” he shot back, glaring at the unscrupulous woman.

She had propositioned him on more occasions than he cared to count, and he had never given in to her invitations. He had no intention of beginning now, not when the only woman on his mind was down the hallway, still toiling over her wedding gown at three o’clock in the morning.

“A late-night treat, M’Laird?” Flynn peered over Hector’s shoulder, woefully misjudging the situation.

“A late-night surprise,” Hector replied in a dark voice. “Nae the pleasant kind.”

Rhona got to her feet, sauntering toward the two men. “I’m only here to tend to yer worries, M’Laird,” she purred. “Who wouldnae be nervous about a weddin’ that’s probably nae goin’ to happen?”

“What?” Hector seethed.

The maid fluttered her lashes at him, resting an unwelcome hand on his chest. “Ye dinnae ken?”

“Speak, lass, or I swear on me sister’s grave that I’ll string ye up until it spills out of ye,” Hector threatened, swatting her hand off him like the irksome wasp that it was.

Rhona had the decency to look a little afraid, backing up a step. “Well, M’Laird, yer bride is missin’. And, as far as I’m aware, there cannae be a weddin’ without a bride.”

“Missin’?” Hector closed the gap between them, drawing his sword. “What do ye mean, she’s missin’?”

He rested the flat of the blade against the maid’s shoulder, the sharp edge just kissing her neck, letting her know that one sideways swipe would ensure she never flirted again.

“Check what the lass said,” he growled at Flynn, who duly sprinted off down the hallway. “Where is she, Rhona?”

Rhona put up her hands, no longer so confident. The color had drained from her face, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Perhaps she hadn’t expected him to care. Perhaps she’d thought he might be glad of it.

“What are ye aimin’ that at me for?” she rasped, glancing down at the blade. “ She’s the one who went runnin’ off. I tried to stop her. Indeed, ye should be thankin’ me, nae… threatenin’ me.”

A muscle twitched in Hector’s jaw. “She wouldnae have run off without her siblings. So, I’ll ask ye again—and this will be the last time I ask with any mercy—where is she?”

“I… dinnae ken,” the maid croaked.

“Clearly, ye ken somethin’,” he pressed, adding a little more pressure to the side of her neck. “If she’s gone, there’s a reason. If she’s run, somethin’ made her.”

Rhona sniffed. “Aye, probably ye.”

“She’s gone, M’Laird!” Flynn came hurrying back, as pale as the maid. “Her lanterns are still burnin’, and her bed is unmade like she’d just gotten out of it, like she meant to rest awhile and return to her sewin’. There was a needle stickin’ out of the dress—a seam halfway finished.”

Hector split his attention between the two. “Any sign of a disturbance? Any sign of struggle?”

His mind darted back to the woods and the fugitive who had spied on Katie at the pool. The beast who had circled back to the castle might have decided to continue the game.

I should’ve posted guards outside her door.

A sharp pain caught him in the chest, old wounds reopening in a great tear. He had failed her. He hadn’t done the simplest thing because he’d thought that he could resolve it alone. And now she was gone, and he didn’t know where or with whom.

“Nay, M’Laird,” Flynn replied. “There was a tray of food and some sort of medicinal brew. Most of it was gone.”

Hector’s throat tightened. “Poison?”

“I couldnae say,” Flynn answered.

“It was tea, for heaven’s sake,” Rhona muttered. “I thought she’d want some refreshments while she toiled away at that awful gown. Ye’re lucky ye likely willnae have to see her in it. It’s nae what a Lady ought to wear. It’s nae even close to me own weddin’ gown.”

Hector returned his fierce gaze to the wretched woman. “Who instructed ye to bring her refreshments?”

“Nay one. I thought she’d appreciate it, that is all. It’s nae as if anyone has bothered to ask her how she’s feelin’,” Rhona scoffed.

A second pang hit Hector in the chest. Had Katie wanted him to come and speak to her? Had she not wanted space at all? He’d thought he was doing the right thing by her, but now he wasn’t so sure. In truth, he’d delegated the duty of ensuring her welfare to his grandmother, to her siblings—to everyone but himself.

Has she truly fled?

“Did ye have some part in this? Did ye say somethin’ to her?” Hector pressed, praying he was wrong—that some shadowy thief hadn’t come and stolen his bride away because he had been too hotheaded to post guards at her door. “Did ye see anyone who shouldnae be here wanderin’ these halls?”

Rhona smiled. “I saw her.” She tilted her chin up in defiance. “I lied before—I didnae try to stop her. I let her go, and, my goodness, was it a kindness. Ye and yer clan would’ve eaten her alive.”

“Where is she, Rhona?” Hector hissed.

But the maid shook her head, her eyes dark in a way that made him doubt the truth of her words. As if there was more to it that she wasn’t saying, and wouldn’t say.

“Perhaps a night in me dungeons will loosen yer tongue,” Hector snarled. “And an interrogation come mornin’, if me bride hasnae been found.”

He gestured to Flynn, who marched forward with a look on his face that Hector hadn’t seen since before the war ended—ruthless determination, the expression of a man more cold-blooded than he let on.

As Flynn made to grab Rhona, he said, “Let me deal with this ingrate, M’Laird, then we’ll find her. Judgin’ by the length of the wicks left in the lanterns, she cannae have gone far.”

As much as Hector hadn’t wanted a new man-at-arms, he was beginning to think he’d made the right choice by giving Flynn the position. The renowned scout would help to retrieve Katie, no matter how long it took.

Where have ye gone, lass?

“I’ll speak with the guard,” Hector replied, turning on his heel. “If they havenae seen her, I’ll meet ye at the gate to the woods.”

Although there was no sign of a struggle, and Rhona had insisted that Katie had fled of her own volition, Hector still couldn’t shake the feeling that it had something to do with the Peeping Tom. The shadowy blur that she had seen, like the omen he had seen in his nightmare.

As he stormed off, he wondered if he had misunderstood that dream altogether. He’d assumed he was supposed to distance himself from Katie, or else she’d meet the same fate as his sister. But what if it had been a warning for him not to make the same mistake twice?

Rather than distance himself, what if he was supposed to stay at Katie’s side, keeping her close?

To stop history from repeatin’ itself… Och, Katie, what have I done?