Cardiff Siblings 01 - Seven Minutes in Devon (41 page)

How could she find Morgan, though?
What could she do in the dark, alone, to help her friend? Kingley
whined at her side, and she absentmindedly put her hand down for
him to nuzzle. He licked and sniffed her, then nudged her hand
again, and she knew what they must do. Taking her candlestick
again, she raced back into the house and up to Morgan’s chamber.
Since Morgan was missing, Janetta wouldn’t be about—so Emma threw
open the trunk in the dressing room and searched for a piece of
clothing that would smell strongly of Morgan’s scent.

She found a soiled shift, likely one
Morgan had worn for one of their outdoor sessions, and then hurried
back out to Kingley. “Here, Kingley. Smell this. Smell
Morgan.”

He sniffed deeply, moving his head
back and forth over the garment.

Then she stood and walked across the
lawn, carrying her candlestick and Morgan’s shift. “Come on,
Kingley. Let’s go find her.”

He came along by her side, his head
low to the ground as they went. He understood.

And they
would
find
her.

Maybe then Aidan would see she’d never
meant his sister any harm. Maybe then he could believe
it.

Aidan dragged a pillow from beneath
his head and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a dull
thud and then fell to the floor. The action felt so good, he
repeated the process until every pillow from his damned bed was on
the floor at the other side of the room. After that, he leapt up
and pulled the bedding free, thinking it might give him a similar
satisfaction.

But even when the entire bed had been
disassembled, its various parts strewn across the Parquet floor of
his chamber, he still felt just as angry as he had before getting
started on it all in the first place.

The truly perplexing thing was he was
no longer angry at Emma.

When Roxeburghe had so casually
suggested searching the river, it had been like a hot knife
piercing Aidan’s heart. But it was a slow thrust, inch by inch,
dragging out the pain until he was ready to beg for death, because
it only confirmed what Aidan had already been thinking: what if
Morgan had attempted to hurt herself again? What if she’d been
successful this time?

He’d left to search the river, despite
the full darkness of the night, and despite the dropping
temperatures, yet there had been nothing to find in the inky-black
waters. Morgan’s body had not washed up on the bank. He couldn’t
see her bobbing on the top of the water in the estuary. And with no
light but the moon, he’d never be able to dive beneath the surface
and see anything. He was a fool to even have gone.

By the time he’d returned to the
estate, the rest of the houseguests had gone to bed—including Emma.
On his walk back, he’d thought about how he should apologize to her
for his reaction. How he should once again try to convince her that
yes, he truly did love her, that he hadn’t just been trying to
convince her he did.

For a moment, he hadn’t been so
certain—when his thoughts had turned to how she’d supposedly aided
Morgan in potentially harming herself again. But even if Morgan had
done so, if she’d tried to drown herself or found a poison that
could finish the job, Emma couldn’t have possibly known that had
been her aim.

He knew, without any doubt
that Emma only wanted to help people. She was
good
, and
kind
, and would never harm a fly if
she could avoid it.

So why would he think
otherwise?

And yet again, it all came back to
Aidan’s inability to place the blame where it truly ought to
lay.

For this disappearance, that blame
ought to rest with either Morgan, or with someone else who wished
to harm her.

But it most certainly was not Emma’s
fault. None of it was. If anything, Emma had proven by going out
into the woods earlier with some of the other ladies that she
wanted to help Morgan, yet again.

And he’d treated her like she was an
imbecile for doing so.

There was another thing he’d have to
apologize to her for. Damn. He’d never been very good at
apologizing, but he’d accumulated quite a list—one which only
seemed to grow—to increase his skill in that area. He needed to
swallow his pride and admit that he wasn’t always right, that
sometimes others might know better than he.

He needed to start making amends. Now,
not tomorrow. Aidan didn’t want one more moment to go by with Emma
thinking he hated her. Not only that, but if they worked
together—if they combined what Aidan knew of Morgan with what Emma
saw in her which Aidan was blind to, they would have much better
luck with finding her.

They had to join forces. They had to
work together. There was no other option, or he might lose his
sister forever.

Without truly thinking of the
consequences, he stalked out into the corridor, yanked one of the
few still-lit sconces from the wall, and made his way to the
ladies’ wing. He knew which chamber was Morgan’s, as he’d helped
her settle in when they first arrived, and she’d informed him
Emma’s was the chamber to her right.

In order to get to Emma’s he had to
walk directly past Morgan’s…so he couldn’t help but notice that the
door was ajar.

He went in and passed the light over
the room. Nothing seemed to be amiss in the main room, but the door
to the dressing room had been left open wide, which Aidan thought
was more than just a little odd. Janetta always left Morgan’s doors
closed, because it was what Morgan expected. There was little more
important to Morgan in terms of finding her way around on her own
than having things be as she expected them to be.

