Alan brought her a stool and a blanket, but she ignored both and continued to sit in the straw beside her patient. She and Billy checked Tempest’s wounds often.
Evan was not found, nor did he return.
In the afternoon, Alan replaced himself at his post with two footmen, saddled Chieftain with his own hands, and went out looking. He scoured the woodland, all the off-trail places he and Chieftain knew and rode farther north to the boundary of their lands. Not so much as a glimpse of a red head.
At last hunger, concern for Annista, and the setting sun drove him home, hoping that mayhap in his absence, Evan had returned.
A chilling thought, that.
He pondered what might happen if Annista tried to stand off against Evan in the stable—which she would, to protect her charge—and quickened Chieftain’s pace. It could only end badly.
But all remained quiet when he reached home. The sun had near set, and lanterns threw soft light from the stable. The searchers Father sent out had returned with news only of a few sightings that had not proved fruitful.
Alan, Father, and Mother met in the great hall and huddled together, discussing what to do. The evening had turned chill, and the fire felt good but could not lift their growing desperation.
“Where could he be?” Mother fretted. “Might he have suffered an accident, that he has no’ returned?”
Alan looked at her. Did she dread such an outcome? Did she still favor her firstborn son? Even she must acknowledge what Evan had become.
Father stirred uneasily. “Had he suffered a fall, our men would surely ha’ found him.”
“Could he ha’ left the estate?”
“I suppose so. But to go where? And how far might he get on foot?” Father looked at Alan. “Ye checked all his haunts?”
Alan nodded.
“Then all we can do is keep close watch the night. Son, go and persuade your wife fro’ the stable. She canna spend the night there.”
Alan grimaced. “If she will no’ leave?”
“Carry her if ye must. By God, she is but a woman.”
She was not, Alan reflected. No more than Evan was but a man.
He walked out slowly across the dark yard. The footman stationed at the stable door—Seumas—gave him a nod as he went in.
Chieftain, well tired out by their activity, dozed in his box. The only light came from Tempest’s stall farther down. Both occupants of the box still languished in the straw—a sight that made Alan’s heart sink.
“Nay better?” he asked.
Annista’s head jerked up when he spoke. In the soft light, her face appeared pale and wan.
“Billy thinks if he does no’ get up by morning, he will no’ get up at all.”
Alan sighed. He could feel her heartache.
“Come awa’, then. There is naught more ye can do.”
“I will no’ leave him to die alone.”
She was thinking of her sister, Alan knew as if she’d stated it aloud. If he suffered guilt over Robena’s death, so did she, though what could she have done to prevent it?
He made a swift decision. “I will stay wi’ ye then.”
She gave him a long look. But she did not protest when he moved into the box and sat beside her in the straw.
Chapter Eighteen
