Page 94 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Tav hadn’t meant to shut her out. Not really. He’d just needed space to think—to breathe through the madness of what he'd learned. The weight of it all had knotted around his lungs, and when she’d tried to help, he’d pushed her away with too few words and too much distance.

It was the same mistake he'd made before, after that first night. After she'd let him get close, had given him her body and her trust, he'd vanished into himself. The guilt had eaten him alive then, and it was doing the same now.

So he went looking for her. Not simply to apologize, even though he wasn’t sure he could even find the right words for that, but to see her.

But the castle felt wrong. Quiet, yes, but not in the peaceful way it sometimes was in the afternoon. This was the kind of quiet that prickled. The kind that followed after something had already gone missing.

He checked the usual places first. The solar. Her chambers. The gallery. But Agnes was nowhere. Then came the dread.

It was a subtle shift at first, an unease in the stillness, the kind that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He’d been pacing the corridors for what felt like hours. First near the kitchens, then down through the old gallery hall. The paintings had watched him like witnesses. A few servants had nodded politely when he passed, some had even smiled, but none had seen her. None had noticed Agnes slipping out. Not one.

He tried to reason with himself at first. Maybe she was resting. Maybe she’d gone for a walk and forgotten to tell anyone. But that uneasy whisper wouldn’t quiet.

She wasn’t in the dining chamber, or in her rooms. Not even in the garden⁠—

He pushed through, scanning the paths, the rose arch, the far corners where she liked to sit. Nothing. The bench under the pale-yellow blooms was empty. Not a single footprint. No trace of her slippers.

“Agnes,” he called her name once. Then again, louder.

No answer.

His chest tightened. A muscle in his jaw ticked. Something was off. He could feel it in the marrow of him, that animal sense that had never once led him wrong. She was gone. He didn't waste time. The second the garden turned up nothing, Tav's legs moved on instinct. He pushed back through the gate, took the steps two at a time, and stormed into the keep.

"Ye!" he snapped at the first guard he saw. "When did ye last see Lady Agnes?"

The guard blinked. "This morning, I think⁠—"

"Think? Ye think? Where? What corridor? Was she alone?"

The man stammered. "North wing. Aye, she was alone. Headed out—looked like she needed air."

Tav swore under his breath and pushed past him. He turned the corner sharply and nearly collided with a maid.

"Lady Agnes—have ye seen her?"

The girl shook her head quickly. "Nay, sir. Nae since breakfast."

He pressed on. Another guard. "Who was posted at the north wing today?"

"That would be Beric."

"Where is he now?"

"I—I'm nae sure, sir."

He kept moving. More questions. More faces. No answers. Tav’s voice grew sharper with each denial, the urgency climbing into panic. The castle now seemed suddenly too large, too full of blind spots.

All he got were blank stares, sheepish apologies. No one had seen her. No one had noticed a thing. It made the rage in him simmer. Because someone should’ve noticed. She wasn’t invisible. She mattered. And someone had let her disappear without a whisper.

He stormed into Caithness's office without knocking. The laird looked up from a map sprawled across his desk, startled. Ewan Kerr stood by the hearth, arms crossed.

"She’s gone," Tav said, breathless.

Caithness blinked. "Who?"

"Agnes. She’s naewhere in the keep. Nae in the gardens. Nae in her room. She’s gone."