Chapter 37
Bugger it, he berated himself. Think.
They’d wasted precious hours searching. Finn had taken the bailey and surrounding area. Even as far as the mill without gaining a single clue where Aila might have gone. He rendezvoused back with the others in the hall after they covered the castle and tower rooms including the nursery. No one had seen her.
Or Derne.
Ian rested his hand on Finn’s shoulder. A gesture of support and friendship. “Tell us again, walk us through everything before we figured out she was missing.”
“We returned from the other castle and went up to the nursery to see Niall and Effie,” he recounted their steps. “From there we went to my chamber. I changed my clothes to answer the summons to see Argyll.”
“And she said she’d remain there?” Ian sounded doubtful.
“Aye, she said she’d be there when I returned.”
“Those are two vastly different things,” his friend pointed out. “Why go to the duke to begin with?”
That took some explaining. Jaws were left agape by the time he finished.
“Curiosity would kill her,” Brontë told him. Finn could see Aila’s friend was growing concerned for Aila’s welfare, too. Despite the teasing tone of her comment, there was a slight waver to her voice. “A million to one odds, she’d want to see this wife of yours.”
Aye, Finn could see that. “Even if she did, I would have caught up with her on the way back.”
“Unless she got waylaid for some reason,” Ian suggested.
“Or was taken by someone.” The dreaded thought wouldn’t go away. If Derne had poisoned the mill, he would have reason to stop her from exposing his wrongdoing to the world. She could be dead at this moment. Silenced forever.
Another chill ran through him.
“What about the treasure?” Brontë asked with a snap of her fingers.
“This is nae time to consider reward,” he argued. “We’ve got to find her.”
“Right. If Derne poisoned the millstone, he wouldn’t only want to silence her, he’d want what Boyce gave her,” she countered, confidence building in her tone. “You said she might have found what the key belonged to. What was it?”
Finn took off at a run, not caring if they followed or not. Once he reached the passage to the west tower, he slowed, trying to remember where they’d argued. Admittedly, he had been more focused on her than their progress at the time. “One of these. Aila was ecstatic when she saw it. I was so damned confused by her costume at the time, I paid little attention.”
“Costume?” Ian echoed. “I think we need to have a talk, my friend.”
A bright piercing light broke the darkness and they swung around to stare at the brilliant beam coming from Brontë’s hand.
“Aye, I think we need to have a long, long talk,” Ian murmured under his breath.
“Aila first.” Finn strode from statue to statue trying to remember which one had thrilled Aila so. “One of them. Something about it looking like the necklace…”
“This one!” Tris waved them back and it clicked in Finn’s memory.
Rather it clanked.
“Aye, that’s the one. Sir Clanksalot.”
Brontë’s grin was ghostly in the light. “Look, the shield is the same. There’s no door, though. No opening.”
“If it opens the same way…” Tris said, and the pair shared a moment of triumph before they went to work poking and prodding the relief of the sword on the shield while explaining the discovery of the sword.
This version of the shield did not yield the same results. As one, they took a step back to consider before Finn saw it, the knight’s sword rotated in the gloves. He pulled it, elated when it moved. Surprised when it turned out to be nothing more than a dagger.
“What now?”
