"Do you normally have a guard on duty at all times?" Cyrus questioned.
"Of course."
He removed his broadsword and tapped the steel basket-hilt against the iron bars, creating a great clanging.
Finally, the portal of her manor house opened, and a man stuck his head out. "Who's there?" he called.
"Thank goodness. 'Tis my steward," Elspeth said.
"I've brought Lady Grey home!" Cyrus shouted to the man, who simply stood staring.
"Open the gate, Morrison!" Elspeth ordered. "And do hurry."
"Och! M'lady, I did not recognize you in your cowl. 'Tis a dreadful time to be out."
"'Tis why we would like to get inside," she muttered dryly.
Cyrus barely stifled a grin.
The steward hustled forward through the rain as fast as his short legs would carry his round body. The gate's iron lock rattled as he shoved the large key in and turned it. "Who has escorted you home, m'lady? And where is your coach?"
"This is the Earl of Stornmor, his brother, and their guards."
Morrison's eyes widened as his gaze swung up to Cyrus. He removed his dripping hat and bowed low. "M'laird, 'tis my great pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise." Cyrus was not too sure about the wee man. Could he be trusted?
Elspeth moved forward. "Why is Reeves not at his post? Was he injured also?"
Stepping aside, Morrison returned the hat to his head and widened the gate. Their party entered and the guards led the horses into the courtyard.
"I know not where Reeves is," Morrison finally answered, locking the gate again. "The rest of the guards, aside from Stillman, disappeared about an hour after I sent the missive." Morrison hastened through the rain toward the portico.
"Disappeared?" Elspeth halted, causing Cyrus to bump into her from behind.
He steadied her with hands on her slender upper arms.
"Where did they go?" she demanded.
"We should have this discussion inside," Cyrus advised. "You need to get out of the rain."
"Of course... 'tis only," she faltered. "I don't understand what is going on."
"We'll figure it out."
Morrison held the wide oak door open for them. Elspeth, Cyrus, Fraser and three guards entered the hall while three guards took the horses to the stables.
Cyrus glanced around the hall. Not as large as a castle great hall, but still an impressive room with dark oak beams overhead, rich tapestries, along with a long, polished table, chairs and benches. A fire burned in the hearth. Freshly cooked food scented the air, causing Cyrus's stomach to growl.
"The men were at their posts when the messenger left, m'lady," Morrison continued. "I came inside to see to Stillman. When I went out again, the guards were all gone. None of the servants noticed when they left. 'Twas as if they vanished into the dawn mist."
Chapter Seven
Completely perplexed as to how all the guards had disappeared, Elspeth was at a loss for words. Had they been killed, or had they simply abandoned their posts? Glancing around her own near-empty dining hall, she felt lost. A slight headache throbbed at her temples and she rubbed at them. She frowned up at Cyrus, wondering if he had a notion of what could've become of the guards.
While surveying the hall, he glowered like the warlord he was reputed to be. "Who was the messenger?"
"MacGuire, m'laird," Morrison said. "Being a Highland lad, he was the only one who knew where Castle Rebbinglen was and how to get there quickly."
"He's new and in training to become a guard," Elspeth said.
"Did you see him at Rebbinglen?"
She frowned. "Nay, he must have left directly after delivering the message into the hands of the servants."
Cyrus glanced at Morrison. "Did MacGuire return here?"
"Nay. I assumed he would ride back with the coach."
She shook her head, wondering why MacGuire wouldn't have waited for her and helped guard on the way home.
"How many guards did you have?" Cyrus asked.
"Six total, if we include Jenkins, who broke his arm in the coach accident, and Stillman, who was injured here during the break-in. That means MacGuire, Reeves, Ballantyne, and Parker have vanished."
Cyrus turned to her steward. "How much time passed between when you went to check on Stillman and when you went outside again?"
"Maybe a half-hour."
"Where were the guards during the break-in?"
