Page 49
“Brixtone? Where is Lady Kennedy?” Keane looked past him, searching for her.
“She asked me to find you at once, Your Grace.”
His face wrinkled in disgust, Brixtone held one foot aloft, shaking it rigorously in an attempt to dislodge a hefty glob of mud stuck to the sole of his shoe. With a sickening plop, it flew off and landed squarely on Lady Constance’s cloak, midway up her thigh.
“You clod! Imbecile. Dolt.” Eyes snapping her revulsion and fury, she curled her lips into an unbecoming sneer as she held her cloak away from her person as if he’d deposited fresh cow manure on the fine, scarlet fabric. “Look what you’ve done, Samson! You’ve ruined my new cloak.”
“I beg your pardon, my lady.” Dismay crumpled his features, more for her harsh treatment than any true remorse for soiling the garment, Keane would vow.
“If it cannot be cleaned, you shall replace it. I must find a maid at once.” She spun on her heel and stomped away, muttering a string of foul, unladylike curses as she pushed and shoved, elbowing her way through the partygoers.
“Ye were sayin’?” Keane asked, grateful to be rid of the cloying termagant.
Brixtone released a beleaguered sigh.
The man wasted his time wooing that one. Lady Constance Abercrombie might dally with a mere mister, but she’d only wed a man with a title.
“One of Lady Kennedy’s daughters has wandered from her bed and cannot be found,” Brixtone explained, his forlorn gaze on Lady Constance’s retreating form.
Keane didn’t bother asking more questions before charging through the teeming crowd. Once beyond the masses, he broke into a run, taking the entry stairs two at a time. There probably wasn’t a cause for concern.
After all, he’d positioned watches everywhere.
No’ the nursery.
Aye, not the nursery, and that was quite possibly a stupid, stupid oversight on his part.
Convinced he was Lorne’s sole target, Keane hadn’t thought it necessary to assign guards to the nursery as well. Marjorie was certain to have fretted if he had, and since there hadn’t been a single sighting of the blackguard since the day of the fire, he’d kept the extra security to the lower levels.
Damn my eyes.
He burst into the nursery, expecting to see Marjorie there. Instead, he found two maids hunched into chairs, holding hands, their faces tear stained.
“Where is Lady Marjorie?”
Phemie unfolded slowly from her chair and, voice quavering, said, “We havena seen her.” She glanced at the closed door at the far end of the chamber. “Elana still sleeps, though Chimera is also gone now.”
Keane wasn’t worried about the cats. They could take care of themselves. Should any fool antagonize them, they’d receive a nasty surprise by way of needle-sharp teeth and equally lethal claws.
He advanced farther into the tidy chamber, taking in every inch from the shelves of toys to the rocking chairs placed before the fire burning in the hearth. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
In short order, Phemie apprised him of the situation. “I swear, my laird. I wasna gone for more than five minutes. I dinna even go below stairs but handed Sphynx to a passin’ footman.” She shook her head and, withdrawing a handkerchief from her apron pocket, noisily blew her nose. “I dinna see the lass in the corridor as I returned, so she must’ve gone in the other direction.”
Or had someone made use of a secret passageway and spirited her away?
So far as he knew, only Bothan, Mrs. Dunlap, and Nevin were aware of the passages’ existence.
His breath stalled as his pulse ticked up considerably.
Odin’s bones, teeth, and toes.
Had Bothan told Lorne about them?
Had Lorne used them on previous occasions?
Perhaps to spy on the activities within the keep?
To spy on Keane?
