She shouted no denials. He stepped closer, noting the elegant, silk-embroidered chamber slippers on the floor near the bed. One was on its side, revealing its plush, wooly lining. Audrey Keane’s slippers to be worn in private were finer than most people’s only pair of shoes.
“Muir was right. You were right. Glenna Douglas has taken hold of my heart. I’m not certain when it happened exactly—perhaps you could tell me that, as well,” he said ruefully. “I’ve not done the honorable thing by any of you, and for that I am truly sorry. I hope you will forgive me my foolishness. Muir as well, if he should know me well enough to return and call me out for the arse I’ve been. You are, of course, welcome to stay on at Roscraig for the king’s court and as long after as you can tolerate it, if one of the nobles here has managed to catch your interest. If there is anything I can do to assist, you need only speak it.”
He waited a moment in the silence. “Well. That’s the whole of it, I reckon. You may shout at me now.”
He sighed and placed his hands on his hips, looking about the room awkwardly. He noticed a silken dressing gown tossed over a chair near the wardrobe, of the same light hue as the slippers and with matching embroidery. But the shoes were near the bed, and the gown was across the room.
Now Tavish looked more closely and saw that the wardrobe door was partially open, and a jumble of clothing was spilling out of the bottom; brushes, combs, and colognes had been scattered on the silver tray on the table, and several other items had been knocked to the floor. The small stool that belonged to the table was on its side.
Tavish’s gaze went back to the curtained compartment. “Audrey?” He went to the side of the bed and yanked the drapes open.
The coverlets were completely smooth; the numerous tasseled cushions arranged just so. Tavish frowned.
She said she doesn’t yet wish to be disturbed, milord.
Immediately, thoughts of all Hargrave had known about the goings-on at Roscraig filled Tavish’s head. There were so many strangers about hired on as servants with complete run of the hold, Tavish only knew a handful by name. Whoever that maid was, she had some explaining to do.
He left the room with the door swinging open and started down the stairs. He paused, though, at the window between the landings, where the heavy silver tray had been shoved onto the stone sill—its lid was knocked aside, and whatever had been concealed beneath it was now missing. He continued on down the stairs, bursting into the entry corridor.
“Where did the maid go who just came from the west tower?”
A score of people stopped to turn and stare at him, and to Tavish’s dread, all the women servants were dressed exactly alike.
A middle-aged woman stepped forward. “I was in the west tower this morn, laird.”
Tavish shook his head. “Nay, it wasn’t you. Just now. She only just came down.”
The servants’ eyes were wide.
“Where did she go?!” Tavish demanded.
A man behind a handcart pointed through the open door leading to the bridge. “A gel left that way a moment ago, laird. I didna know her.”
Tavish dashed through the door, and the pounding of his boots echoed in the space under the bridge. His eyes scanned the path ahead, the narrow road twisting into the village, but he didn’t see her. He looked to the right where the trail wound up toward the cliff, but it was also empty. He stopped, his head turning this way and that, his heart hammering against his ribs.
The maid was gone.
And so was Audrey Keane.
* * * *
Glenna busied herself helping Harriet to care for her father while they waited what seemed hours for Tavish to return. Glenna had worried that there would be some awkwardness between her and Tavish’s mother after the tense words they had shared last night, but Harriet behaved as if none of it had ever happened.
If anyone here has reason to hate me, Glenna thought to herself,it is this woman. And yet she has done little else but exhaust herself caring for people who, in all likelihood, she should have considered enemies.
Iain was still awake, having taken some mead and even a bit of gruel, and was doing his best to vocalize answers to questions and to join in the conversation the women strove to keep animated and light as they changed bedding and freshened the laird. There was no talk of Vaughn Hargrave.
By midday, Tavish had still not arrived, and Glenna was growing anxious.
“I’ve a need for a bit of fresh air and to change my gown,” Glenna said in as nonchalant a manner as she could. “Do you mind terribly, Harriet?”
“Of course not, milady,” Harriet said, tucking the corners of the blankets around the mattress. She glanced up only briefly. “I am wondering myself if Miss Keane hasna run him through.”
Glenna felt her cheeks tingle but did not deny the idea. “I’ll have a repast sent up for us,” she said, walking to her father’s bedside and kissing his forehead. “Careful of Mistress Cameron’s honor, Da,” she warned playfully. “We can only have one scandal at a time in the family.”
His stuttering wheeze at her jest was beyond heartening—perhaps Harriet was wrong; perhaps her father would live. Perhaps everything would be better now, even better than she dreamed last night while wishing on that moonlit path across the Forth.
She quit the room for the lower-level chamber and quickly shed the cumbersome formal costume in favor of a slim-sleeved red silk and belted her familiar golden chain about her waist. In moments she was stepping into the wide entry corridor.
