Page 66 of The Highlander's Captured Bride
“Ye too, Miss Fraiser,” he said. “Perchance, would ye tell me where Miss Bertha is?”
“I can answer that for ye, nephew,” his uncle’s light tone cut through his heavy confusion. “Back to yer work, Miss Fraiser.”
Turning to his uncle, Ethan followed him back into the great hall and sat at the nearest table. He felt as if the few more steps to the high table were going to take a toll on him and he needed answers now. His uncle—though shooting a look to the dais—did not object and sat near him.
“First,” his uncle smiled. “Welcome back. I’m glad to see yer well and second, ye might have noticed a little change around here with the servants.”
“Aye, that did cross me mind,” Ethan’s reply was wry as he twisted his head to look around. “What happened?”
“Mister O’Cain’s words came to me recollection, about the enemy being closer to us than we realized. I kent that could be anyone from the lowest scullery-girl and page-boy to the head cook and commander of the troops. So I took matters into me hands and removed all of them. I sourced more servants from the city, mainly from me house at Perth.” his uncle replied, “I also have a contact in the capital and he is sending me a centurion of royal soldiers to take over the missing posts.”
The words sliced through his mind with the power of a lightning strike. All the servants he knew and had grown with were gone and so were the guards he had trusted. He knew his uncle had acted on what might have been the smartest move, but he felt decidedly uncomfortable in a house of strangers.
“Oh…” he squirmed. “On better news, I found Mister O’Cain, he was in Ackwell, searching for another lead. There was nay sign of Faither though. Speaking of, where is Violet? I havenae seen her at all.”
His uncle gave a negligent wave, “I’m sure she is around here somewhere. This morning I was told she wasnae feeling well,” he leaned in with a conspiratorial look in his eye. “I believe she was feeling the horrible effects of her flux.”
The mental picture only had him being more concerned for Violet. But until she came to find him, he would not disturb her. Rubbing the back of his neck, he felt the stiffness there and grimaced. “I suppose I should eat something.”
“And where is Mister O’Cain?” he was asked.
Shrugging, Ethan replied, “I cannae say.”
As expected, his uncle did not push but only gestured for a servant-woman to bring them some food. Ethan felt a growing disquiet in his chest. The surroundings were very peaceful but he felt not all was right and he could not figure what it was or how to place it. And Violet, how was she doing?
The best he could liken it to was what happened before a storm came in: all was still and quiet without any trouble in the air. Then, when the tempest did hit—pure, unmitigated destruction. A headache was beginning to bloom at his temples and he felt inordinately tired.
A bowl of soup was placed before him and sluggishly, he ate. He barely tasted the spiced broth as he kept worrying about Violet and wondering if he would have to bolt his door that night. “Have ye sent servants to Violet with her meals?”
“Aye,” his uncle replied, “I made sure to arrange that.”
Somewhat mollified he finished the meal, pushed the bowl away and stood, “I ken I’m going to retire tonight. I’ll see ye in the morn, Uncle.”
Nodding, his uncle said, “Good night, nephew.”
He traipsed to the room but paused to rest his hand on the doorway while his head canted over his shoulder in the direction of Violet’s room. But though his instinct pushed him to go there, he knew she needed to rest. Reluctantly, he went inside to rest.
* * *
A little after dawn had him entering the great hall with heavy unease. Violet was still missing and he did not know any one of the servants around him. Seated at the high table, he rubbed his eyes and face to remove all the lingering sleep, then braced his arms on the table to cradle his head.
“Are ye all right, nephew?” his uncle asked while entering.
Propping his jaw on a fist, he shook his head, “Dinnae get much sleep last night. I keep worrying about Faither and Violet. Have ye seen her at all?”
His uncle took the head seat—the place his father always sat—and gave Ethan a sympathetic look. “Aye, I have seen her, but about yer faither—” and just as Ethan was about to press for more, he continued, “— I dae ken there is someone who can answer the question about his whereabouts.”
“And who might that be?” He asked quizzically.
“The man who is coming into the room right now,” his uncle said. “It was something I should have done yesterday but I did not have the men we needed. They, fortunately, arrived last night.”
Ethan lifted his head to see Mister O’Cain coming in the room just as his uncle gestured for some men, lingering at the sides, to come forward. He sat in shock as the men grabbed Mister O’Cain and hauled him towards them. Ethan felt his heart leap and he was on his feet in a moment.
“Uncle,” he asked frantically. “What is this?”
“Aye!” O’Cain blurted with a futile attempt at yanking his arms from the men. “What is this?”
“I happen to believe Mister O’Cain here kens more about me brother than he is saying,” his uncle replied to him. “These brilliant men are versed in…various modes of interrogation and they will be finding out what Mister O’Cain is nae telling us.”
