“When did you last see your uncle?” he asked later, as they rode toward the farm.
Damien rode with them, since his former home was across from the Morgan farm and made an excellent hiding place. On his pony, the boy trailed behind. Rafe had to turn to see his shrug.
“At Dad's funeral, maybe? He acted funny and didn't stay. Mama could have used the help.”
Kate had said her husband wouldn't hire his brother, so Kate had probably sent him away. He'd ask. One never knew when a puzzle piece might fit.
“So you'd know him if you saw him?” Damien verified.
“I think so. We should check the barn first, see if he had a horse.”
Rafe hid his smile. Rob was doing his best to imitate Damien, succinct and to the point.
To their surprise, the intruder’s horse was still there. Had the major managed to kill the wretch? Was he lying dead in the fields?
“Do we leave it or take it back with us?” Rob asked, feeding the old mare and filling the water trough.
“I'd like to keep all of you in town, where it's safe.” Damien frowned at the empty fields surrounding the old farmhouse.
“And I thought you knew Kate.” Rafe snorted. “She'll be back here tonight.”
“Then Brydie and I will have to move back across the road, into my parents’ place. We can keep the horse there. Let’s see him get past me.” Damien returned to the farmhouse with the boy at his heels.
“I need to look at the woods, where Fletch said Morgan fled.” Rafe studied the terrain. Deciding there were too many trees to see a madman hiding from this distance, he turned to study the house.
The front lock had been splintered. The boy’s uncle hadn't returned for the satchel lying open in the front room. Rafe rummaged through it, finding only worn clothing.
“Could your uncle read and write, do you know?” Damien poked around the desk and bookshelves but they didn't appear to have been searched.
“Dad knew how to add and subtract, but he didn’t read much. I don't know about Uncle Hugh.” Rob headed for the kitchen. “He left a mess in here.”
“I'll have someone out to clean up. Let me search upstairs.” Damien took the steps two at a time.
Not wanting to invade the family's privacy, Rafe checked the back door. It had been unlocked from the inside. Big boot prints led to the privy and the kitchen garden. The man had made himself at home.
They propped a heavy table to block the broken door, locked the back with a hidden key Rob retrieved, and set out on foot to search, leaving the animals in the barn.
“How far could he go without his horse?” Damien asked, using his sword to push aside branches Hugh had broken in his flight.
“A farmer used to walking, pretty far. Man bleeding from a knife wound, I'm surprised he didn't return.” Rafe looked for a trail of blood but the woods were covered in spring greenery and the wind blew last autumn's leaves around. Searching houses was easier.
They reached what might once have been a tenant's cottage. Rafe was fairly certain Kate had no tenants. The fields hadn't been tended since George Morgan's death. Men didn’t like working for women, and Kate had been raised as a squire’s pampered daughter. She knew nothing of sheep and fields and had sold the flock.
“Rob, do you know who’s living here?” Rafe considered the faint smoke plume from the crumbling chimney.
“Not no one,” Rob replied, looking worried. “Think that's him?”
“Good chance. Damien, you and Rob go around back, catch him if he runs. I doubt he's in any condition to fight.” Once his companions followed orders, Rafe strode up to the ramshackle door and knocked, then flung it open. Trespassers didn't earn politeness.
The single room was empty. Rafe glanced up at the loft but the ladder was little better than kindling. Whoever had lit this fire should have thrown the ladder on the fire instead of the old bedding smoking up the place.
He found blood on a piece he scraped out of the embers. Opening the back door, he signaled Rob and Damien. “He's most likely been here but he must have heard us coming. We’d better run back and grab his horse.”
“Well, at least Fletch didn't kill him.” Damien hurriedly strode back the way they'd come. “Might have been better if he had. Wound like that and no treatment. . . he'll suffer.”
“Can't have a lot of sympathy for a man bullying a widow and her children. If he's mad. . . what do we do then?” Rafe fretted over the danger of a man with an attic to let running about the shire.
Ahead of them, Damien didn’t answer. Risking his fancy boots and leather breeches, the lawyer broke into a run, hastily shoving through the underbrush, shouting a warning. The pounding of hooves in the distance gave the cause.
