“To the castle. We must return tonight.”
“We have already taken rooms for the night.”
Clearly, he was looking forward to flopping into his bed to take a well-earned rest. I cannot fault the man. He has been diligent and patient throughout this escapade.
But he’s not Killian. I still resent this fact, no matter how unfair it is to Othmar.
“She was looking at a painting in the gallery at Belterre Castle. If we go back, I can figure out which one.”
“As you wish.”
He makes the arrangements. I fall asleep in the coach, rattling about like a dried pea in its shell until I’m shaken awake by an abrupt halt. I tumble out of the carriage into the darkness of midnight.
The hour her spell broke.
Wherever she got it from, Elsie didn’t get very much time. We had a scant three hours together.
I’m jangling with nervous energy as I trot up the stairs. There is no time to waste.
“You.” I point to a footman drowsing at his post. “Go and stand there.”
“Highness.”
He moves to obey, but it’s no use. I can’t envision the spot where I first saw her in the gallery.
“I need a woman. Get a maid.”
“They’re sleeping, sir.”
“Rouse one!”
Five interminable minutes later, the castle chatelaine scurries over. She’s fifty if she’s a day, plump and short, but she’ll do.
“Stand there. Walk slowly down the gallery. Look at every painting until I tell you to stop.”
The woman’s thoughts are etched on her face for anyone with half a brain to read.He’s gone mad.
Not yet. I can’t promise I won’t if I don’t find her soon. Agonized worry gnaws at me. I cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong.
She was haunted. Sad, but determined not to let it show. Someone hurt her, and I am going to find out who he was. I will rip out his fingernails by the roots. I will slice off his cock and feed it to the monsters that live in the castle moat.
Then, I’ll feed the rest of him to the creatures. In pieces.
“Stop!”
Memory superimposes over the scene before me like the palimpsest of an unsent letter. I stride over to the chatelaine.
“Dismissed.”
Lord and Lady Scinder with their daughter, Elinor.
This is a newer painting, acquired when the earl’s untimely death ended the line.
Elinor.
Scinder.
The way she stammered,El—Sin—I mean, my name is Elsie.
