MacDuff was silent a moment. “Yes, you do. And I don’t see why I shouldn’t collect.” He turned away. “But you’d better go and get Rodland from the library. I can’t be bothered to take care of him. He showed up early this morning and he’s been stumbling around the place waiting for you to get here.”

“I’m supposed to take care of him?”

“You sent him to Jane. He belongs to you.” He turned and started to cross the courtyard. “And he belongs to Jane. He might be useful.”

Caleb hesitated. Then he turned and went into the castle and down the hall to the library.

Rodland was sitting in an easy chair talking on the phone. He held up his finger as Caleb walked into the room, but he finished his call. “It’s about time,” he said. “I thought you’d be here before this. What kept you?”

“I was otherwise occupied in Italy.” He added coldly, “You didn’t do your job. You were supposed to take care of her. I ought to break your neck.”

“You probably will before this is over, but a horse named Maisie and a sniper with a bad aim managed to give me sufficient punishment for the time being.” He smiled crookedly. “I did the best I could considering my handicaps. I told her to leave me and not trust anyone since she was the target. Evidently, she took my advice because MacDuff told me she’s been on the run.”

“You should have told her I’d take care of her,” Caleb said harshly.

“You weren’t here,” he said simply.

Caleb muttered a curse.

“And I don’t know if it would have mattered. Jane tends to go down her own path,” Rodland added. “She makes up her mind and sticks to it. She worries a lot about MacDuff and his people.” He shook his head. “You probably wouldn’t have had a chance from the minute she saw the fire burning the front gate.”

“I would have had a chance. I could have talked to her.”

“But you weren’t—”

“Here,” Caleb finished. “I believe you’ve made that clear.”

“But if anyone could have convinced her, it would have been you,” Rodland said quickly. “I’ve found she does listen.”

“Thanks for your insight,” Caleb said sarcastically. “You’ve gotten to know her in the last week. How well?”

“Well enough to help you find her,” he said quietly. “She’ll be defensive with you. But she has a different relationship with me. I’m no threat, only humor and friendship. And we have a common interest in what happened to Fiona. I’ve promised to help her find the end of her story. She needs that right now. There’s been too much blood and anxiety and she’s an artist. It could bring her back to you.” He looked down at his phone. “I’m almost there…”