Jamie only shook his head. “Not to worry, son. I think it did your aunt Mairead a goodly service in the past and I’m certain we’ll find it here in the future at some point.”
“Oliver,” Ewan called, “come be a love and find us a pan we can put the lava cake into. Madame Gies made it especially for you, for some unfathomable reason.”
“He does her washing up,” Peter said wisely.
Oliver had to admit that was generally true, but it always allowed him the chance to drag out his French which should have been better considering it was hardwired into his genes courtesy of his mother. Plus, he wasn’t too proud to admit he liked having someone in his life who felt like a grandmother. Perhaps she would be the same sort of thing for Mairead in time.
He looked over to find his lady wife currently in earnest conversation with Young Ian and left her to it. He imagined, by the look of relief on the lad’s face, that she was absolving him of some unnecessary guilt. He wasn’t about to interrupt that.
He took a deep breath and threw himself into the fray that was too many men in one very small kitchen. If there were a few friendly elbows thrown and a bit of happy cursing trotted out for inspection, he supposed it was nothing more than standard fare. He was fairly certain at some point in Jamie and Young Ian decided to forgo dessert and head for Patrick’s, which he supposed left more for the rest of them.
The smell was, he had to admit, heavenly. He didn’t imagine anyone would ever manage to lure Madame Gies away from her happy place at Cameron Hall, but if he could have found a way, he most certainly would have. It might be worth even a discreet inquiry about her willingness to perhaps provide cookery lessons. Mairead at least might appreciate his efforts.
“Oliver, where’s your wife?”
He looked around Moraig’s wee croft and realized she wasn’t there. He tamped down a ridiculous feeling of panic and went to check the door of the loo. Finding it unlocked, he knocked. Perhaps she had simply wanted to change into those terrifying spotted yoga trews. When he heard no response, he decided thathe could just poke his head inside and see if she’d hidden herself away with Constance Buchanan’s Highland laird offering.
The loo was empty and so was the wee dressing room attached to it.
He strode back out into the great room and walked over to the door, then came to a teetering halt. The door was ajar, but he distinctly remembered Mairead having closed it firmly behind Jamie. They always closed the door firmly. They had damned good reason to close the doorveryfirmly.
“Oliver?”
Oliver looked at Ewan and felt a repeat of the horror he’d felt that first night—
He slammed the door shut on those thoughts and wrenched the door open, intending to fling himself outside and rush off to find her. Unfortunately, he found himself held by the arms until his head cleared enough that he could stop swearing at his mates.
“She’s likely just outside,” he said hoarsely.
Derrick nodded. “Likely so, but let’s gear up anyway.” He paused. “Just in case.”
Oliver supposed Derrick had good reason for that given that he’d once lost Samantha in Renaissance London and had to go after her. Derrick had also spent his share of time before he’d met Sam as Jamie’s traveling companion of choice.
“I don’t think…” Oliver could scarce finish the sentence.
“I don’t either,” Derrick said calmly, “but let’s do what we do best, shall we? For all we know, your lady has decided to lead us on a merry chase so we don’t go to fat. Peter, go pull out that cake so it doesn’t burn. We’ll be back in fifteen to reheat it.”
Oliver found an earbud and mic slapped into his hand by Ewan who had already gone into spy mode and was checking his own gear. Oliver managed to get his shoes on because he found hehad no choice but to do as he always did when faced with things that were not useful to think about at the moment.
He took his fear and slammed it behind the door in his mind he reserved for that sort of thing, slipped out the front door with his mates, and paused to let Derrick set their plan of attack with his usual collection of gestures and nods. Peter and Ewan went west and he slipped around the east side of Moraig’s house with his boss, keeping to the side of the house and wishing the shadows were much deeper.
He supposed, ten minutes north and much deeper into the forest, that the shadows weren’t going to make any difference. He stopped beside Derrick and looked at the madness in progress twenty paces away.
“Don’t let me kill him,” he murmured.
“We’ll see,” Derrick said grimly in a low voice. “What now?”
“Surround him. I’ll see if it’s me they want.”
Derrick signaled to Ewan and Peter, then melted into the darkness.
Oliver had a final look at the glade there in the woods, a place he’d never thought anything of during his previous explores, but now he wondered why not. It was a lovely place, actually, and would have made a fine spot for a holiday let. He would have to bring that up to Jamie the next time he saw him. But later. He had business at the moment that would not wait.
He took a deep breath, stilled his mind, and stepped out into the glade.
Twenty-six
Mairead stood with Kenneth’s bladeacross her throat and wondered where she’d taken a wrong turn that day.
