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Cicilia, where are ye?
Catherine was a marvel, probably thanks to her life’s training as a Laird’s daughter and then a Laird’s wife. She managed to turn it into a game.
Catherine took Matthew, and Jeanie walked with Alice. The competition was the first to find information on Cicilia would win.
“May I have a lemon cake, Miss Jeanie?” Alice asked politely as they walked past the bakery. Jeanie didn’t see why not, even in her worry, so the pair of them went through the door.
The baker’s wife waited behind the counter, and she barely seemed to notice that anyone had come inside. She was frowning off into nothing, clearly thinking hard about something, and the lines of worry on her face aged her.
Jeanie knew her from the time she’d spent in the village, but she’d never seen her wear s
uch an expression. “Susan?” she asked uncertainly. “Where’s yer husband?”
Susan blinked a few times then seemed to register she had company. “Oh, well, if it is nae Miss Jeanie. An’ Maid Sinclair, to.” She hastily curtseyed at the latter.
“I’d like a lemon cake, please,” Alice said. “Oh, an’ have ye seen Miss O’Donnel anywhere?”
“Cicilia, ye mean?” Susan asked. She glanced at Jeanie, a small frown still worrying between her eyebrows. “Aye, she was here early afternoon. Me an’ me friends were havin’ a chat wi’ her…ye mean she is nae back at the Castle yet?”
Jeanie bit her lip so hard she could taste the coppery flavor of her own blood. It was all she could do to prevent herself from crying out in fright and scaring poor Alice.
“Where’s yer husband, Susan?” Jeanie asked again.
Susan looked at her, and understanding passed between the women. The baker’s wife nodded slightly, then scooped out one of the cakes from the display and handed it to Alice. “There ye go, me love,” she said. “Why dinnae ye eat that outside while me an’ Jeanie catch up?”
Alice frowned. “Are ye gonnae talk about grown-up things?”
“Alice can stay if she wants,” Jeanie said archly. “She can stay an’ help us work out the accountin’ for the next—”
“Och, never mind. I’ll be outside wi’ me cake,” Alice huffed.
The second she was through the door, Jeanie said, “Well? What’s goin’ on? What was she doin’ down here, an’ where’s yer—”
“Cicilia’s been tryin’ to get the village women on the Laird’s side,” Susan said. “That’s why she was down here earlier. But Jeanie, if she’s still travelin’ alone on these roads, I’m fair worried for her safety. The attack—it’s happenin’ as we speak.”
Jeanie only just managed not to yell in alarm. She’d known it would happen tonight, but she’d been sure they had hours yet.
“What? Why did ye nae say anythin’ to her? Why did ye nae let us ken to prepare?”
Susan held up her hands defensively. “I dinnae ken! Ron only told me where he was goin’ when he was leavin’, armed to the teeth. I half-thought he was jestin’. Ye ken me puddin’ o’ a husband couldn’ae say boo to a goose when it comes down to it.”
They talked a little more, Jeanie gathering as much information about Cicilia’s words and whereabouts as she possibly could. She thanked Susan, then hurried outside.
“Miss Jeanie?” Alice asked. “Ye look pale. Did somethin’ happen?”
Aye, Alice. Yer uncle an’ Nathair might be deid, an’ now Cicilia an’ the twins, too.
Out loud, though, she just said, “Nay. Let’s go find yer mither an’ brother though, aye? I’m fair worn out.”
Alice tilted her head, confused. “Are we nae gonnae look at weddin’ fabrics, then?”
Was that the story that Nathair had gone with? Jeanie had almost forgotten the pretense in her fear for her friend’s life. “We can do that another day,” she said impatiently. “Come, hurry, let’s go.”
Perhaps if she found Catherine now, she and the others would discover Cicilia on the road. Or, if she was home already, maybe the carriage would get them back quickly enough that she’d be able to see her best friend and the man she loved one more time.
Catherine and Matthew were thankfully nearby, and though Jeanie didn’t tell her outright what had been said, they talked in code well enough that Catherine understood the meaning. Together, they rushed back to the carriage, barely speaking. Both children were confused, both women wrapped up in their own thoughts.
What if they were too late? What if Cicilia had already reached the Castle, and the mob had claimed her? What if Alexander had fallen to whoever the traitor was? What if Nathair was—
