CHAPTER ONE
"Blasted… who took that paintin'?" Caiden growled, the sound carrying through the silent hall.
The gallery hall of McGibb Castle was long and narrow, lined with tall windows that poured pale morning light over the stone floor. Each wall was adorned with the work of the late Lady McGibb, her delicate brush capturing Highland glens and wild stags with a beauty that lived on beyond her years.
But on this day, the space where his favorite painting had hung, the one of the sea at sunset, was empty. The sight hit him like a blade to the ribs, his jaw tightening as his breath hissed between his teeth.
"I'll cut off their damned hands."
He stood before the center wall, his broad shoulders casting a shadow across the gilded frames. His sharp eyes swept the row once more.
Perhaps it has simply been moved.
His stride was purposeful as he left the gallery, boots echoing in the corridor. His mind burned with suspicion and fury, each step driving the thought deeper that someone had dared touch what was his.
"Fowler!" he shouted for the castle servant as he marched toward the servant area of the castle. "Where are ye?"
"Here, Laird," Fowler appeared scurrying from a room with a bucket of charcoal in hand.
"The paintings in the gallery. Has one been removed for cleanin' or repair without me knowledge?"
"Nay, sir, nae that I'm aware." Fowler trembled.
"Surely ye would be the one to give such an assignment as havin' a paintin' removed for cleanin'. Ye are head of the staff. Find out now, for one is missin'," he said.
He descended the back stairs two at a time, the scents of bread and roasting meat growing stronger as he neared the kitchens. A maid scurried past, bobbing a quick curtsy, but Caiden paid her no heed. He knew where to find the man he sought, for Eric Milne was rarely far from trouble—or from women.
Sure enough, he found Eric in the pantry, leaning far too close to a kitchen maid with wide brown eyes. She held a basket againsther apron, her cheeks flushed pink as Eric murmured low words in her ear. Caiden took in the scene with a cold, unblinking stare.
"Eric," he said, his voice like the crack of a whip. "Step away from the lass."
Eric straightened at once, his roguish smile never faltering. "Ah, Laird McGibb. Just keepin' the staff cheerful, aye?" He winked at the maid, who hurried past Caiden with her basket and did not look back.
"I've nay time for yer charms today," Caiden said sharply. "One of me mother's paintings is missin' from the gallery." His eyes were hard as steel. "The sea at sunset. Ye ken the one."
Eric's grin faded. "Missin', ye say? That's bold work, to take from the laird himself." He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the pantry shelf. "When did ye last see it? Mayhaps the staff is merely cleanin' the frame?"
"I last saw it before I left for the inspections. I had nae gone to the hall since then. Fowler is askin' the staff as we speak if any took it for cleanin'," Caiden replied, his tone clipped. "I want ye to keep on top of Fowler and find out what he kens. If nay staff admits to takin' it, then I want ye to set out straight away to find out where it is. Question everyone, and if it has left the castle, ye will find it."
Eric's expression shifted, the glint of a fighter replacing the tease of a rogue. "Aye, I'll find the scoundrel, Laird. I'll nae stop 'til the paintin's in yer hands again. I ken how to sniff out a rat withoutstirrin' the nest. If it's one of our own, I'll drag them before ye myself. If it's an outsider… well, they'll wish they'd never set foot on McGibb land."
Caiden's mouth twitched in the faintest shadow of approval. "Good. Go. Waste nay more time."
Eric pushed off from the shelf and strode toward the pantry door without another word. The easy swagger he wore for the kitchen maid was gone, replaced by the coiled readiness of a man on a hunt. Caiden watched him vanish into the corridor, the weight of his mother's missing work pressing heavy on his mind.
He turned from the pantry and took the narrow passage back toward the great hall, his thoughts dark. Somewhere within the castle walls, or just beyond them, someone had dared to take what belonged to him. They had taken what had belonged toher. And Caiden Byrne would see them pay in full.
The following days were torment. Every morning he went to the gallery hoping to find the painting, but it had not returned. Eric had long left the castle on the mission to track down the painting.
Caiden had been a mess of anger and found himself chopping more wood than necessary simply to rid himself of the frustration.
He stood bare chested beside the woodpile, the muscles in his arms flexing as he brought the axe down in a clean, swift stroke. Splinters flew, the sound echoing against the castle walls, each strike a release for the restless anger that had not left him since the painting vanished. The pile of split logs grew, but the fire inside him burned just as hot.
Bootsteps crunched on the ground, drawing Caiden's gaze upward. Eric approached, his dark hair damp from the morning mist.
"Laird," he called, stopping a few paces away. "I've a lead on the man who took yer paintin'."
Caiden rested the axe head-down in the dirt, his dark eyes narrowing.
