Page 113 of First Light

What did Eamer want to tell her? And why did she want Carys to come alone?

The banquetthat night was the third one of Dafydd and Eamer’s visit, though unlike the glittery finery of the first, this one was a more casual and music-filled feast held for the merchants, traders, and landowners in the area as well as some of the local lords.

Carys sat at the same table she had for the first banquet, but this time the atmosphere was much more relaxed. The music was lively, and she danced with Duncan again, then with Dafydd. Lachlan sat at the head table, but they were both avoiding each other’s eyes.

“What’s going on with you and my brother?” Duncan asked her the second time they danced.

The dancers around them were all speaking Gaelic. They weretaking a chance by speaking in English, so Carys kept her voice low. “He wants me to go back to Scotland.”

“Oh aye, he would.” The dance took them away from each other, but when Duncan reached her again, he continued. “He doesn’t like conflict. He wants everyone to be happy. It’s not a bad thing.”

“It is when Seren’s murderer is still roaming around the castle,” Carys muttered. The more she’d thought about it, the angrier she got at her conversation with Lachlan.

What kind of husband didn’t want to avenge his wife? What kind of lover was content to let his wife die without any questions?

“Cadell said you were at the cottage all day.” Duncan ducked his head and spoke closely. “Any progress? She doesn’t mention the forge, does she?”

“Progress, yes. The other thing, no. Still a lot of missing pieces.” They ducked under a pair of arms, then circled around back to each other. “Cadell put them in order, and I’ve skimmed through them. I’m pretty sure the last journal is missing.”

“Missing?” Duncan put his hand on her waist and spun her around before bringing her back to his chest. “As in gone?”

“Unless you think she suddenly stopped daily journal entries six months before her death, yes.”

“Fuck.”

“I had the same thought.”

Duncan glanced at Aisling as they danced down the row. She was sitting at the head table. “Do you think Aisling missed one?”

“I can ask, but if they were all in one box, how likely is it that the journal Seren was keeping up to the day she died wasaccidentallymisplaced?”

“You think her killer took it.”

Carys was nearly out of breath. “Maybe they thought something in there would give their identity away.”

“But to know that, you’d have to know what was in the journals. So the question is” —Duncan kept his voice low— “how many in the castle speak Cymric? Not many, I’d guess.”

“Might not matter. The killer might have taken it on the off chance it contained something of value, whether they could read it or not.”

Duncan frowned. “Good point.”

Carys and Duncan danced down the front of the hall, passing the head table as they went. Lachlan glanced at her quickly, then looked away. Aisling was next to him, her face solemn. She stared straight ahead, her cheeks still a little red.

If she was anything like Carys, she was reliving her morning embarrassment. Over. And over. And over in her head. It was the curse of the socially anxious. Carys wanted to go talk to her, but she also didn’t want to embarrass her further. She saw Lachlan lean over to Aisling, and the woman’s expression brightened immediately.

Aisling won’t be here forever. Our mother will only allow her to be lovesick for so long.

Carys looked at Aisling. Then at Lachlan. Then quickly away before they noticed her stare.

Oh, she was blind.

She was an idiot.

Was it Lachlan? It had to be Lachlan, didn’t it? Regan must have been referring to him when she made the “lovesick” comment.

That was… complicated. And it added a whole new angle to Aisling’s relationship with Seren. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was misreading the situation entirely. She looked at Aisling again. Lovesick for Lachlan? Or simply comforted by the goodwill of a lifelong friend.

Duncan had caught the direction of her gaze. “What’s wrong with Aisling?”

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