Attmore and his wife exchanged alarmed glances.
“You’ll not leave without her?” Lady Attmore asked.
Philip only stared at them silently, increasingly irritated at their attitude about Isobel. She couldn’t bethatbad.
“I’ll find her at once,” Attmore said, rising from the table.
Lady Attmore’s smile was strained. “Worry not—we’ll find her. We wouldn’t want you to leave without her.”
“I have no intention of leaving without her.”
Lady Attmore laughed nervously. “Of course you don’t.”
Philip stared down at his egg, still uneaten. Then he pinned Lady Attmore with a hard look. “Am I the only one who heard Mistress MacDonell screaming last night?”
Lady Attmore seemed uncertain how to answer. “No…”
“Then why was I the only one to look in on her?”
She sighed wearily. “After a time, you’ll come to pay her…unusualbehavior no mind.”
Stephen frowned, but continued shoving eggs and bread in his mouth and washing it down with ale.
“Screaming is alarming behavior. Not unusual. She burned herself, you know.”
“Oh?” Lady Attmore seemed only mildly concerned. Seeing Philip’s incredulity, she ventured, “She’s unharmed, I trust?”
“Aye. Good of you to inquire.”
Her mouth flattened at his sarcasm. Stephen stopped eating, eyebrows raised, recognizing Philip’s growing anger.
“Prithee, take no offense, Sir Philip,” Lady Attmore said, gathering her shredded bread into a neat pile. “You cannot understand what it’s like to live with someone like her. I cannot say I’m sad to see her go. It would be a lie.”
“Someone like her?” Philip repeated. “What mean you? She seems a normal, if not spirited lass.”
Lady Attmore snorted delicately. “Hardly normal.” She glanced at Stephen then sniffed. “I suppose I’ll tell you, as you’ll discover it for yourself soon enough, but it’s always good to be forewarned.” She paused, fixing Philip with a raised-brow look. “She’s a witch.”
“That is a dangerous accusation you make,” Philip said softly. Not half as dangerous in England as it was in Scotland, but serious nonetheless.
Lady Attmore stared at Philip with hard eyes. “I do not wish for her to end up like her mother, I vow it, I do have a certain…fondness for her. But sheisa witch. You will see.”
A bell began to clang, and Lord Attmore appeared in the doorway. “Sir Philip? I cannot seem to locate her. When she hears the bell, she will return.” Though his words were confident, sweat sheened Lord Attmore’s face, and he couldn’t seem to let his mustache alone.
Philip fought down his rising panic. She was not lost—just because they couldn’t find her immediately, didn’t mean she was lost. But logic rarely had any effect on his agitation—only action. In the event she trulywaslost, he couldn’t risk letting her trail go cold.
Fergus strode into the room, coming swiftly to Philip’s side. Lady Attmore rose from the table and backed away from the enormous Scotsman, holding her pomander in front of her nose.
“Ready the horses,” Philip ordered Fergus and Stephen. “We leave as soon as I return.”
The lad was on his feet, stuffing the remaining eggs in a bag. Seeing that the Attmores appeared to be finished eating, Stephen gathered the rest of the food into his sack.
Philip jogged out of the hall. It was impossible for him to sit about idly and wait. Besides, that’s what he did. He found people. He did not lose them. Well, not anymore.
He left the manor on foot, closely inspecting the grass on his way to the forest. The grass was long and he immediately found a fresh trail. The blades were bent forward, indicating she’d gonetoward the wood. No dew dampened her trail, so she’d walked this way within the last few hours, wiping the moisture away with her shoes and skirts.
In the forest the trail was clearly visible—she’d come this way frequently. He hurried along, keeping an eye out for anything unusual. It led him to the cottage where the old woman who’d given them food and drink lived. The clang of the bell was muted, but if she’d been listening, she should have heard it.
He hammered on the door. After a bit of scuffling within, someone shouted, “Who’s there?”
