He was taking a drink of ale when a man and woman appeared beside him.
“Sir Philip Kilpatrick?” the woman said querulously.
Philip turned to get a good look at the couple. The woman was well dressed, a thick shawl wrapped about her shoulders and velvet hat on her head. Red rimmed her eyes, and she wrung a lace handkerchief. The man beside her was more roughly attired in woolen work clothes and scuffed shoes, but his leather mantle was very fine. He scowled with impatience.
“The landlord said it was you. You find people—for payment?”
Philip glanced at Isobel, and said quickly, “I’m not taking any new assignments now. Sorry.”
He started to turn away, but the woman caught his arm. “But you must! We can pay you—double your usual fee.”
Philip smiled gently. “That is doubtful.” They had no idea howmuch he charged and would probably have apoplexy if he told them—fine clothes and all. Great lords had been known to haggle with him—but Philip never budged—except in rare circumstances.
The man tried to pull the woman away, muttering that he’d told her so, but she wouldn’t release Philip’s sleeve.
“Please, sir!” she cried. “It’s my daughter. She’s been missing five days now—I fear if we dinna find her soon, we never will.”
Something heavy sank to the bottom of Philip’s gut.Rare circumstances indeed.He looked at Isobel. Her gaze was fixed on the man, sweet rolls forgotten. He turned back to the woman. Tears welled in her eyes, and he sighed, pulling another bench to their table.
“I wasna speaking false, madam, when I said I canna help you now. We have to leave in the morning, and there can be no delay. But tell me your story and perhaps there is something I can do tonight.”
The man and woman slid onto the bench at the end of the rectangular table, between Philip and Isobel. Philip didn’t like the man, who sat beside him. It came to him all at once when he looked at the man’s close-set eyes. The man did not care about the missing girl; Philip knew that just looking at him. Isobel stroked the woman’s shoulder with her gloved hand, murmuring soothing words to her.
“Tell me everything,” Philip said to the woman.
She sniffed loudly, wiping her nose on her sleeve, rather than the fine handkerchief. “My name is Heather Kennedy, and this is my husband, Ewan. We’re brewers—ye might’ve heard of us? Our ale even makes it into the Highlands.”
Very successful brewers. He suspected Ewan’s place in the business had come through Heather. He was likely her second—orthird, husband.
“Laurie does some sewing for the Armstrongs. That was the last time I seen her. She went to help Rhona Armstrong with her daughter’s new gowns and never returned. When I went to the Armstrongs that night to fetch her, they said she’d left hours before.”
New tears tracked her cheeks. “She was but fourteen, sir—and we had no quarrels. Ewan thinks she ran off with the Wood lad, but she never showed no interest in him.” She held up the handkerchief. “I found this out behind the brewhouse—so she must’ve come home at some time.”
Ewan scowled. “That damn thing had probably been lying ootside for days.”
“It had just been raining,” Heather said. “Would it not be filthy? But it’s fresh. I say she dropped it not long afore I found it.”
“The Wood boy is also missing?” Philip asked.
“Aye,” Ewan said, coming to life. He sat forward, his hands fisted on the tabletop. “I heard her talking about that boy several times—and seen her looking at him, too. All sweet, she was.”
Heather looked at her husband in disbelief. “Why would she not tell me? We talked many times about who she’d like to wed. She never mentioned Roger Wood. It makes no sense.”
“That’s because she’s a worthless whore.”
Philip cleared his throat and Ewan settled back on the bench, his arms crossed angrily over his chest.
“Have you spoken to Roger’s parents?”
“Aye,” Heather said. “They’ve seen naught of him either. It’s true they disappeared the same day, but I cannot believe thedisappearances are related.”
“What kind of lad was Roger?” Philip asked.
“He was a good lad.” “He was trash.” Heather and Ewan spoke simultaneously. Heather gave her husband an incredulous look. “How can you say Roger is trash after all the times he’s helped you?”
“I saw how he sniffed around Laurie.”
Philip leaned his elbows on the table, rubbing his jaw meditatively as he inspected the Kennedys. There was something else at play here. He was sure of it. Something both Heather and Ewan were aware of. Unfortunately, with the limited time he had he knew he’d not be able to dig deep enough to help them. But he would try. He glanced at Isobel and found her staring at Ewan with narrowed eyes.
