Aiden approached the merchant, a balding man selling vegetables. “Excuse me. Was there a man here a moment ago? Tall, broad-shouldered?”
“Aye,” the merchant said. “He was askin’ about the price of turnips. Why?”
“What did he look like?” Jeane asked, stepping forward.
The merchant squinted at her. “Dark hair, clean-shaven. Nice enough fellow. Bought some carrots and went on his way.”
“Which direction?” Aiden demanded.
The merchant pointed down the street, and Aiden immediately started in that direction.
“Wait here,” he told Jeane and Lottie.
But Jeane couldn’t wait. She followed, Lottie right behind her.
They found the man a few shops down, examining a display of leather goods. When he turned, Jeane got a clear look at his face.
It wasn’t Conor.
The man was similar in build, with dark hair and a square jaw, but his face was rounder, his eyes a different color. He looked nothing like Conor beyond the general physique.
Relief flooded through Jeane so strongly she almost collapsed.
“That’s nae him,” she said weakly. “I thought… but it’s nae him.”
Aiden let out a breath. “Ye’re sure?”
“Aye. I’m sure.” Jeane pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart. “I’m sorry. I was so certain, but…”
“Daenae apologize,” Aiden said firmly. “It’s better to be cautious.”
Lottie put an arm around Jeane’s shoulders. “Let’s get ye back to the castle.”
The ride back was quiet. Jeane felt foolish for panicking, but she couldn’t shake the fear that had gripped her when she’d thought she’d seen Conor.
When they arrived at the castle, Fergus was waiting in the courtyard. One look at Jeane’s pale face and he was striding toward her.
“What happened?” he demanded, helping her down from the carriage.
“She thought she saw one of her faither’s friends in the village,” Aiden explained. “It was a false alarm, but it shook her.”
Fergus pulled Jeane against his chest, one hand cupping the back of her head. “Ye’re all right. Ye’re safe.”
“I feel so foolish,” Jeane mumbled against his tunic. “It wasnae even him. I just panicked.”
“Ye’re nae foolish,” Fergus said fiercely. “Ye’re cautious. There’s a difference.” He pulled back to look down at her. “Come with me.”
He led her to his study, settling her in a chair before pouring her a small cup of whisky. Jeane took it with shaking hands and drank, coughing as the liquid burned down her throat.
“I’m doublin’ the guards around ye,” Fergus said, pacing in front of the fire. “From now on, ye daenae go anywhere without at least two guards. Nae even to the gardens.”
“Fergus, that’s nae necessary.”
“It is,” he cut her off. “Yer faither is lookin’ for ye, Jeane. And he’s gettin’ closer. I willnae take any chances with yer safety.”
Jeane set down the cup and stood, crossing to him. She took his hands in hers, feeling the tension in his body.
“I’m sorry for worryin’ ye.”
