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“There was confusion. After everything settled, we realized that she was missing.”
“Me wife was taken from me castle?” Alisdair barked.
He chose rage over despair. Give in to despair, and he would crumble on the floor wailing, useless. They had already lost so much time. He had wasted it avoiding Isla like a fool, and the very moment he had finally let his guard down to let her in, she had been torn from his arms.
“And where is Gavin? He was supposed to guard the castle!”
Ewan looked around at his men. “Did anyone see Gavin in the battle?”
His men shook their heads.
“Me Laird.” A young woman stepped forth. “The last time I saw Her Ladyship, she was with Gavin.”
Alisdair frowned, and she flinched back a step. He forced himself to take a deep breath. He must look like a madman right now, the very monster Isla had first taken him for back in Laird Douglas’s gardens.
“Ye can talk, lass.”
“We were spinning in the room, and Gavin came in to talk to her.”
Perhaps Gavin had taken her somewhere to keep her safe. Alisdair felt hope swell in his chest.
“I heard him talking to Her Ladyship in the corridor,” the woman continued, trembling. “I was fetching water and saw them. Her Ladyship looked worried, so I hurried toward her, but they left before I could reach them. I heard them, though.”
“Where did they go?”
“Gavin brought news…”
Alisdair scowled. There was something amiss here.
“What did he say? Speak. I promise ye no one will hurt ye.”
“He told Her Ladyship that Lady Moira had sprained her ankle.”
The Great Hall fell silent.
Alisdair felt his heart drop, and he slowly turned to his aunt. As did the whole hall, for one simple reason—his aunt was in perfect health, both ankles unharmed.
“A lie,” he grunted, taking a step back.
Why would Gavin lie? Why would he say something like that?
Such a lie was effective. He knew Isla. She would run to his aunt’s side, no questions asked. It was the perfect way to lure her away. But…
“Ask the guards at the gates whether they saw me wife leave with Gavin,” he ordered.
A man ran out to the gates, and the hall fell silent.
“We will find her,” Duncan said, coming to his side.
Alisdair held onto that sliver of hope. Sinclair was dead. There was no one else who would want to harm Isla. The war was over.
“Me Laird.” The man came running back, panting.
“Speak.”
“A man at the gates saw Gavin escort Lady MacLeod out of the castle,” he reported.
Alisdair curled his fingers into his palms so hard that his nails bit into his skin.