"I presume they were asleep in their lodgings over the stables, as they would've been any other night." Morrison shrugged. "Stillman was on duty alone and was the only one injured. I told the remaining guards to secure the gate and ensure the miscreants didn't enter again. Of course, by then, the thieves had already stolen all the valuables they could find."
Not only did Elspeth feel perplexed, but also violated. Her hands shook with a combination of anger and fear.
"When the remaining guards disappeared, was there any further evidence of conflict? Any blood on the ground?" Cyrus asked.
"Nay. We searched for signs. 'Twas only Stillman's blood on the ground where his head had been injured earlier."
"Did the guards leave by the front gate?"
"We know not. Both it and the new lock on the postern gate were secured."
"What the devil?" Cyrus muttered, his scowl especially dark. "Can they be locked from outside?"
"Aye."
Which meant the guards could come back in again if they wanted, Elspeth realized. Or if they gave the keys to the thieves, they could enter again also. She knew not who to trust anymore.
"'Tis beyond strange," Fraser said. "Why would they bother to lock the gate back?"
"To baffle me," Elspeth said.
"Aye, or to frighten you." Cyrus glanced at Morrison. "Did you search the town for the men?"
"I thought it imperative that I stay here to keep an eye on the place until Lady Grey returned. But Burns and Tommy—the groom and stable lad—volunteered to look for the guards in town," Morrison explained. "They saw no sign of them. As well, they notified the magistrate of the break-in."
Cyrus lifted his brows. "Did he come here?"
"Aye, but he assured us the thieves left no trace as to their identity."
"How is Stillman?" Elspeth asked.
"He has not yet awakened."
"Good heavens! I didn't ken he was so bad off. I must see to him."
CYRUS WATCHED ELSPETH rush up the steps and disappear from sight. Her expression had shown how distraught she was over this. 'Twas clear she had no notion what to do. He wasn't certain himself, but 'twas clear someone was attempting to manipulate and frighten her. The culprit wanted her to be completely defenseless.
Now Cyrus was glad he and his men had escorted her home. If she'd arrived here in her coach with her driver and only one guard, she would've been highly vulnerable.
"M'laird." Morrison bowed then motioned. "Please dry yourselves by the fire. I will send for some refreshments for all of you while supper is being prepared."
Cyrus nodded. "We appreciate it."
"Mistress Glendale," Morrison called as he disappeared through a doorway.
"I'll go tell the rest of the guards to come in and dry themselves when they're finished with the horses," Fraser said.
"Sounds good." After glancing at his three bodyguards who had accompanied him inside—MacNeil, Norval, and Reid—positioned at various points around the hall, Cyrus moved to stand near the fireplace. What was Elspeth doing? 'Haps he should've gone with her to see how Stillman was faring. He hoped the man would awaken forthwith, his full memory intact. He might be the only person with the answers to their many questions.
As for Elspeth, he missed her presence. The act of her riding behind him for so many hours, holding onto him with her small hands and slender arms, and—most memorable of all—her tantalizing body rubbing against him, had wreaked havoc on his rationality. He'd not had prolonged physical contact with a woman for such a long time. Why did he even notice? It wasn't
as if riding a horse through the rain was a carnal pursuit. 'Twas simply a matter of necessity, if he wished to help her.
Fraser rejoined him, interrupting his thoughts.
"The men will be in shortly. The heat feels good after that cool rain."
"Aye." But before Cyrus bothered absorbing the warmth or drying his clothing much, he needed to go outside again and have a look at the place where the thieves had entered. Nothing about the situation made sense. It almost seemed as if someone within the household had done the deed.
His back to the fireplace, Cyrus watched as two maids hastened into the room, each carrying a wooden tray with pitchers and tankards of ale. He noticed that the pretty young fair-haired one pouring the ale had already caught Fraser's eye. Cyrus shook his head, wondering if his younger brother would ever outgrow his wild-oat years. He had thought at one time Fraser was falling hard for a certain Murray lass named Lady Talia. As far as he knew, they had not seen each other in a couple of years.
