From the way the blood drained from the women’s faces, he could see his injunction had not succeeded. In the sudden silence, he could hear Michaud in the kitchen barking orders and the sound of pots clanging as she began dinner preparations.
Duncan turned to leave. He had all the information he needed. If there had been any disturbance in the household, the maids would not be sewing and Michaud would not be preparing dinner.
Unfortunately, as soon as he turned, he all but ran into McAlpin. The butler was almost a head shorter than Duncan, but somehow, he managed to look down his nose at the man he thought to be a footman. “And where have ye been?” McAlpin demanded. “I havenae seen hide nor hair of ye all day. Dinnae think I won’t dock yer wages and take this up with Himself. Ye willnae have a reference from me when yer looking for yer next position.”
“That’s fine,” Duncan said, trying to move around the man. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
“Yer sorry for the—I have half a mind to tell ye to pack yer things and go right this minute. As it stands, I need ye for dinner. Go change and—”
“I can’t do that, sir. I’ll explain later, but I have to go back outside.”
“Ootside?” McAlpin stared at him. “Are ye mad? Well, I can see ye are. Ye go outside now, and yer dismissed.”
“Understood.” Duncan moved past him and started for the door. James stepped into the corridor, a kitchen knife and sharpener in his hands.
“Where are you off to?” he asked Duncan, but Duncan could only stare at the knife and sharpener. He looked so hard that James peered at the implements as well, as though trying to understand what might be of interest about them.
“The dagger,” Duncan whispered.
James looked down. “This is just a carving knife. Are you well? No, don’t go back out there. McAlpin will have your head.”
Duncan slammed through the door and into the wind. The rain had slowed to a trickle, and if dusk hadn’t been quickly descending, he would have finally been able to see a few feet in front of him. “Lucy!” he called.
It wasn’t dark yet, but it was close enough to hope she’d made it back. “Lucy!”
Duncan shook his head and sprinted from the yard. It would do no good to yell for Lucy. If she had made it back, she would make herself known. But he knew, he simplyknew, deep in his belly that she hadn’t made it back yet. And he knew exactly where she was.
He prayed he was wrong, but he sprinted for the fallen log and the place where they’d found the buried dagger all the same.
***
LUCY DECIDED SHE OWEDMr. Fog an apology. She’d silently cursed him more times than she could count, but now she was glad he’d made her suffer through those cold, wet obstacle courses. She hardly felt the rain and the cold now. She knew to keep moving to keep her muscles warm. Even when she sought shelter under a tree, she rubbed her hands and stamped her feet to keep the blood flowing.
Perhaps Duncan had found Vanderville to the east. She hadn’t seen any sign of him. She might head further west, but she questioned whether he would stray so far from the lodge. There was nothing that far west except...
The dagger! Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Of course! If he’d hidden it there, he would go back for it. Even if he’d brought a weapon, he had enough time to retrieve another. Except he wouldn’t find the dagger. Duncan had insisted on taking it and leaving only the cloth it had been wrapped in.
She’d have to thank Duncan for that later, since it meant one less danger for her. But she wasn’t thinking about the danger. She was moving at a jog toward that fallen log and the place where the dagger had been hidden. She couldn’t think about danger. She had to think only of the mission.
Thanks to Fog for that too. He’d taught them focus and single-mindedness, and she needed both now. Any sane person would run away from a would-be murderer hiding in the woods.Shewas running toward him.
She slowed as she neared the spot where they’d found the dagger. It was not yet dark, but under the shadow of the tall trees and with the overcast skies, it was dark enough that she couldn’t see details of her surroundings. She moved carefully, not wanting to alert Vanderville to her approach. But when she spotted the log—at least she thought this was the one—no one was near it.
Lucy counted to five hundred and still no sound, no movement nearby. She slipped out of the shadows and approached the fallen tree. She stood for a long moment, scanning behind her and all around, and when she saw nothing and no one, she bent and felt for the cloth.
It wasn’t there.
That didn’t mean anything. She might be feeling in the wrong spot. But she knew she wasn’t. She laid her hand on the log and felt the knot where she’d rested her hand before.
The weather or an animal might have displaced it.
Except they’d buried it well enough that it wouldn’t move.
Unless someone moved it.
“You weren’t at the summerhouse,” came a voice.
Lucy froze. Every part of her strained to determine from which way the voice had come. Behind her? To the right?
