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The physician touched Odella’s throat, her wrist, her forehead, then put his hand about an inch away from her lips. He held it there for a long moment, then slowly lowered it.

The physician lifted his gaze to Kenric, nervousness in his eyes.

Terran uncrossed his arms, ready for explosive action. “What is it?” Terran demanded. His gaze dropped to Odella. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s dead, m’lord,” the physician announced.

Terran lifted dark eyes to pin the physician to the spot. Rage and fear churned in his heart. The old man recoiled from his deathly glare.

“I’m sorry,” the physician said meekly.

In one swift movement Terran grabbed the physician by his tunic front and slammed him against the wall. “Liar,” he snarled.

The old man quivered beneath Terran’s twisted grimace. “I -- I’m sorry, m’lord,” he stuttered. Terran tossed the old man aside, and the physician quickly fled the room.

Terran’s gaze slid to the woman in the bed. Her soft features were still, her eyes closed as if in sleep, her lips pale, but still pink.

Terran sat beside her on the bed, taking her hand in his trembling fingers, grief closing his throat. “Open your eyes, darling,” he whispered. “Show that old goat how wrong he is.”

But her eyes didn’t flutter. They didn’t open.

“Come, Odella. Don’t be stubborn. Open your eyes.” His voice cracked slightly.

Terran shifted his gaze from her cold fingers to her still face. She did not move. “Open your eyes, damn it!” he ordered through clenched teeth.

Her eyes remained closed.

Suddenly, grief consumed him and he swept her into a tight embrace, burying his face in her long golden locks. “Oh, no, no,” he whispered into her hair. Anguish shattered the last shards of his self-control. His utter misery rolled from his eyes, from his very soul, in a torrent of torment. “Odella, Odella,” he repeated, over and over again.

Chapter six

Exhausted both mentally and physically, Bria and Garret rode home slowly. They’d searched together and with Mary’s father all day, but Bria knew it was useless. She knew Mary’s fate had been the same as the Widow Anderson’s. But there was no proof. The bloodied cloth they’d found didn’t prove much of anything. There were no bodies. How could she bring forth any accusations against Kenric when she had no solid proof?

It’s my fault. If I’d stayed with Mary, she’d still be alive.

Or you would have been killed, a voice inside her reminded.

She looked over at the setting sun. Her stomach rumbled, but she didn’t care. Grief and fatigue warred within her. The red sky wavered before her watery eyes.

“What should I do, Garret?” she whispered, staring at the castle as they approached it.

“Do?” Garret asked. “There’s nothing to do. Mary could return to her house at any moment.”

Bria closed her eyes. “You know she won’t. Kenric killed her.”

“You don’t know that,” Garret said. “She could be hiding in the forest or at someone’s house. You didn’t see Kenric kill her. Maybe she got away.”

Bria opened her hand and stared down at the bloodied cloth. She knew Mary hadn’t escaped. She would have gone home, or come to Castle Delaney. Grief welled within her. Her best friend. And it was her fault.

“Bria!”

Bria lifted her head to see her grandfather running across the drawbridge toward her. “I’ve been looking for you the entire day,” he said in a worried voice. He came up short before her, reaching up for her, his old lungs fighting for a breath. Bria took his hand and dismounted.

“I’ll stable your horse.” Garret moved the animal off toward the castle.

Harry studied Bria’s downcast face. “I’m so sorry.” He engulfed her in a tight hold and rocked her slightly. “I heard about your friend.”

“Oh, Grandfather.” She pressed her face into his chest. All her grief and desperation and guilt came out in a torrent of sobs. Her grandfather’s embrace tightened, and she knew she wasn’t worthy of his comfort.