Cyrus knew not why he was thinking of the two and their association. What did he care if Fraser ever settled down? 'Twas his brother's own choice. Cyrus supposed it was because he'd put so much thought and consideration into his own upcoming marriage. He'd found the perfect bride for himself. Now all he needed to do was solve Elspeth's problems with her guards and he could be on his way back to Castle Rebbinglen and Lady Lily.
Cyrus glanced at the maids. "Could you tell Master Morrison that I wish to speak to him?"
"Aye, m'laird." They curtsied and left the room.
Fraser drank a long swallow of ale. "What could've happened to the guards?"
Cyrus shook his head. "First, the break-in and now this. I'm also wondering if the coach accident was related."
"Saints! I hadn't considered that."
"Why would so many unfortunate things happen to her so closely together? I'm going to have to find out more about Lady Grey and who would wish to harm her. Someone might be jealous of her wealth or want revenge for some reason. But first, I want to see where the thieves broke in."
Morrison waddled into the room and bowed. "You wished to see me, m'laird?"
"Aye. What time did the break-in happen?"
"I know not the precise hour, but 'twas before dawn and before any of us were up, except for Stillman."
Cyrus frowned. "Where did the intruders enter?"
"The postern gate. The original lock was broken."
Cyrus moved toward the exit. "Let me see it."
Morrison's wide-eyed gaze darted toward the stairway where Elspeth had disappeared earlier.
"Lady Grey won't mind. I'm here to help her."
Morrison bobbed his head. "Very well, m'laird. After you." He motioned and Cyrus headed outside, Fraser and the three guards following.
They met the other MacKenzie guards in the courtyard. In the gloaming, light rain continued to fall, and the cobblestones were slippery. Morrison bypassed them, leading the way around the side of the house to a small grate style gate beyond the stables. It had been roughly chained back together and secured with a padlock. Cyrus crouched and examined the large broken lock lying on the ground. It appeared to have been smashed with a hammer or a rock. "Was the lock on the inside of the gate?"
Morrison nodded. "Indeed."
Cyrus stood and eyed the crisscrossed iron bars which were about eight inches apart. Plenty of room for someone to stick an arm through. 'Twas one of the least effective gates he had ever seen. "Is this replacement lock in the same place as the old lock?"
"Aye."
"Well then, someone could've easily reached an arm through the bars and hit it with a hammer or a stone. Therefore, 'tis unknown whether someone from within these walls broke the lock or if an intruder did. Could've easily been either."
"'Tis true, m'laird. But I know not why someone within would need to break it if they could simply get the key from one of the guards. Any one of them could've had access to the key at some point during the day or night."
"They might have smashed it so no one would suspect them of being traitors to their lady."
Morrison nodded but kept his lips pursed tightly.
Could've been Morrison himself. Cyrus eyed the man but couldn't tell whether he was hiding something or not. Regardless, the person who smashed the lock might be in the employ of Elspeth's enemy, whoever that was. He needed to talk to her and uncover some of those intriguing secrets hiding in her eyes. Once her guard awakened, hopefully he would remember who struck him.
The rain poured down harder and they returned to the dining hall. Cyrus and the others stood close to the fire, drying their plaids, while the maids prepared the table for supper.
A few moments later, Elspeth descended the steps, looking panicked and pale, though she had changed into dry clothing. The elegant moss-green gown caressed her slim curves perfectly, and his body quickened in response, annoying him. Hell, he wasn't supposed to be attracted to her. Forcing his attention upward before she noticed, he studied her bright copper hair. It had recently been upswept into a tidy knot at the back of her head. Enticing curls still framed her face.
He strode forward to meet her at the bottom of the steps. "How is your guard?"
Her concerned eyes met his. "Not responding."
That didn't sound good. It had been several hours since his head injury. "'Tis obviously severe. Did he have other injuries?"
"Nay, none that the healer could find."
"The attackers must have simply wanted to knock him out but not kill him."
"'Haps, but they almost did kill him. I pray he survives."
