Page 51
Och, that would be too damned easy.
“Did either of ye see Marjorie on yer way?” Keane asked, mentally ticking off the most likely routes in and out of the castle, as well as the secret passages.
They shook their heads again, trading tense glances.
Their answer unnerved him more than he wanted to admit, even to himself. So help him God, if Lorne had touched a single hair on Marjorie’s or Cora’s heads…
There were only three hidden passages: one from the master chamber to the great hall, and another from outside the bailey to the kitchens. That was probably the one Lorne had used if he’d accessed the keep. Two sets of back stairways led from the kitchens to other levels of the keep, and that was where Keane would have his men start searching.
The third wasn’t truly a passage, but a secret room accessed by panel in the gallery. In prior eras, spies, political refugees, and the like had used the chamber during tumultuous times and rebellions.
He’d shown his guests the smallish hidey-hole during the house tour earlier today.
Cora and Elana had been particularly intrigued and had begged to be permitted inside.
He couldn’t deny their big, pleading blue eyes. After procuring a candle, he’d stood inside, holding it high as the girls, their mother, a few of the more inquisitive guests and his cats investigated the space. Elana had whispered to her younger sister, quite loudly, that it was a perfect place for little girls to play hide-and-go-seek.
He doubted Cora, small for her age, could reach the secret latch to open the panel concealing the nook. Nonetheless, he’d search there first. According to Marjorie, her girls had a precocious streak, and the lass may have decided to play hide-and-go-seek.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he flexed his jaw. “Ye should ken, I discovered Lorne is responsible for the cottage fire, and this mornin’ I found evidence that someone had searched my study. My uncle also arrived unexpectedly, in quite an agitated state, and advised me my cousin had vowed to kill me.”
No need to tell them Lorne was his brother. Keane hadn’t come to grips with that ugly truth. Recalling that cur’s blood ran in his veins sickened him.
“Christ on the blessed cross,” Graeme swore beneath his breath, bracing his massive square hands on his hips. Annoyance crinkled his eyes and bracketed his hard, turned down mouth. “And when did ye plan on informin’ us of these facts?”
Breathing out a long puff of air, Keane splayed a hand across his nape. “I was hopin’ I wouldna have to. I dinna believe Lorne’s slipped by my guards, and I think ’tis more probable the lass wandered off and couldna find her way back.”
If that were the case, where the hell was Marjorie?
While Camden stood guard outside the nursery and Graeme hastened to alert the guards, Keane headed directly to the gallery two stories below. As a child, he’d often hidden away in the cupboard-like room. In truth, on many, many occasions, he’d avoided stern nurses, punitive tutors, and a neglectful father by secreting himself there.
His senses honed to every creak and groan of the castle, he slowed his pace as he neared the gallery. Head cocked, he listened for voices, the sound of muffled footsteps, or the friction of moving clothing.
Silence met his concentrated scrutiny.
Still, he stayed near the wall as he edged to the short door concealed in the panel. He should’ve brought a lamp or candle with him. Pulling his dagger from his boot, he inched toward the rectangle cleverly concealed amongst the dark paneling.
A child’s frightened cry, accompanied by an enraged female’s muffled shout, made him jerk his head up, his gaze boring into the molded plaster ceiling.
Cora? Marjorie?
The sounds had filtered from a chamber above.
Alarm pounded through Keane, scraping his spine with sharp claws of fear and fury, and he cursed furiously when a thump and bang echoed overhead. Sprinting, forbidding his mind to conjure images of what might be happening at this very instance, he bolted to the stairwell, dirk raised and his blood ablaze. His breath rasping harshly in his ears, he made the landing.
A swift, covert scan confirmed the absence of the guards that should’ve been on duty.
He rounded the corner and pulled up short upon seeing a pair of booted feet. Further inspection revealed McTibbons was only unconscious. An egg-sized lump had formed on the back of his head, but his breathing, though shallow, was even.
Slowly rising, Keane did a swift visual search for the second guard.
He didn’t have to look very far.
He found Forbes around the next corner, also insensate, but thank God, not dead. He suffered a gash to his forehead, as well as a knife wound to his shoulder. The bleeding had congealed, but from the size of the slash, he’d need stitches.
Keane removed his handkerchief and, after folding it, wedged the make-shift bandage inside Forbe’s shirt, covering the wound. As much as Keane loathed to leave his injured men, at least they were alive, and he was confident Graeme would be along with the others soon.
What was most urgent at this moment was finding Marjorie and Cora. The air burning in his lungs and his heart buffeting his ribcage with the force of a blacksmith’s hammer, he approached the bedchamber on silent feet.
