“My mother left it to me when she died,” he said. “Though I’m not able to spend much time here, I consider it my home.”
“Won’t Castle Leod be your home now?”
If he succeeded in becoming chieftain it would.
“Perhaps I should grant Killin to my sister,” he said. “Catriona likes a quiet life, and she has lived here since our mother moved out of Castle Leod after our father’s death.”
“That would be kind,” Sybil said. “I’m sure it would have pleased your mother.”
“Killin always reminds me of her.” He kissed Sybil’s hair. “I wish the two of ye could have met. She would have liked ye.”
“No mother would be pleased to see her son make such a poor match,” Sybil said with a laugh.
“If she had any qualms,” he said, “the first grandchild would have won her over, for certain.”
Sybil’s hand went to her flat belly, then she looked up at him with wide eyes.
“Aye, ye could already carry our child.” His heart swelled at the thought, and he leaned down to kiss the sweet spot below her ear. “If ye aren’t with child soon, it will not be for lack of trying.”
When they rode down the hill and he saw no one in the fields, his cheerful mood turned to unease. The farm was eerily quiet. No dog barked to warn the household of their coming, and no one moved about the yard and outbuildings.
“Wait here,” he told Sybil when they reached the house and no one came out to greet them.
He dismounted and unsheathed his sword. Slowly, he opened the front door. No fire burned in the hearth, and the house was so still that his footsteps echoed as he crossed the floor.
Sweat broke out on his palms. Where was Catriona? He kept watch on the doorway to the kitchen and upstairs as he leaned down to touch the stone floor of the hearth. It was cold. Catriona had been gone for at least a couple of days.
Upstairs, he found open drawers and chests, as if someone had packed to leave in a hurry—or had come looking for something. Alarm rose in his throat, and he hurried back outside.
When Sybil saw him, she started to dismount, but he held up his hand.
“Stay put,” he ordered. “I’m going to have a look around the back of the house and the outbuildings.”
He heard movement and spun around brandishing his claymore. When a lad and a dog appeared around the corner of the cowshed, he took a deep breath to calm the battle fever pulsing through his body.
“Ewan Òg,” Rory called to the boy.
“Good day to ye, Master Rory,” the lad said. “Have ye brought mistress Catriona home?”
“Nay,” Rory said. “Do ye know where she’s gone?”
Ewan shook his head. “She said it was best we didn’t know.”
O shluagh,Rory silently called on the faeries for help. “When was this?”
“Before that big storm we had,” Ewan said. “Thought I’d lost some of the sheep in it, but I found—”
“Catriona left on her own?” Rory pressed. “No one took her?”
“Aye.”
“How long has she been gone?” Rory asked. “And don’t tell me after the storm.”
Ewan scrunched his face up. Apparently, calculating the passage of time was a difficult task for him, and Rory struggled to be patient.
“’Twas two days ago, right after we heard that the MacKenzie had been killed.” The lad crossed himself. “She took off on her horse.”
“Did she take any of the men with her?”