Page 89 of When the Laird Conquers

Frowning, Emma twisted and pointed toward a door in the opposite direction. “He was just coming out of there,” she replied.

Crumpling the note in his fist, Gordon broke into a sprint, barreling through the door she had gestured to. It was an empty room that had not been used for any particular reason in years. His gaze flicked to the open window, which let in a cool breeze.

“He’s got her,” he hissed as he ran for the window and climbed out.

Keith wasn’t far behind. “What?”

“The Duke. He has her.”

Gordon crouched low and touched the earth, grateful that it had rained this afternoon. His fingertips brushed a fresh footprint alongside a deep groove.

He dragged her.

Squinting down at the ground, his eyes adjusting to the evening dark, he followed the trail of footprints around the castle until, in a slight recess of the wall, they turned into the crescent shape of hoofprints.

“Bring me horse to the gates,” he barked at Keith. He would deal with him later.

Keith rushed off to obey, while Gordon continued to track the hoofprints all the way to where his guards were supposed to be checking everyone who came in and out of the castle grounds.

“Did a horse ride out of here?” he snarled.

The men jumped.

“Aye, me Laird,” one replied hesitantly.

“And the rider?”

The same guard frowned. “There was a lad and a lass. Said she’d taken a fall and he was takin’ her to the healer at Braemar.”

“And ye didnae bother to look at the lass?” Gordon seethed, about ready to rip the heads clean off the necks of these incompetent fools.

The guard gulped audibly. “She was cloaked, me Laird. Swayin’ like. She didnae look well.”

“How can ye ken that when ye didnae look at her bloody face?” Gordon snapped.

“No one without an invitation has been allowed in, me Laird. We’ve checked everyone,” the guard protested, albeit tentatively.

“Aye, but nae hard enough.” Gordon clenched his jaw and turned his attention up to the battlements before shouting, “Do ye see a beacon anywhere?”

A guard standing in the gate tower looked from him to the landscape, agonizing seconds ticking by before he replied, “Aye, I think so. Out by the meadow with the fallen oak. There’s somethin’ glowin’. A torch, maybe?”

At least someone was capable of doing their job.

The next moment, Keith was there, leading Gordon’s horse with one hand. In his other hand, he held Gordon’s sword.

“Do ye want me to come with ye, me Laird?” he asked.

Gordon hoisted himself up onto the horse’s back and reached down to grab his sword. “Follow on foot. The meadow with the fallen oak. Bring a few men, and search the surroundin’ woods for anyone who shouldnae be there.”

He gave no further instruction before urging his horse through the gates and riding as fast as he could toward that faint, winking orange light in the distance. Toward the woman he could no longer pretend he didn’t love.

Agnes blinked awake to a stinging pain in her cheek, her eyes watering. That strangely sweet scent lingered in her nostrils, her mind foggy as she tried to make out where she was.

A figure stood before her.

“That’s better,” a familiar mocking voice said. “For a moment there, I thought my brother had given you enough ether to kill you, instead of putting you to sleep.”

Horror writhed in Agnes’s stomach as she met Edwin’s cold eyes. “You cannot have her,” she croaked. “You cannot have my niece. I won’t let you kill her, like you did my sister.”