“I swear I speak the truth. She was right there and then…”
“Then what?”
“Then she just wasn’t.”
Jock looked Alan deep in the eye. He was telling the truth, though the truth made no sense at all. Slowly his grip relaxed.
Alan straightened his tunic. “Now will you let me speak to the priest? Who but a witch could vanish from an infirmary in the middle of the night?”
“Call out the guards. Wherever she is, we will find her.”
The hunt lasted most of the night but it proved pointless. She’d vanished without trace. Lachlan checked the gates. They’d been locked and barred since sunset. If she was out of the infirmary, she hadn’t gone far. She had to be somewhere in the castle and yet not a trace of her was found.
Jock didn’t understand how it was even possible. He had been outside the infirmary with Lachlan the entire time. Alan had been in the preparation room. There was no other exit than the door. The windows were too narrow for a person to fit through. How could she have vanished?
He was no closer to an answer when the sun rose. He gave notice for the search to continue but he was becoming increasingly doubtful she would be found.
What if Alan was right? What if she was a witch after all?
He skipped breakfast, not wanting to have to make small talk while his head whirled with thoughts of her.
Lachlan found him in the bowels of the keep, unlocking dungeon doors that hadn’t been used for decades. “She’s not likely to be down here,” Lachlan said. “Unless she had her own set of keys.”
“I will find her,” Jock replied, kicking his way through a pile of rotted straw. “She must be somewhere.”
“And you should get some sleep. You have a clan to look after, remember?”
“Aye.” He turned and looked Lachlan in the eye. “And you were given orders to hunt for her.”
Lachlan’s slouch vanished. He stood upright for a moment and looked as if he was about to say something. “Aye, my laird,” he said instead, heading out of the dungeon, his footsteps slowly fading away.
Jock kept going until he had searched all the spaces he could think of. Wherever she had chosen to hide, it was a good place. He thought he knew every inch of the place. But he clearly didn’t know as much as he thought.
She was gone.
He gave up at noon. Wherever she was, she was staying there until she chose to come out. He was coming out of the kennels when he saw Robin laughing at the far side of the courtyard, slapping a serving girl on the back with far too much enthusiasm. The girl managed a smile but it fell away as soon as he was gone.
Jock looked at Robin as he headed into the keep. Should he just go over and drag him down to the dungeons? Force a confession out of him?
No, that wouldn’t be wise. It would assuage the anger inside him but no doubt Robin had someone working for him. If they found out he’d been imprisoned, accused of theft of the treasury, they’d no doubt have instructions to get rid of any incriminating evidence just in time for the king’s arrival and then what would Jock look like? A laird who was losing control of his clan.
Better to find the proof first, then accuse him. That way he couldn’t worm his way out of it using that silver tongue of his.
Jock took a deep breath, pushing Daisy out of his mind. It was not an easy task but he managed it with a dunk of his head in the nearest trough. Coming up with water running down his face, he looked around him. Life in the castle was continuing as it had done for generations. None of them knew the turmoil that was taking place in front of their eyes.
If Jock didn’t find out where the money had gone from the treasury they’d know soon enough. It pained him to think of the clan scattered by the king.
Would they fight? He shook his head. They were a strong people but they were not fools. You could not fight the king’s army and hope to win. He had the English, the Normans and the Norsemen on his side.
Perhaps not forever but for now uneasy truces gave him a strength in numbers Jock could never hope to match. The MacGregors would be slaughtered and the clan would be gone forever.
He thought of his father and his father before him. They had fought long and hard to save the clan from numerous external threats. He must save them from this one. All he had to do was go and talk to Eddard. He cursed himself for his reluctance, clenching his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms as he marched across the courtyard.
Eddard and Morag had the top floor of the keep to themselves. Twenty years earlier there had been a pigeon loft and water tower up there. Dozens of laborers and masons had worked for five years to convert it into a living space.
Jock had thought it was for him and his future bride but upon completion, Eddard had slapped him on the back and told him he was laird now and would sleep in the laird’s quarters.
He could remember that day well. The shock he had felt at being given control of the clan. The pride that swelled in him knowing that his parents considered him ready to lead them all.
