Nothing.
Jamie was nowhere.
2
The village sat low and quiet beneath a grey sky, smoke drifting lazily from chimneys as if nothing in the world had occurred.
Frederick Milligan knew better. These werehislands, after all,hispeople.
He stood at the center of the narrow lane, boots planted in damp earth, gloved hands clasped behind his back. He wore no fine cloak, no embroidered plaid that would shout his rank from the rooftops. A simple dark mantle rested over broad shoulders. His sword hung at his side, not as ornament but as fact.
Even so, the villagers had recognized him.
Whispers followed wherever he stepped.
“Me Laird.”
“I didnae expect –”
“Why would he come himself?”
Frederick ignored the murmurs. If one of his people vanished, he would come himself. That was not gallantry. It was obligation.
Beside him, Lennox Cochrane adjusted his weight with the easy confidence of a seasoned warrior. Taller by a fraction and perpetually on the verge of a grin, Lennox seemed almost amused by the tension hanging over the village.
Frederick was not.
“Three days?” Frederick asked the middle-aged farmer standing before him.
“Aye, me Laird,” the man replied, cap twisting between rough hands. “Went out to fetch water before dusk. Never came back.”
“No signs of struggle?”
“Nay.”
“Nay footprints beyond the usual?”
“Nay.”
Frederick’s jaw tightened slightly. “Any strangers passing through before or after?”
The farmer hesitated, eyes darting toward nearby cottages. “A few riders. Couldnae say who they were. They didnae linger.”
Frederick absorbed that in silence. Riders who did not linger could be anything. Traders. Mercenaries. Scouts.
Or worse.
Last year, Clan O’Douglas had tested the borders. Nothing overt. Just pressure. Just probing. A few stolen sheep. A dispute over grazing land that had nearly turned bloody before cooler heads prevailed. Frederick had met Archer Gallagher face to face over that matter. Respect had grown between them, but respect did not erase caution.
Other clans watched for weakness.
A missing lass could be coincidence, or it could be a message.
“Thank ye,” Frederick said finally. “If ye recall any detail, send word to the castle at once.”
The farmer bowed his head, relief plain.
As the man retreated, Lennox exhaled dramatically. “Well,” he muttered, leaning closer, “if I were a betting man, I would wager she ran off with a lad her parents disapproved of.”