He needed to know that she was all right. He had no memory of what he’d done after he saw her face last night. Matteo never remembered what he did during one of his black spells—although he’d seen the strangely pristine bodies the next day.
Aldo scowled. “We can’t take the chance. Not only is there the risk that she’ll return to make accusations, but there is every possibility that this cure is temporary. Your affliction could return tomorrow for all we know.” His father gestured to Ottavio. “Take my son back to the house and then come back with Clarence and his hounds. We’ll start searching the woods together.”
“No,” he said, rising to his feet. “There’s no chance I’m leaving.”
His father scowled at him. “You need to rest.”
Matteo shook his head. “I’m fine. I feel better than I have in months,” he said, before finding that it was the honest truth.
It had been so long since he’d felt this clearheaded. There was no pain or weakness, and despite his half-dressed state he actually felt warm.
His father still looked skeptical, but Matteo wasn’t about to let him hunt down Isobel like some sort of animal. He wasn’t leaving.
Turning to Ottavio, Matteo ordered, “Go fetch me a change of clothes and another coat. I’ll be leading the search.”
Ottavio looked at his father for confirmation, who nodded impatiently. “Do it and be quick about it. We don’t have time to waste.”
Chapter 9
Matteo’s Uncle Clarence was beside himself with worry when he found out Isobel had survived the night.
Sir Clarence was all for putting a bullet through her head as soon as they found her, but his father berated him into silence, making it clear that they needed Isobel alive. He finally agreed, but Matteo watched Sir Clarence carefully anyway as they tramped through the muddy forest.
If his uncle was a threat to Isobel, Matteo would do whatever was necessary to protect her. But he felt like a hypocrite for wanting to give his uncle hell, when he was the one who’d tried to kill her.
Here and there the dogs caught Isobel’s scent, losing it several times in the mud. But they always picked it up again. It was very steady alongside the stream. It had probably been too cold for her to cross it without shoes in order to mask her scent, or she hadn’t thought to do so during her flight in the dark.
About a mile away from the cottage, they found the fallen log with his great coat and mud-crusted socks inside.
“What the hell is this?” his father asked with a scowl. “Is she running about in her nightgown?”
Matteo sat on the log and shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “This confirms it. She must be a witch.”
Sir Clarence swung around to frown at him. “How does this prove that?”
He hung his head and examined the muddy toes of his Hessians. “I made her nervous. She could see me for what I was, and had the foresight to prepare. This must have been where she hid provisions for a quick escape…in case the worst happened.”
Well, the worst had befallen her. She’d come within inches of dying at his hands.
The count swore. “If she had a change of clothes, then she could have made it to Ford village or farther. We must go back to the manor house and fetch horses. We will split up and search the local inns. We mustn’t let her board a carriage, or we’ll be forced to pursue her on the roads.”
They set off at once, dividing into teams. Matteo kept close to his uncle in case they did come upon Isobel unawares. They checked the roads and nearby fields while his father and Nino inquired at the inns where the coaches stopped.
“She’ll go north to Scotland, not London,” Sir Clarence said authoritatively as they rode. “She knows no one in town and has very little resources. If she has any destination in mind, then it’s probably some place familiar.”
“Do you know where her home is?” Matteo asked.
“No. Some village somewhere in the Highlands. Never caught the name but the other servants might have. I’ll have to question them,” Sir Clarence said shifting uncomfortably.
“What will you tell them about her disappearance?” he asked.
The baronet shrugged. “That she got a summons from her family. Your father offered his coach to the post road, where she took off on her own.”
It wasn’t a good excuse, but the servants probably wouldn’t question their employer too closely, no matter what they secretly believed.
His father hurried back to them. “The post left at dawn, but there were no passengers taken up here. It’s possible she waylaid a private coach further up the road. In any case, there’s no sign here,” he said.
“Maybe she didn’t go inside. Did the ostlers see nothing?” he asked.
“If they did, they’re not speaking. We’ll have to check the inn at Etal,” the Conte muttered as he mounted his horse.