Page 62 of The Highlander's Captured Bride
He’s probably at the kitchens or the stables.
Before she moved off, she braced her hands on the edge of the table and sucked in a breath, “Faither…”
Her knees felt weak but she had to keep strong. She had faith—dwindling at it was—that her father had taken the Laird away to be safe and that, somehow, they would find this killer.
Leaving the room, she went to the great hall first. It was beginning to fill in but she did not spot Ethan’s telltale head of flaxen hair. Slipping into the kitchens, she did not find him there either. Positive he was at the stables, she hurried off only to find two stable-boys there, tending to the horses, and again, not a sign of Ethan.
Clearing her throat, she asked, “Pardon me, have ye seen Master MacFerson, this morning?”
Both of them shared a look before one said, “Aye, Miss, he rode off early this morning. Never said a word where he was going, though,” he ended with a bewildered slant of his lips.
“Thank ye,” she nodded and turned away.
Why wouldnae Ethan tell me or anyone where he was going?
Slowly, she meandered her way back to the castle and into the great hall. All those who she knew and trusted were gone: her father, the Laird and now, Ethan. Entering when the first meal was in full swing, she went to the high table where Mister MacFerson was sipping from a goblet.
Greeting him, she sat and asked for nettle tea. Her mind was still confused and a little dismayed about why Ethan had left without saying a word or not scribbling a note. Quietly, she sipped the drink while feeling Mister MacFerson’s eyes on her and could only wait for him to break it.
“Ye’ve been inordinately quiet, Miss O’Cain,” he said calmly. “Are ye well?”
Forcing a pleasant enough smile, she nodded, “All is mostly well. Mister MacFerson left this morning without saying a word to me. I daenae ken what he is doing or where he is. I’m afraid that if he’s out there alone…” she sucked in a breath. “…that someone might have taken him.”
“Me nephew might look unimposing but he is a fighter,” Mister MacFerson leaned his elbows on the table. “I doubt anyone could apprehend him so easily. Try to rest yer worries, Miss O’Cain, I’m sure he will be back soon.”
If only it was that easy.
Not needing to bother him with her lingering doubts, she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile then focused on eating the boiled eggs and smoked fish. Halfway through, her stomach nearly revolted and she gave up on eating. Slipping the bread-roll into her pocket, she stood and said her goodbyes to the older man. Pretending to not feel his eyes in the middle of her back, Violet went back to Ethan’s room to rest.
Lying on the bed, though, gave her no comfort to rest and her mind kept imagining troubling situations besetting Ethan. He could have taken a bad fall from his horse in the middle of a forest where no help or where he could be found. He could have been robbed and left for dead in a ravine or…he could have been lured away into a trap. The more she worried, the more her heart ached and soon, tears started trickling down her cheeks.
A heavy, toxic mix of worry, fear and not-quite grief tugged her down into an uneasy slumber, and she drifted off with one line running through her mind.
Come back to me alive, Ethan, please.
* * *
“Damnation!” Ethan cursed under his breath while swatting away another bug threatening to ram itself into his eye.
It was dusk and after a full day of riding, including climbing the steep incline that took him from the seaside town of Oban and passing the flooded tributaries of Loch Nell, he was halfway to the Ben Cruachan. But being tired and hungry had tempered his mad dash and now, he was laying against a tree. at a stream’s side, somewhere in the woods of Glen Lonan.
He felt guilt prick at him as he thought that Violet would be sick with worry already. Though he hated deceiving her, he had not wanted to bring her hopes up, only for him to come back empty-handed. An epistle of apologies was resting at the forefront on his mind, one he fully intended to say to her when he went back home, successful or not.
Looking hazily at the horse drinking at the stream’s side, he went back to picking at his food, some of what he had bought the day before in Turren. His hunger had nearly carved a hole into his stomach and when he had stopped to eat, he’d eaten through half of what he carried. Folding the sack over, he tucked it into his side and stared listlessly at the darkening air.
When darkness almost descended, he tethered the horse to a tree and went back to make a fire. Apathetically picking at the blanket he wrapped around his shoulders to bar off of any cold and insects, he closed his eyes, knowing he had to rest as he was off at dawn again.
This is all for ye, love…forgive me.
* * *
Nothing kept Violet’s attention even with her persistent attempt to have something stop her from sinking into worry. It was three days now since Ethan had suddenly left the castle and no message had come from him. The time that passed felt slow as molasses, but no matter how it dragged on, the days still came to an end far too soon.
She found herself stationed at the window, scanning the horizon’s roads for his coming back. Violet wondered if this what the wives of Lairds felt when their husbands went off to war. A cold wind fluttered against her face, and she dragged herself from her dreary thoughts only to frown.
The sky was an ugly and forbidding grey and far off she saw the quick flash of lightning jabbing through grey clouds. A storm was rolling in and she smelled rain on the air, and from the sign of the deepening clouds, the storm was not going to be a light one. Soon, darkness blanketed the whole sky and the rumbles of thunder grew louder.
A knock on the door had her jumping a little, but she quickly shuttered the windows and went to answer the door—it was Mister MacFerson.
