She turned toward the castle, her face pinching. “Have you seen Hannah today?”

“Nay. She usually helps Merida.”

Ella nodded absently, her gaze still scanning the grounds. “Are there any horses missing?”

Cain raised his hand to Keenan, who was serving as watchman in the tower that morning. The man disappeared to reappear on the ground, where he jogged out and up to him. Keenan nodded to Ella.

“Hew Mackay has escaped our dungeon,” Cain said. “Question the night watch and have the herd leaders get a count of all their horses to see if any are missing. The bastard wouldn’t leave on foot if he could ride.”

“Aye, chief.” Keenan jogged away.

Ella secured her bow over her shoulder. “I will find Hannah.”

“Ye are worried about her?”

Ella’s lips parted and closed twice before she spoke. “Just something she said that makes me worry that she was developing an unrealistic view of Hew Mackay.”

Hannah? Cain couldn’t imagine his timid sister going anywhere near a prisoner, but at her words, he felt the prickle of instinct crawl along his muscles. His fists clenched. “Find her.”

The men from the training field gathered behind him, and he turned to their grim faces. “Mackay has escaped. Bàs is riding to see if he returned to Varrich. Make certain your swords are sharp and your horses are rubbed down.” He looked across the moor where Bàs led his group into the forest to the west. “Prepare for war at my command.”

…

Ella kept her steps reined in as she strode across the inner bailey and into the keep. Merida would be in the kitchens, since she planned to make more herbal cures this morning.

Ella trotted down the walkway at the back of the great hall, her fingers sliding along the rough stone. The smell of steaming comfrey and garlic grew in the air the closer she got to the kitchen. She practically flew through the archway into the wide room, the far hearth fired up under two black caldrons.

“Merida,” she called and stopped to catch her breath as the woman turned toward her. Sweat coated the older woman’s face, her hair damp and frizzy like a cloud about her head. She held a wooden paddle like an upraised sword and frowned.

“Lord, girl, ye gave me a start,” she said, lowering the makeshift weapon. Before the cauldrons, she did look like a witch making stew from bat wings and infant hearts.

“Have you seen Hannah this morn?”

“Nay.”

The word cut through Ella, making her heart squeeze. Had the girl been tricked into thinking Hew Mackay was honorable? Had she not done enough to dissuade Hannah when she mentioned him before? “Where does Hannah spend her mornings?”