Page 40 of Plaid Attitude
He had a horrible, horrible feeling he knew why.
Edgar.
“I have to see these sketches,” he muttered, dropping his hold on Barclay and turning away. “Is she at home?”
He didn’t wait to hear the answer—although why he thought his cousin would know was ridiculous—but hurried toward the cottage he’d shared with his daughter for many years.
When he burst through the door, he was met with a cacophony of grunts, clucks, moos and a disturbing sort ofsquawkhe’d never heard before, but had no time to investigate. Bessetta wasn’t there.
But he knew his daughter well enough to know where she kept her sketching material, and leapt toward the lassie’s private coffer.
Ye’re violating her privacy, ye ken.
Aye, he knew it, but the fear pooling in the pit of his stomach right now justified the invasion, at least in his mind.
After a frantic search, he rocked back on his heels and scrubbed his hand over his face. Her sketching supplies were there, along with a few amazingly lifelike depictions of Rebecca the cow, Coira scowling fiercely, and his own profile…
But the sketches he knew she’d been working on of Edgar? Those were missing.
As were any maps she’d made of the secret passages and Oliphant Castle’s defenses.
The dread seeping through his veins had turned to a dull sort of inevitability, but he rose and searched through her clothing, hanging on hooks near her nook. Aye, her cloak was missing, as were two dresses and her favorite pair of stockings, and a bag she sometimes carried when she sketched.
Assuming she was wearing her favorite blue gown, that meant she’d thought to pack a change of clothes when she’d left.
Because he was going to have to accept she’d run off.
The part of him that was able to watch his body during combat while he analyzed overall movements now saw him shake his head, saw him reach for the door latch. Everything was a sort of haze, a dull buzzing in his ears, and fluffy fog in his head, as he stalked down the village’s main street toward the candlemaker.
His bairn was in trouble, he knew it.
Sure enough, neither Edgar nor his friend Arnold were where they were supposed to be, and Auld Elsa hadn’t seen them since last night. Even worse, their things were missing.
“Ye dinnae think they’ve run off, do ye?” she asked in concern. “Such well-mannered young men.”
Doughall didn’t answer but stalked from her cottage. Those two young arseholes werenotnice young men. In fact, if what Doughall suspected was true, they were the very definition of evil.
Bessetta hadn’t shown any interest in castle defenses until Edgar had started wooing her. He was easily ten years her senior, and she wasn’t even grown! What kind of disgusting man preyed on a child like her?
And she, believing his intentions to be honest, had gone along with him! She’d given him information—for what other explanation could there be?—about the Oliphants’ vulnerabilities, and now he’d run off.
If that bastard had his daughteranda record of Oliphant Castle’s defenses, ‘twas clear his intentions weren’t pure.
He would pay.
Doughall had a reputation as unflappable, someone who kept a level head and didn’t allow things to bother him. ‘Twas what made him a capable commander and a respected warrior.
Those who thought such about him would be astonished at his panic now, but he couldn’t help it; the thought of his bairn in the hands of that—thatmonsterhad his fists so tight he heard the knuckles pop…and he was trembling with rage.
Nay, withfear.
Forcing himself to think logically, he slowed his headlong hurtle toward the stables and ducked behind one of the castle walls.Breathe, ye idiot, breathe.
If Bessetta had gone with Edgar, she went willingly—the fact she’d packed a satchel made that obvious.
But ‘twas clear Edgar had been planning this for a while; hence his calculating wooing. Bessetta had fallen for the bastard’s charms and had even spoken of a future with him!
At the time, Doughall had thought it a girl’s foolish dreams when she’d spoken of marriage and womanhood. But now…