Surprises were not a good thing, when
one lived by touch and sound, and not by sight.

Aidan went into the dressing room, and
his heart nearly stopped. The whole room appeared to be ransacked,
with the armoire doors thrown open, clothing tossed about all
over…but the most damning thing of all was that Morgan’s trunk had
been almost completely emptied.

Aidan tried to think what someone
would have been after, but nothing came to mind. Morgan didn’t wear
much jewelry. Her skin was so sensitive after it had been scarred,
that she didn’t like the feel of jewels upon it. They’d brought
very little else of true value with them.

Had she been attacked in the woods,
and when the attacker didn’t find what they wanted, they searched
her chamber?

But that meant it had to be someone in
the house party.

Good God.

Without wasting another moment, Aidan
raced out of Morgan’s chamber and down the corridor to Emma’s. He
threw open the door without knocking.

She was gone.

Truly, Emma’s plan to go off into the
woods with nothing but a nightrail and wrapper, a half-gone
candlestick, and Kingley hadn’t been one of the brighter moments of
her life.

After being out for what had to have
been more than an hour, the chill in the air was biting, easily
blowing through the thin fabrics covering her and making her wish
she’d taken the time to don something more substantial. Something
more practical.

Practicality had never been one of her
strengths, much to the chagrin of nearly everyone in her
life.

She’d gone too far to turn back now
and give up on her plan. And as it stood, every moment which passed
could bring them one moment closer to Morgan’s death. Emma pressed
on, following where Kingley led her and wishing she would stop
shivering so heavily.

Kingley kept his nose down to the
ground as they walked, sniffing every inch of terrain he passed
over. After they’d gone for ten minutes or so, Emma would put
Morgan’s shift down again, reminding him of the scent they were
searching for. Surely, soon he would pick up her trail. Surely they
had to be getting close.

But the further they went into the
woods, the more the scant bits of moonlight coming through the tree
cover waned. Emma wasn’t certain if that was because the canopy
above them had grown thicker, or if it was a sign of impending
rain.

Her feet hurt, and her house shoes
provided her very little protection against the rocks and brambles
along their path. At least they were still taking the path. Emma
feared they might have to veer off into the lesser-traveled areas
at some point. There was no telling how her slippers would survive,
let alone how her nightrail and wrapper would fare, if she were to
get caught in low branches or bushes.

A bit later, a stiff breeze kicked up
which extinguished the flame of her candle. It was a miracle the
flame had lasted as long as it had.

Now she had nothing to light her way
but the thin streams of moonlight that filtered through the
trees.

“
Kingley?” she said, and he
yapped. She bent down and gave him Morgan’s shift again, wishing
there was a lead for him. What would happen if he got away from
her? The thought was more than Emma wanted to allow herself. There
was no time for her to panic. “Stay close with me.”

Before they took off again, Emma set
her candlestick on the ground. With no more flame, there was no
point in carrying it, and the metal of the holder was cold upon her
skin. She was chilled enough without the additional
discomfort.

She stood and Kingley started off, his
nose sniffing close to the ground.

Emma followed him, so tired she
occasionally stumbled over her own feet, but she would not give in
to her exhaustion.

After another stretch of time, she
couldn’t fool herself any longer. The lack of moonlight wasn’t due
to the the trees being thicker. It was because of heavy clouds
rolling in with the wind.

That brought a new sense of urgency to
her step, a rekindled sense of purpose to scanning her
surroundings.

“
Do you smell her yet,
Kingley? We have to find Morgan.”

He started to move faster, or maybe
she only felt like he was moving faster because she was moving
slower. She tried to increase her pace to keep in step with the
dog.

After a few minutes, she walked over
more uneven terrain, and she knew they’d gone off the main path
though she’d missed the change. That had to be a positive sign.
Kingley wouldn’t have gone off the trail without a good reason for
it, would he?

“
Is it Morgan?” she asked
him. It had to be. There wasn’t another explanation.

He kept moving, so she kept following.
Kingley barked. Emma tried to run as fast as she could on her
battered feet. When she increased her pace, the dog bolted, and
soon he was outpacing her by a good deal.

It didn’t seem to matter how fast she
ran. She couldn’t keep up with him, no matter how hard she tried.
His barks grew more distant, and she couldn’t see him in the few
bits of moonlight any more.

And then she couldn’t hear him
either.

Emma kept going, desperate not to lose
Kingley, too, but growing ever more certain that she’d already done
so. After a few minutes, she couldn’t see him anymore, couldn’t
hear his yaps or the patter of his feet upon the ground. He was
gone, and she was alone.

She stopped and dropped to the ground
in defeat, gasping for air and holding the pain in her side. What
had she done?