Shifting in the chair toward Rosalia, Sybella spoke as casually as she could manage. “’Tis a lovely day. Alex thought mayhap we should walk with Aunt Iseabail to the loch. The fresh air might do her some good.”
Rosalia nodded. “’Tis a wonderful idea. What say ye, Seanmhair? Do ye want to take Lachlann and we’ll walk to the loch?”
“I donna mean to keep putting ye off, but I will have to join ye later,” said Sybella. “I promised Anabel something and I havenae yet started.”
“Verra well.” Rosalia rose with Lachlann in her arms. “Let me change him first, Seanmhair, and then I will meet ye in the bailey.”
To say that Sybella felt guilty did not reflect the agony she felt with herself. She despised what she had become, resorting to spinning tales. And it bothered her to speak of Anabel that way. No matter, once she found the stone, her father would have to leave her and Alex alone. Her sire wouldn’t have any other choice in the matter. She would make certain.
Sybella reached the solar and closed the door behind her. Glancing around the room, she saw a book sitting on the table next to her dagger. After fingering through the pages the second time, she knew there was nothing odd. She tapped the book in her hand and noticed two pictures that hung on the wall.
One portrait depicted a woman with long reddish hair, her flowing emerald gown blowing in the gentle wind. The picture to Sybella’s right looked like the same woman in a sapphire gown, bending down to pick up a yellow flower.
Sybella lifted the first picture from the wall. She brushed her fingertips over the stone and felt for any movement or indentation. Nothing. She replaced the painting and then removed the second picture with the same result. She had never felt so frustrated in her life. Where the hell was the stone? At this rate, she would never uncover it.
She looked at the shelf that held the cups, under, over—not a damn thing. She moved the chairs, lifted the table, and even checked the floor. She refused to believe that this was a hopeless cause and forced herself to settle down. Who knew? Perhaps Aunt Iseabail held the stone in her chamber.
After putting things back in their rightful places, Sybella closed the door and made her way to Aunt Iseabail’s chamber. Once she was inside, she straightened her spine and got down to the task at hand. She pulled out everything from Aunt Iseabail’s trunk, searching through her clothes, jewelry box, anything and everything.
After realizing her hunt was another unsuccessful jaunt, Sybella stood and stretched her back. All of Aunt Iseabail’s dresses were scattered across the bed; the woman’s jewelry box had been dismantled; and the room was in complete disarray. Sybella had done it now. With her luck or lack thereof, Rosalia and Aunt Iseabail would return from their walk and catch her in the act.
She hastily replaced Aunt Iseabail’s belongings and made her way to the only other place she could think of that could hold the stone.
The unsavory pit of hell.
A lady’s laugh wafted through the air, and Alex watched as Rosalia, Lachlann, and Aunt Iseabail returned from their walk. With the sun shining brightly and no clouds in sight, no wonder the women laughed. A gentle breeze blew through the bailey and MacGregor lifted his son in the air.
Alex waited a moment, finishing his conversation with John. When Sybella did not appear, Alex walked over to his cousin. “Tha i breagha an-diugh.” It’s lovely weather today. “I assume ye enjoyed your walk. Where is my wife?”
“She didnae come with us. She had something to do for Anabel. We did have a good time with Lachlann, though,” said Rosalia.
Aunt Iseabail rubbed her hand over Lachlann’s tiny back. “He is such a good lad.” Turning her head toward Rosalia, Aunt Iseabail looked puzzled. “What was it, my dear, that I was supposed to tell Alexander?”
“I donna know. Ye only told me to remind ye to tell Alex something. I think it was about Sybella.”
Aunt Iseabail tapped her finger to her lip. “And ye say Sybella is with Anabel?”
Alex rubbed his hand over Aunt Iseabail’s shoulder. “Nay, I think she is making something for Anabel.”
His aunt giggled. “I would love to see that, especially since your wife doesnae even know how to stitch.”
“Pray excuse me while I drag her away from whatever she’s doing. ’Tis too wonderful of a day nae to be out in the sun.”
Alex knocked on Sybella’s bedchamber door. When no one answered, he walked to the ladies’ solar—and found it empty. He had the same result with the parapet, the kitchens, and the garden.
He walked back out into the bailey and ran into John. “Have ye seen my wife?”
John chuckled. “Have ye lost her?”
“Search the grounds. She isnae inside.”
“Aye.”
Something gnawed at Alex’s gut. Sybella knew not to leave the castle without telling anyone. It was too dangerous after the MacLeod’s attempt on her life. But if his wife was not in the castle, where the hell was she?
Sybella found her way into the dungeon much easier than the first time. Since hell currently held no occupants, no guard slept at the entrance. Once again, she descended the stairs and was greeted with a chill. It was cold and damp, and she paused only long enough to light the torch.
“Welcome back to the pit of hell, Sybella,” she said aloud. “Find the bloody stone or this is where ye will reside for the rest of your days.” She held up the light, pausing. “I can do this. I can do this,” she repeated for confidence.
The same unidentifiable muck lay upon the ground, and the chamber smelled of something rotten, decayed. She didn’t want to think about any more of that. She held up the torchlight to the heavy stone walls and iron bars that lined the narrow center walkway. She inched her way to the first door and held up the candle between the bars. As before, she waited a moment until the flickering light stilled.
She opened the door and walked in. There was no time to worry about what was there. Examining the walls, she ran her hand across the cool, slimy stone. She took one section at a time slowly, carefully. She did not want to come back here in the event she had overlooked something.
Sybella made her way to the second door, trying to ignore the shackles that lined the wall. The smell and overwhelming sense of dread would surely be her undoing, but she imposed an iron control on herself to continue. Following the same ritual she did in the first cell, quickly and as thoroughly as possible, she finished and made her way to the last door.
Praise the saints. Was that dried blood? When she became light-headed, she had no choice but to place her hand on the grimy wall for support. She paused for a moment when saliva pooled in her mouth. She wanted to take a deep breath but willed herself not to move, afraid she’d toss her contents.
She fought hard against the tears she refused to let fall, and for an instant, she almost gave up. But then she waved aside any further hesitation and entered the last cell where the MacKenzie man had been held and, God help her, died.
Damn.
“Dè nì mi?” What will I do?
When she didn’t uncover the stone, Sybella extinguished the torch at the foot of the stairs. She climbed the steps, and as soon as sunlight bathed her face, she lifted her cheeks into the light and took a deep, penetrating breath. She felt relief to be out of the dungeon, but panic welled inside her because she still hadn’t found the stone.
She looked up and spotted the men who walked the wall. In her best interest, she decided to move. She’d searched the library, study, solar, bedchambers, and dungeon. Surely Alex wouldn’t hide the stone in the kitchens. The servants were in there all the time. She was running out of places to look.