“I shall visit the stable and see if she took a mount.” He hurried outside, checked with the groom to see if any horses were missing, and fought an urge to punch something when the man shook his head no. What could that mean?
He spotted Merrylad in one of the stalls, a blanket wrapped about him. “What is wrong with the dog?”
“Nasty wound to the head. Found him out back, I did, this morning. Couldn’t hardly walk straight, poor thing, and had a bit of bleeding to the nose.”
Out back. Felton made his way there and surveyed the area, looking for anything amiss, half expecting to find her sitting with her bare feet in the grass and her hair draped over her shoulders.
But she wasn’t. His pulse hastened. Dread needled through him as he paced back and forth along the back of the stables until—
Something caught his eye. Something bronze in the dewy grass.
He picked it up, clenched it in his hand, stifled back a groan when he spotted large boot prints. Dodie was right. She was gone.
And she hadn’t run away.
She’d been taken.
Somewhere next to her feet, a rat scurried by and chattered. She clamped her hands over her mouth to keep back a noise. She couldn’t scream. She should have before at the stables. Maybe that would have made a difference.
But not now, not if she wanted to stay alive.
She wasn’t certain she wanted to.
Savior, help me.The fear cramped through her, as suffocating as the revolting blanket.Help him not to hurt me. Please. Please, God.
He must have been her beast. Strange, that Mr. Northwood’s voice had jarred her memory while this man’s face brought back nothing.
Except the terror.
Was he the one who had pushed her mother from the window? Was that why he’d hunted her down? Why he’d wanted, all this time, to kill her?
And her arms. He’d stared at them, stroked them, looked for scars as if they ought to be there. As if the claws had been real. As if the beast really had ripped through her skin and made her bleed.
I don’t want to remember.She shook and curled tighter between the wall and the kegs.I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to know.
Nothing mattered anymore. She had no one. She had nothing. Was there anyone in the world who would come looking for her? Would Lord Gillingham? Would Felton?
Even if they did, they wouldn’t find her.
The beast, like everything else, would see to that.
“Where is he?”
The heavy, balding man from behind the counter lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t keep track of every person wot walks in here.”
In one swift movement, Felton leaned over the counter and seized the man’s sweaty shirt. “I said where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Another shake. “So help me I shall—”
“All right, all right!” The man squirmed, and his flabby jowls jiggled. “He was down here little over an hour ago. Went back up to his room again, he did.”
“Where is that?”
“Upstairs. First door in the hall.”
Felton released the proprietor and ignored the curious glances from the Jester’s Sunlight regulars. He took the stairs two at a time, turned into a hallway, and banged on the flimsy wooden door. “Swabian! This is Northwood. Open up.”
