Erin was behind her at once, surprisingly fast, grabbing her arm. “Iona,” she said, voice low. “Breathe.”
Iona’s chest rose and fell too quickly. “I am breathing.”
“Nay, lass. Ye’re panicking.”
“I should be,” Iona snapped, then instantly hated the bite in her tone. She swallowed hard. “I should be. A lass is missing. Strangers are asking questions. And Jamie isnae here.”
Erin’s grip tightened briefly, grounding. “We will look. Together.”
Together. The word steadied Iona for half a heartbeat.
Then the terror surged again.
They stepped outside into the damp evening. The village lay quiet beneath a low sky, thin smoke curling from chimneys. Somewhere, a dog barked. Somewhere else, a door shut.
Iona’s eyes swept the path, the small, fenced gardens, the lane leading toward the trees. Every shadow looked like it could be someone waiting.
“Jamie!” she called, voice sharp enough to cut the air.
A few heads turned. A woman carrying a pail paused and stared.
Iona did not care. “Jamie Pearson!”
She strode down the lane, Erin keeping pace beside her. Mud sucked at her boots. Her heart hammered so hard it hurt.
She checked the small gathering green. Empty.
She checked the edge of the woods where children sometimes dared each other to go. No laughter. No rustle of small feet.
She went to the nearest cottage and knocked so hard her knuckles stung.
An old man answered, blinking. “What is it?”
“Have ye seen Jamie?” Iona asked, breathless.
The man frowned. “Jamie? Nay, nae since about midday.”
Midday.
That was hours ago.
Her vision narrowed.
She moved to another cottage, then another. Each answer was the same. Nay. Nay. Didnae see. Thought Jamie was with ye.
The world seemed to tilt.
Erin touched her elbow. “We should check the river,” she said carefully.
Iona’s stomach lurched. The river was exactly where she had forbidden Jamie to go.
They hurried toward it, the path narrowing, trees closing in. The air grew colder near the water. Iona’s breath fogged before her.
“Jamie!” she shouted again, voice cracking now. “Jamie, answer me!”
Only the rush of water replied.
Iona stumbled down the bank, scanning the stones, the reeds, the dark line of the current. No small footprints. No cloak caught on branches. No sign of movement.