Page 53 of The Widow Wore Plaid

“Begging your pardon, my lord,” Grant spoke up reluctantly, “but Mr. MacNair is from home at the moment. Business that arose on one of the English estates. He won’t be back for a week or more.”

“Damn.” Matthew peered around the room, but only gentlemen’s faces met his intense scrutiny. No time to be cursing in front of the ladies. “What about the master of the hunt? Surely he would know every nook and cranny on the estate. He might even have a good idea about where the devil Kinellan has gotten to.”

The suggestion was met with general enthusiasm, for which Matthew gave great thanks. He did not wish for a bevy of proposed plans when he simply needed to do what he thought best. “Send the master to me immediately, Grant.”

“Very good, my lord.”

As the butler hurried out, Matthew swallowed another mouthful of cognac. They had no time to lose. That they might already be too late to save Kinellan and Jane ate at him with an intolerable pain. The fact that they might have been killed while he and the others were laughing and chatting without a care out at the Height of Braie, or during dinner, made him almost ill. All they could do now was discover Kinellan’s original destination and start there.

“What’s the plan now, Lathbury?” Wrotham had sidled up to him, glass in hand.

“Hopefully, the master of the hunt will have an idea about where Kinellan has gone. We will then set out for whatever place that is to mount our rescue.” Pray God they would choose the correct place to search.

“Good show.” Wrotham nodded and waved toward the rest of the gentlemen. “We are all with you, of course. At first light, do you think?”

“At first light?” Matthew blinked. “What do you mean?”

“We leave at dawn, correct?”

Staring hard at the man, Matthew straightened, alarm bells ringing in his head. “We leave as soon as the master gives us a probable destination. Why would we waste valuable time when there’s a lunatic out there sworn to kill Kinellan?”

“Because it’s pitch dark, we’d be in unfamiliar territory, and we are all exhausted after one search tonight.” Granger had joined them, his face set in hard lines. His deep voice carried far enough that it drew the other gentlemen toward them.

“We have no time to lose if we are to save them.” Why was Matthew the only one who understood this?

“Our getting lost out in the darkness will hardly help the situation.” Brack had joined the discussion, his usually pleasant countenance replaced by a frowning visage. “I know you are concerned for their safety, Lathbury, but Kinellan knows his lands intimately. They have likely taken some sort of shelter for the night, so if the worst has not happened to them already, they should survive until dawn.”

“With a madman hunting them, there’s no guarantee of that.” Matthew could not understand how any of these men who called Kinellan a friend could entertain for a minute waiting five or six hours to begin the search. If it came to that, he’d go alone with only the master of the hunt to help find Kinellan. “We need to—”

The door opened admitting a tall man of middling age, dressed rustically, a shock of jet-black hair on his head. “I’m MacKenna, m’lord. You sent for me?”

“You’re Kinellan’s master of the hunt?”

“Aye, m’lord.” The gruff reply spoke to the man’s no-nonsense nature.

“Lord Kinellan has gone missing today.” Matthew assumed no one had informed the staff yet. “He and Lady John Tarkington.”

MacKenna gave no response save a narrowing of his eyes.

“We have reason to believe”—he paused to glance at Brack and Wrotham, who both nodded—“that another man may have followed them with murderous intent.”

The hunt master’s brows rose slightly, but his face otherwise remained stoic.

“We scoured the area around Loch Kinellan earlier, but found no trace of them.” The man’s unmoving face had begun to unnerve Matthew. “From something Kinellan said we believe they have gone somewhere near water. Is there any other place in the near vicinity that has a water source they might have visited?”

Brack jumped in. “For an outing, such as a picnic, say.”

Mr. MacKenna nodded. “Aye, there are several. Rogie Falls is the closest, five miles away to the west. His lordship knows it well for it’s not far from the old hunting lodge.”

“Hunting lodge?” Hope rose in Matthew like a bird in flight.

“Abandoned for many years, now. The old marquess used to have hunting parties there often in my da’s time as master.”

“And the lodge is close by this Rogie Falls?”

“Aye, less than a mile.”

Then if something untoward had happened at the falls, Kinellan would have surely made for the lodge. “I’d be willing to wager that is where we’ll find them. Thank you, MacKenna. Will you tell the grooms to saddle the horses and bring them around front, please? With luck we can reach them in just a couple of hours.”