Page 82 of Highland Ruse

While Leasa was tasked with searching near the kitchens, Delilah made quick work of the upper floors. She avoided the topmost floor, where the servants slept, and the bed chamber above her own in the squared tower, which she assumed to be MacKenzie’s.

Not a single door was locked and every room but hers was empty. Not only without a person within, but also without any furnishings.

The haste with which MacKenzie intended to wed Elizabeth was suddenly becoming clear. Certainly it was not out of affection for the woman, but out of need to fill his surprisingly empty coffers.

It was obvious MacKenzie had no wealth.

No wealth, and no hidden sister.

Delilah’s heart crumpled in her chest when she reached the last empty chamber. Perhaps there was something she hadn’t checked, a room she had might have missed. Would he have hidden Torra away?

Delilah stared out of the empty castle from the stairs on the first floor to where a light rain pattered over the garden outside. Everything was slick and shadowed, but a stone chapel was visible a short distance away.

A chapel.

Consecrated ground.

If Torra was dead, would she not be buried there?

Delilah cleared the rest of the stairs and found a door leading outside. She slid the bar bolting it shut and pushed. The aged hinges gave a squealing groan.

She froze for a moment, and waited an endless second to see if someone would approach her.

Though she’d not seen any guards in the night, she knew them to be present. She’d seen many on her arrival, even if none appeared to be sleeping within the upper floors of the castle. Now that she thought of it, where did all the guards sleep? And why had she not run into a single one?

When no one showed themselves, she slipped outside and left the door slightly cracked. After all, she would be but a moment.

The earth was spongy under her slippered feet, loosened by the rain. The powerful scent of wet soil blended with the sweet perfume of summer flowers blooming. Vines and thick roots crowded the ground underfoot and made picking her way through the overgrown garden more time consuming than anticipated. Delilah kept her steps light yet focused, her concentration fixed on keeping her balance.

Fat blooms hanging from narrow stems bobbed haphazardly in her path and splattered rainwater against her night clothes when she slipped past them.

Though the rain did not come hard, it was substantial enough to soak through Delilah’s overdress and the thin night rail, settling deep into her skin.

She was only just beginning to reconcile the true awfulness of her idea when the church loomed before her. Rainwater gathered at the eaves and trailed like tears down the broken stained glass windows which had once, no doubt, been fine.

Perhaps she ought to turn around. But she was so close.

A quick glance at the lawn behind the sad building revealed several stone markers set deep into the earth and one large jagged rock at the center of the graves. The overgrown plants had not confined their vengeance to the garden, and ran over the large rock in jagged black lines.

A flash of lightning lit the area in a wash of blue white.

The name on the rock was still carved deep despite the weather wear.

T— MacKenzie

Delilah’s heart slid into her stomach. Was that Torra?

A groan of despair tore from her throat. If Torra was dead, there would be no helping the MacLeods.

“Elizabeth!” The irritation in the male voice bit through her concentration.

Delilah darted toward the rock, reaching for the tangle of vines over the name.

She had to see.

She had to know.

Her fingernails raked over the cold, rough stone. Despite the strength of her desperation, only part of the obscuring fauna gave way.