Page 90 of An Earl for the Archeress

The soldiers, along with Will, John, Alan, and David, spread out to search the yard. King William’s men moved past Madeline into the great hall. Robert joined Mariel’s sister in searching the various storage sheds and corridors in the outer walls. His resolve finally threatened to crack, and he stopped, placed his palms and forehead against the door of the guard tower they had just exited. He closed his eyes. There was no sign of her. The darkness of his thoughts threatened to madden him. He took a deep, shaking breath, released it, and felt a hand on his arm. He looked down.

“My laird,” Madeline said, her eyes mournful as she dipped into a curtsy. “Wherever she is, she awaits you. You mustn’t stop searching. Might I suggest—” She cut herself short, fear capturing her brow.

“Suggest what?”

She crossed herself, visibly distressed, unable to push the words over her lips.

“Lady Madeline. If you know something more, you must tell me.” He took her hands in his, squeezing them for confidence. “Your sire is locked away. He can’t harm you anymore. This, I promise.”

“What if he is released?” she whispered. “It won’t just be me he punishes. I can nay bear for my sister to endure any more from him than she has.”

Robert saw it. Madeline was the opposite of her sister. She was afraid to err, for fear of what the repercussions might be for them all.

“You must take the chance, Lady. You must find the courage. Tell me.”

She swallowed, nodded, sweat glistening her brow, and allowed a string of words to leak from her lips. “Might I suggest, my faither’s head guardsman? He takes her the food I steal for her.”

He thought on her words.

“Teàrlach MacGregor?”

She nodded and dipped back into a curtsy. He squeezed her hands again. Madeline was quiet, most certainly agreeable, but beneath it, he sensed she was a steady rhythm with a resilient fortitude.

“You’ve done well, Lady.”

He hastened down the steps, leaving her to follow, and exited back into the dimness of early night and the threat of snow blowing in.

“Where are you?” he whispered, surveying the inner bailey for the dark guardsman. Men were still searching, and Harold Crawford’s guards and castle workers had all gathered in the bailey.

His eyes finally landed on Teàrlach MacGregor. He remembered him from the woods. He remembered that Teàrlach had lied to his lord about Mariel. The head guardsman was leaning against the wall beneath a torch, invisible to most, his arms folded and foot propped on the wall in an arrogant slouch. His dark hair and amber eyes surveyed Robert, almost beckoning him. Over his shoulder was his MacGregor plaid mantle, easing the chill.

Robert walked down the steps and across the yard, Madeline behind him. Teàrlach stiffened at her arrival, his eyes darting back and forth between them. He dropped his arms, pushing away from the wall.

“Why won’t anyone tell me where to find Mariel?” Robert demanded. “Is she dead? I know you know where she is hidden.”

The guardsman made a surreptitious glance around him. Satisfied he was out of earshot, he barely mouthed, “Nay dead.”

“But you know where she is,” Madeline said, her voice soft, gentle. “You’re the one my faither entrusted to guard her, taking her the food I send.”

Teàrlach’s gaze moved to her, and it was obvious to Robert from the softening in the man’s eyes that he was fond of Crawford’s second daughter, almost longing. “We’ve orders to remain tight-lipped, lest we invite the laird’s wrath.”

“No wrath to invite, man,” Robert said. “He’s incarcerated in England and will remain so until Mariel is returned to me, upon which he will be transferred under guard to King William for sedition.”

“We must find her, sire,” Madeline beseeched, gazing back at the guardsman.

“She’s my wife,” Robert said, “and after watching Lord Crawford handle her, I know she needs help.”

Teàrlach looked at Robert directly, stepping nose to nose with him as if preparing for a confrontation. Madeline backed up, having probably witnessed too many an altercation in her young life. She had to be only six and ten, seven and ten at most, for Robert knew that Mariel was barely of age.

“I playact, man. If I appear to help ye, ’twill be my arse on the chopping block should Laird Crawford ever be released,” Teàrlach muttered, and Robert nodded his understanding, his heart leaping with anticipation.

Teàrlach’s next move was subtle. At first Robert didn’t understand, staring into Teàrlach’s eyes in the darkness around them. He did it again, his eyes shooting off to the side. Robert almost whipped his head around to follow the glance but caught himself.

“The storage tower?” Robert whispered. You dolt. He kicked himself. He had done the same thing at Huntington, converted an obsolete tower into a temporary chamber. “How is she?”

“Bad,” Teàrlach said. “Gather your men. Have them tackle me to the ground. Say you suspect something and take my keys upon my hip. ’Twill get you entry.”

Robert didn’t hesitate, but whirled around. “Men!” he hollered. “This one knows something but won’t talk!”