He didn’t think so. Unsettled by his own questions, he frowned at her, and said, “Next time maybe I will.”
She blinked, and her brows drew together into a frown—obviously not what she wished to hear.
It wasn’t really what he wanted to say, either, but it was too late to recall his stupid words.
“Well, I don’t need your help,” she assured him and spun to leave.
Without another word, she hurried along the path ahead of him, and he started after her, muttering to himself, “Cursed woman!”
God’s truth, it was so much easier to have a hound.
Piers’mood was sour, to say the least.
They’d searched the entire perimeter of his property and had found no sign of his cousin’s daughter. He was done for the afternoon, but her well-being weighed heavily upon his mind. How in bloody damnation had he been embroiled in this situation without warning?
“Why the hell did Geoffrey send his children without asking me first?” he snapped at Tomas.
Tomas shrugged as he dismounted from his horse and handed his reins to a stable boy. “He is hardly the brightest man,” Tomas remarked.
That much was true, Piers accepted, though it annoyed him that Tomas would say so. Geoffrey had, in fact, had ample opportunity to advance himself, but had chosen to rely on his wives’ dowries to support him. And now he was wedding someone else. Who was this woman anyway? Piers had a sense that it was her fault these young people were endangered. Geoffrey might have been shiftless, but he certainly wasn’t so cold as to throw his own children out of his home. Piers didn’t like this new bride already— nor did he particularly like her emissary brother.
He eyed the man speculatively as they made their way toward the hall. There was something about the lad that set his teeth on edge—his mannerisms, perhaps. His arrogance was offensive, and furthermore his lack of emotion over John’s death was suspicious—not tomention that his anger over Elizabet’s disappearance seemed somehow contrived and empty.
Elizabet. Poor girl. Though he hadn’t asked to be her guardian, Piers would feel responsible if she came to harm. As it was, he felt no small amount of guilt over John’s death. He could have at least met them at the border and given them safe passage—if only he had known they were on their way.
God’s teeth, hadn’t his cousin realized these lands were full of strife still? These were perilous times even for native clans but particularly so for an outlander. Hadn’t Geoffrey realized that was why Piers had been sent here in the first place? It had been his objective to penetrate these people, to befriend them if possible, and to unite them with England by force if need be—a duty to which he no longer felt entirely committed.
These Highlanders had earned his highest respect. They were a fiercely loyal people, who protected their clansmen without reservation. That he’d accomplished some manner of peace between them was less a tribute to his fighting skills, for which he’d been chosen initially, and more a matter of God’s intervention. He’d fallen in love with the most beautiful woman in all of Scotia. She just happened to have a very influential family.
“If Elizabet is not found, Geoffrey will not rest until her death is avenged!” Tomas declared pompously.
They entered the hall, and Meghan ran toward them, her expression full of concern. When she reached Piers, he embraced her and bent to kiss her upon the cheek. “We found nothing at all,” he told her, ignoring Tomas’s bluster.
With his arm about Meghan’s shoulder, he turned to address Tomas. “What makes you think Elizabet is dead?”
He seemed startled by the question, nonplussed. “John is dead,” he replied, as though that were portent.
Piers nodded soberly. John was, indeed, dead—poor little fellow. The slit in his throat was wider than the English Channel. Whoever had sliced it hadn’t intended him to survive.
Meghan’s voice was fretful. “I cannot fathom anyone in these parts would murder a helpless woman!”
It seemed to Piers that Tomas sneered in response. “You are such an innocent, demoiselle! There are men out here who would slice Elizabet’s throat just as readily as they would any man’s.”
Meghan cast Piers a considering glance.
“As a matter of fact,” Tomas persisted, “just before I left England, a young girl was discovered in the forest near Geoffrey’s keep, her body broken and desecrated, discarded after being ruthlessly used.”
“How dreadful!” Meghan exclaimed.
“Her tongue had been snipped out so that she could not call out for help.”
Meghan gasped.
“Aye, ‘tis true!” Tomas declared, watching her far too keenly.
He was distressing her, and Piers thought he might be enjoying it.
“That’s quite enough,” Piers said, hugging his wife. He smiled tolerantly at the man. If not for Geoffrey’s sake, he might have made him sleep in the barn. He was growing to like him less with every passing instant.
