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A smile touched his face, and the next moment, Sarah found herself in his arms, his lips pressed to hers in a crushing kiss. “Aye, we do,” Keir murmured, his eyes shining in a blue so bright that they seemed almost devoid of color. “First, though, we’ll get married.”
“Aye,” Sarah echoed and followed Keir out the door; yet deep down, she wondered what they might find out about Yvaine—if anything at all. How had the braid ended up on the island? Had Yvaine truly been there the day of her disappearance?
As much as Sarah hoped Keir would finally receive answers, she could not banish that chilling sensation suggesting that whatever answers they might find would break his heart. And what if they found nothing at all? From experience, Sarah knew that hope was a dangerous thing, for it held the power to crush one’s heart and soul. Indeed, Keir had guarded his heart before. He had made his peace with his sister’s disappearance as much as that was possible. Yet seeing her small braid now out of nowhere in front of him was different. Sarah knew Keir had been utterly unprepared for that. It had torn down his defenses, and hope had surged back into his heart.
What if we find nothing?Sarah continued to wonder as she followed Keir down the corridor toward her chamber. After all, Yvaine had been gone for three years. What could they possibly find on that island, small as it was?
Still, whatever the future might hold, Sarah knew she would forever remain at Keir’s side. He had stood by her before, and now she would be there for him.
Always.
No matter what.
Chapter Fifty-Four
A PLAN HATCHED
London, England
A few days prior
Climbing the steps to Lord Birchwell’s London townhouse, Albert Harris, Baron Blackmore, struggled to contain his disappointment. Indeed, disappointment was not quite the right word to describe this inner raging he felt whenever his thoughts strayed to his former fiancé, Miss Sarah Mortensen.
Unfortunately, his thoughts strayed to her quite a lot these days. After all, the woman had played him for a fool; Albert was certain of it.
Though thetonthought her a victim of a most fiendish kidnapping, Albert had his doubts. Too many things had raised his suspicion, and although he had no proof, he was certain that Miss Mortensen had never truly been kidnapped. Indeed, strangely enough, the moment he had paid the ransom to her kidnappers. who had never shown their faces, her father’s gambling debts had mysteriously disappeared.
No, Albert was no fool; yet he had been played for one, a fact he could not allow to stand.
Handing his hat and gloves to a footman, Albert followed Birchwell’s butler across the main hall and then down a long corridor to a lavishly furnished drawing room. There, near the imposing fireplace, sat the dowager countess, her eyes as shrewd as always as they glided over him upon his entry. Her lips twitched ever so slightly, and she raised her chin another fraction as though she wished to look down upon him.
Albert almost chuckled. Though he disliked anyone who thought themselves superior to him, he had to admit—even if only grudgingly—that he rather admired her shrewd wit as well as her haughty highhandedness.
“Good day, Lord Blackmore.”
Albert inclined his head to the dowager, then seated himself across from her. “Good day, my lady.”
For a long moment, neither one of them said a word, each quietly assessing the other.
“So?” the dowager eventually began, lifting one eyebrow. “What did you find out?”
Albert felt bile rise in his throat. “Your daughter-in-law as well as my former fiancé seem to have sought refuge with a Scottish clan by the name of MacKinnear.”
The lady exhaled a slow breath, her lips flattening, as though she wished to bite off his head. “Kin to that man, no doubt,” she grumbled under her breath, outrage lighting up her eyes.
Albert could not deny that he was rather surprised by her show of emotion. Thus far, the dowager countess had always maintained her composure. “He visited you?” Albert inquired, already knowing the answer to his question. “Alongside Miss Mortensen?”
The dowager gave a curt nod.
Albert felt his blood boil, certain that his former fiancé and the Scot were somehow involved. After all, what man would go to such lengths in aiding her to escape the country if he did not expect something in return?
“Do you have a plan?” the dowager inquired, curiosity sparking in her eyes, and Albert cursed himself, knowing that she was well-aware of his short temper these days.
Leaning back in his chair, Albert steepled his fingers. “Unfortunately, the MacKinnears are an island clan. They reside just off the coast, their land heavily fortified.” He heaved out a deep breath. “My men have observed it at length and concluded that it is impossible to invade.” He chuckled darkly. “I suppose it could be done if one had a large army at hand.” Momentarily amused, he raised an eyebrow at the dowager. “I don’t suppose you have one at your disposal.”
Looking down her nose at him, the dowager ignored his remark. “So, you donothave a plan? Is that not so?” She looked at him pointedly.
Albert seethed quietly. “I have… certain ideas,” he grunted out through clenched teeth, “and I have no doubt that with time I shall—”
