Page 43 of The Guardian's Witch

He rushed into the clearing with a burst of speed. At the lodge door he jumped off Prime. He plowed through the door with the hope he would discover the two sisters comfortably chatting. His hopes were dashed. The dark room was vacant.

Gareth, Robby and the others filed in behind him. No one made a sound.

Alex stalked into the bedchamber. The sheets were a tumble. He ran his hand through his hair trying to piece together what had happened. Deep in thought, he returned to the main room.

“Search everything. Leave nothing out, and quickly, men. We must find her.”

The men spread out through the lodge and combed through everything. Determination was painted on each face.

“Sir, the ash in the hearth is fresh, a day old at most. Someone left in a hurry by the look of how this fire was put out, dowsed rather than knocked down.”

“Sir, there’s blood by the hearth.”

Alex crouched down and examined the red stains on the floor. He stood up slowly, looking around the room, and followed the trail of blood into the bedroom. He pulled the linens back. In anger he ripped them off and heard the tinkle of something hitting the wood floor. At his feet he saw a gold clasp with the Mitchell crest. Had he met her at the market to make arrangements? Alex picked up the clasp and fisted it in his hand. He walked out of the room. Murder was on his mind.

“Here, m’lord, I found a loaf of bread.” The soldier tore a piece off to feel its texture. “Day old by the feel of it.” He briefly hesitated. “And this, m’lord.” He pointed to the floor.

Alex’s blood ran cold when he picked up a pouch that lay on the floor near the table and looked inside. He pulled out charms, like the ones he’d found in the field when he met with Jamie. It was Lisbeth’s pouch. She was never without the little bag.

Alex stalked out of the lodge. His men were scattered across the grounds in search of any clues. “Anything?” he asked the men.

“Only a dead rabbit, m’lord.”

Alex examined the perimeter with Gareth and stopped at the far end.

“Here, m’lord,” Gareth called out. “Tracks.”

Alex joined him at the edge of the clearing and examined what he found.

“One set of tracks. From the depth of these prints I’d say the horse is carrying a heavy load.”

“Yes.” Alex stood and eyed the tracks into the distance. “They’ve headed toward Ravencroft.”

A cold chill fired up his spine. He couldn’t shake the suspicion. If anything, the sensation spread. He worked hard at not drawing any conclusions but found it difficult. “Mount up.”

* * *

“Lord Mitchell, Lord Stelton has arrived.” Alex was on the man’s heels. He didn’t wait to be ushered in.

Bryce looked at his father.

“Good day, Ramon.” Alex gave a gruff greeting.

“Stelton.” Ramon marched past him and continued out into the corridor.

“Alex, what brings you here?” Bryce stood at the far end of the room.

“I was following a trail that led me to your door.” Alex advanced. His strong determined footsteps thundered across the floor until he stood in front of Bryce.

“Has it now. Have you lost something?” he asked smoothly, a hint of a smirk on his face.

“No, not really. It merely wandered off.”

“You should attend to your things better, m’lord.” He dipped his head.

Alex wished he could wipe the self-satisfied smile off Bryce’s face.

“There’re times when they can never be recovered.”

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