“Our only enemy.” Ciaran could feel the answer locking into place even while part of him still resisted saying it aloud. “The one who let us think Jack was the end of it. The one who sat behind the tale and fed us just enough to stop the search.”
He did not need to say the name yet. It was there in him all the same, old and poisonous and suddenly far too near.
Hector’s face hardened. “Ye’re sure?”
“I am sure enough.”
The panic from moments earlier had turned into something colder and far more dangerous. Ciaran looked toward the door leading out to the yard, where horses, men, and open ground waited.
“Ava has been taken.”
When he spoke it aloud, every man within earshot understood from his voice that the true enemy had not been buried with Jack at all.
For one beat, nobody moved.
Then Ciaran did.
“Gather some men,” he ordered, his voice hard and level. “And saddle every fast horse we have. I want trackers, archers, and men everywhere.”
The hall sprang into motion at once.
A stableboy ran for the yard. One of the guards turned and shouted for the others. Bruce barked again and ran in a frantic circle before racing after the first moving legs. Servants flattened themselves against the wall to clear the way. Hector was already moving with him.
“Take six now,” Ciaran added. “Another six follow with supplies. Water, rope, blankets, torches, and spare mounts. If she is hurt, I want men ready to carry her back. If she is bound, I want knives in hand before anyone has to ask for one.”
“Aye,” Hector said.
“Lock the gates after we ride. Double the wall watch. Nobody comes in or out unmarked. I daenae care who they say they serve.”
“Aye.”
The orders came easily. The guilt underneath them did not.
Ciaran had let his wife walk away wounded, and before he could even decide how to fix what he had broken, someone else had taken her. Every second he had lost to silence sat inside him now like a sickness. A part of him wondered if she would still be here if he had gotten brave enough to speak out loud.
He took the note Hector had handed him earlier and crushed it in his fist without knowing he had done it. “Where is her father?”
“Here.” The answer came from behind him.
Laird MacKenna had crossed the hall without Ciaran hearing him. He wore no formal coat, only a hastily tied robe over a shirt. The side of his face still bore the healing burns. His hair was mussed from sleep. But his eyes were fully alert.
Ciaran turned to him and did not waste either of their time with comfort he could not justify. “She has been taken.”
MacKenna’s face tightened. He absorbed the blow in silence, then asked, “How many men do ye need?”
Ciaran answered at once because there was no room left for false pride. “All ye can spare.”
“Ye shall have them.”
MacKenna did not raise his voice. He did not stumble. He turned toward the nearest guard and began issuing orders of his own.“Wake me men and arm them. Nay one rides half-prepared and slows the rest. If there is news from MacKenna lands, I want it held until I ask for it.”
The guard ran.
Ciaran watched him for one second with a bitter taste in his mouth. MacKenna had placed his people under this roof. He had trusted him, and he had been grateful.Yet, Ava had been taken anyway.
“I thought ye could protect her.”
The words came out quietly, but they landed harder than any rebuke could have.
