Page 53 of A Stranger’s Promise

Chapter Thirteen

Alistair stared out his library window. Dark gray clouds covered the late afternoon sky. A cold, driving rain had brought an early evening, requiring that candles and lamps to be lit.

“I wager we will find your personal seal in Lady Cassilis’s care.” Nicholas stretched in the chair where he lounged before the fire.

Alistair shook his head. “I fail to see how she could have a hand in the matter. What does she have to gain by stealing my personal seal to falsify a note simply to send Charlotte to the stables? Nae. I fear it is another sort of mischief.”

“Mischief.” Nicholas’ eyes lit. “I—”

“Uncle,” a small voice gasped, “it’s Charlotte.”

Alistair looked around in alarm. Oliver stood by the door, bent over, holding his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. Mud stained the knees of his trousers and a stream of water dripped from his wet hair.

“What do you mean, lad?” Alistair crossed to him in three long strides. “Speak, at once.”

“I can’t find Miss Atchenson,” Oliver gulped. “Anywhere.”

Alistair forced himself to take a calming breath. The castle was large. She could be in the kitchens, or the library. “How long have you been searching?” he asked.

“Since afternoon tea,” Oliver whispered. His face began to crumple. “I slipped away from Meg to find her. I have looked everywhere, Uncle. I thought she was taking too long to come back from seeing you. One of the maids said she saw her leave the castle with Captain Edwards, but I’ve—”

Captain Edwards? Alistair didn’t hear the rest. He was already headed through the door.

In short order, he roused every man in the house, including the guests, and organized them into search parties. After dispatching them in all directions, he took command of the party to scour the sea caves and shore.

Cold rain drove down in icy sheets that stung his face as he lifted his oil lantern high and shouted for the men in his party to follow. He’d just turned to lead the way when a small figure darted through the rain and reached his side.

“Go back, Oliver,” Alistair shouted over the wind and the shouts of the men behind him as they headed for the cliff trail.

The boy stubbornly shook his head. “No. I’m a Cassilis and I belong with the clan.”

Alistair hesitated, then realized the boy was right. He clamped his hand down on the lad’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Stay near me. Understand?”

He nodded.

Facing the bitter winds head on, Alistair reached the slippery path that descended the cliffs to the rocky shore below. Behind him, the line of men with oil lanterns snaked down behind him. His mind raced.

Captain Edwards.

Cold anger seized Alistair’s soul. He should’ve thought of the man sooner. No doubt, he was behind the forged letter, as well. He should have turned the man out of the house once he’d learned he was the captain Charlotte had been engaged to—be he Lady Brexley’s chaperone or no.

They reached the shore and fanned out to scour area. Alistair led Oliver, Nicholas and a group of men over the rock pools toward the sea caves. Gusts of wind whistled through the yawing cave entrances like the ghostly skirl of pipes.

Alistair lifted his lantern high and picked a path over the boulders and sharp, jutting rocks until he stood, at last, in front of the ruined arched door that lead into the dark network of caverns beyond. He slowed and glanced at Oliver. The young lad stood strong and resolute. Pride flooded Alistair. The boy was a Cassilis, indeed.

The main chamber stood empty, as did the smaller chambers off to the side. As he wound his way up to the second level of caves, he spied a pin prick of light glancing off the ceiling ahead.

“There,” he shouted to his men.

The light snuffed out, but he’d seen it. Alistair dashed forward with his men close behind.

“Charlotte!” he called as he ran, but only his own voice echoed back at him off the walls.

He ascended another level when a shout went up. Hope leapt in his chest. Sprinting forward, he caught sight of flickering light an instant before he rounded a corner. Alistair’s heart fell. Two men dragged, not Charlotte, but Captain Edwards between them, his clothes torn and blood trickling down from a cut on his forehead.

An instant later, Alistair reached them. He seized the Edwards by the throat. “Where is she?” he snarled. “Where?”

The man’s throat muscles struggled to work beneath his fingers. Alistair released his grip just enough to allow him to wheeze, “She ran, deeper into the caves.”