Cyrus nodded. "As do I. Did you check to see how much was stolen?"
"Aye. All the jewelry from my chamber. I had some of it hidden elsewhere and they didn't find that, at least. Plus, I had some with me at Rebbinglen. I haven't yet checked for all the silverware, but I'm certain they grabbed anything displayed or easy to find."
"Without doubt."
She pressed her eyes closed and rubbed her temples. She appeared at her wits' end, making him want to do anything he could to help alleviate her fears.
"Does your head hurt?" he asked.
"Aye, but I'll be fine."
"You had a head injury also, in the accident. 'Haps you should have the healer look at it."
"I will, but Stillman's injury is a hundred times worse than mine."
Cyrus admired her strength and fortitude. "When Stillman awakes, mayhap he will remember who struck him. I'll get to the bottom of this, I vow."
Her eyes softened upon him as she forced a faint grin. "I thank you for your help."
Cyrus wished he could say more to take away some of her worry. He would wait until he could talk to her in private to mention that 'twas possible one of her staff had broken the lock from the inside to allow the thieves in. No doubt that would intensify her distress. Who wouldn't be troubled when they learned their own guards and staff might be traitors? If such a thing happened in his household, he would certainly not tolerate such disloyalty.
"Supper is ready, m'lady." The housekeeper bobbed a curtsy.
"I appreciate your fast work. Please have a seat." Elspeth urged Cyrus and Fraser to the table. "Since there's only one table, your guards may eat here, too, if you wish."
Cyrus was surprised, for not many ladies would welcome guards at their own table. "You wouldn't mind?"
"Of course not. They're tired and hungry. Besides, they've helped me a great deal."
Bowing, the MacKenzie guards thanked her heartily. After everyone took their seats, Morrison said grace, then the food was served. Cyrus hadn't realized how famished he was until he tasted the beef stew and warm bread.
"'Tis a delicious meal, Lady Grey. My compliments." He drank a swallow of ale.
She offered a wan smile. "I'm glad you're enjoying it."
Elspeth did not gulp down her food the way the men did, even though she had to be just as hungry. She was refined to a fault with every action, which shouldn't surprise him. Even though he'd a
ssumed, when he'd first heard she was from a lower class, that she would have a few unsophisticated ways, 'twas not the case at all. He didn't ken why he should care. He had plenty of coarse habits himself, having grown up as a warrior in the wilds of Scotland.
He glanced at her again, seeing the wee worried crease between her bonny arched brows. Cyrus had never been one to reassure people if he did not know the outcome. Of a certainty, he would love to tell her Stillman would recover, but he didn't honestly know that. 'Haps he could use this time to find out more about her, which might help him uncover the culprit.
While Fraser and the guards talked amongst themselves, Cyrus leaned closer to Elspeth to have a more private conversation. "I understand you're a widow."
She sent him a brief glance of uncertainty. "Aye."
"When did your husband pass?"
"Just over six years ago."
He drew back in disbelief, wondering why she hadn't remarried within the long span of time. But he wouldn't ask her such a prying question. After all, he grew tired of everyone probing about when he would marry. She must have been a child bride, for she certainly didn't look old enough to have been widowed six years.
He took a sip of the gusty dark and bitter ale, then swallowed. "Do you have other male relatives who could help you?"
"Nay. My younger brother recently joined the navy. He's away at sea. And my son is only ten summers."
"Oh, you have a son?" Another surprise. Or shock might be a better word. Cyrus wondered why no one had mentioned this.
She nodded.
"Ten summers. Saints," he hissed. "You must have only been a child yourself when you had him."
She gave him a mock smile which proclaimed she knew he was prying about her age. "I was seventeen summers when he was born. I married Baron Grey on my sixteenth birthday."
"I see." Cyrus slid his gaze over her flawless skin. She certainly didn't look seven and twenty. "What's your son's name, and where is he?"
Elspeth's face brightened and her smile warmed. "His name is Adam. He's away at school in St. Andrews. Such a clever lad, and very mature for his age."
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