Still she didn’t move, didn’t answer. But he was there now, dropping to his knees on the flagstone path to one of the cottages, blown over with sand and stray leaves and petals. He reached out, his prayers too desperate for words now, and touched her face. Warm. Her throat—there, her pulse fluttered, faint but present.

“Mamm-wynn.” He said it more quietly now, giving her shoulder a gentle shake. But her eyelids didn’t flutter; her breath didn’t hitch. What was wrong with her? He guessed Tas-gwyn had been struck on the head much like Mabena, given the way he’d been holding it and wincing. But when he set his fingers on a light probing of her skull, he found no bumps or gashes, nothing to indicate a physical assault. Did he dare try to turn her over?

He hadn’t much choice. He couldn’t exactly leave her here. Careful to cradle her head with one hand, he eased her onto her side with the other, then onto her back. Though he held his breath against what he might see, no horrors met his gaze. No injuries visible here either. She simply looked like she was sleeping.

But she never slept so deeply that a voice wouldn’t rouse her.

He leaned over to take a closer look, reaching into his pocket for his watch so he could get an accurate gauge of her pulse. His fingers brushed against paper rather than metal, giving him pause. Had he not put his watch in his pocket when he flew out of his room upon hearing Mrs. Dawe?

Apparently not. He pulled out what was in there—the nub of a pencil and the letter he’d been writing when sleep had abandoned him.

He’d meant it for Beth, though he’d had no idea how he meant to get it to her. It was half angry exhortation to return home at once, half plea to let them help. Full of all the facts that backed up both. That Lady Elizabeth Sinclair had been mistaken for her, that she was paying the price for whatever Beth had involved herself in. That Mabena had been injured last night by an armed man. That they knew Johnnie’s death was linked to it, and that the man had threatened Mamm-wynn.

His gaze flitted up toward the sagging door of the cottage that looked like it might sink into the earth at any moment. His sister wouldn’t be in there. He knew she wouldn’t. But something had convinced Mamm-wynn to come here, whether it be something natural or . . . not. He took the clutch of flowers from her fingers and stood. He hated to leave her there even for a second, but he had a feeling she’d forgive it if it meant possibly finding Beth.