Page 65 of The Highlander's Captured Bride
The sleuth’s shrewd eyes shifted from the father to the son, “We will leave, but I daenae ken ye, Laird, should we go to the castle? Ye should stay away until I come up with another plan to flush the killer out. Is there anywhere ye can stay for a while without word getting out?
Stroking his chin in contemplation, his father replied, “Aye, I’ll stay as the same hunting cabin ye and Miss O’Cain were. I dinnae ken anyone who saw ye come from there would ken anyone else would be there.”
“He’s right,” Ethan mused. “It’s the safest place, and nearby too.”
“I ken that’s acceptable,” Mister O’Cain nodded. “But it’s dark now. We’d better be on our way at dawn.”
Ethan felt his insides curl with remorse that he would be leaving Violet alone for almost three days, but it could not be helped. Mister O’Cain was right, it was dark, and it only made sense to leave at daylight. It was not wise to leave the shelter, travel a little and then have to make camp so quickly.
“Aye,” he nodded. “Just let me find somewhere to hide me horse and and then I’ll be with ye.”
His father gave him some concise instructions where to hide his horse, in another forested nook where their horses languished in the shade. As he loosely tethered his, he shot a look to the darkening sky and sighed out an apology to Violet. He took the sack of food from the saddlebags and hurried back.
Back in the cave, he closed the hole with the lattice and slipped further inside. His father and Mister O’Cain had made makeshift beds from bedrolls and wooden slats. A corner had a circle of stone and blackened coal, with a copper pot resting on some other stones. There was a tiny opening into the wall were air streamed in and possibly gave light in the daytime. Now, as it was dark, they could only get light from the fire.
His father peeled a few sheets from his makeshift bed while O’Cain handed him a dark woolen blanket. Perched on his stripped makeshift bed, his father asked, “So, what else is there back home?”
Fixing his offered sheets into a cot, Ethan shrugged, “I cannae tell ye. I was there for less than a day before I left to find ye. I dae suspect that Uncle is admirably holding the fort in yer stead.”
“Let’s see howthatgoes,” his father grunted. “Boy better stick to books and roaming the earth than trying to negotiate the amount of lumber to barter for sheep wool, or God forbid, who to send off to war.”
Mister O’Cain was stroking the fire and the smell of stew slowly permeated the air. “Would ye like something to eat, Master MacFerson?”
“Oh,” he shook his head, “I have me own, but thank ye and…” he paused. “And I rather ye nay call me Master anymore, Ethan would be fine.”
A soft chuckle from the older man had his lips twitching, “I ken I’m nay ready to call ye son either so Ethan it is.” Ladling the stew into a bowl, Mister O’Cain handed it over to his father while Ethan tugged out bread and cheese from his sack, “We’d better get some rest, after. We are leaving out the dawn.”
“God forbid another storm rolls in,” his father mentioned.
Shifting on the soft sandy floor he could feel through the sheets, Ethan pondered, “Faither…what would be the best way to call ye while yer in the cabin on a sudden notice?”
Pausing to swallow, his father’s bushy brow contracted, “And why would ye need to summon me on a sudden notice?”
There were no words to explain his feeling but he uttered the same confusing sentiment. “I cannea tell ye why as its nay something I believe is imperative now. I just ken it’s something we should decide on now, if on the chance that it’ll be needed.”
“He’s right, Me Laird,” Mister O’Cain put in. “There might be a situation where we might have to take ye out of hiding.”
Ruminating, his father suggested, “I ken ye won’t be able to send a messenger out, ye can send me a messenger-bird or sound the distress horn from the bailey. If it's loud enough to reach Clan Hofte, I should hear it.”
“That’s settled,” Ethan nodded and went back to his food, trying not to ignore how his eyes flickered to the tiny crack in the wall, back to the other two, and back.
I’ll be home as soon as I can, love.
* * *
The sight of the castle looming over the trees had relief flooding through Ethan. Nearly three days on the road had his worry clogging his throat. A few hours before he and Mister O’Cain had to bypass the direct road to see his father to the hunting cabin before doubling back and taking the road to the drawbridge.
Trotting over it with Mister O’Cain at his side, Ethan barely got off his mount before rushing into the castle and darting up to his room to find Violet with his apology on the tip of his tongue—but the room was empty. His pride had him visualizing Violet in his room, puttering around, starting to putting her woman’s touch into the plain, utilitarian decor.
Spinning, he headed off to her room, only to find her door closed. Perhaps she was sleeping and he did not want to disturb her. Disappointed, he traipsed back to the main rooms to ask anyone who he could come across if they had seen her. Which proved another issue. It seemed that the number of servants they had usually hurrying through a hall to clean a room or two was surprisingly…absent. Had his uncle sent their servants away?
He traipsed back to the main hall to see it also mostly empty. A few servants were wiping down the tables, and pushing himself into the kitchens, he saw a few cooks manning the stoves. The issue—he did not know any of them. Had his uncle sent all his familiar servants away and brought in new ones?
Why?
Approaching the new cook, he asked, “Pardon me, who are ye?”
“Ginna Fraiser, and ye must be Master MacFerson,” she dropped her ladle and wiped her hand in her apron. “Please to meet ye, Master MacFerson.”
