“Very well.” He pointed at Declan’s bag. “Do you have any weapons stashed in there?”
The carpenter hesitated a moment, his lips firming into a grim line. “Yes.”
“Good,” the earl said. “Shall we go?”
Declan glanced at the vicar, who smiled.
They left the McCarthys’ cottage en masse. Catherine made her way to the vicar’s gig, while the men set off for the wooded area. When she prepared to climb into the conveyance, Lord Somerton’s hand materialized in front of her.
Startled, she glanced at him, accepting his assistance. “Did you need something, my lord?”
“See if you can locate a cart.” He unraveled his cravat and shrugged out of his coat. “And do something with these, if you will.”
Without thought, she draped his garments over her lap as if she’d performed the same act a hundred times before. The mindless deed gave her a brief opportunity to admire the bit of flesh revealed by his open neckline—until his words sank in. “A cart? Do you think Meghan’s injured?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “As I mentioned to Mrs. McCarthy, it is best to prepare for the worst.”
“Be careful,” she said.
His attention dropped to her mouth, brushed it softly with a single sweep of his gaze before lifting again.
The visual kiss had nearly the same impact as the stunning press of his lips. Catherine’s stomach clenched around a surge of longing so powerful she came close to reaching for him.
He stepped back. Had he sensed her temptation? Had he shared it?
“Coerce as many as you can to come, Mrs. Ashcroft. Promise them whatever you must.”
The gravity of his tone told her he was more concerned with Meghan’s welfare than he cared to share.
A fresh wave of anger washed over her. How could Showbury’s residents turn their backs on the McCarthys at a time like this? To do so was simply unthinkable.
She would enjoy this opportunity to remind her neighbors of the many times Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy had set aside their own duties to harvest a crop or protect a home from high waters. She narrowed her eyes on the lane ahead. Yes, indeed.
“Promises will not be necessary, my lord.” She flicked the reins. “Be prepared for my return.”
Two hours later, Catherine led a large group of chagrined neighbors to the small meadow near the woods. Not long after their arrival, Lord Somerton emerged from the treeline, looking disheveled but no less determined.
Mr. Baggert helped her from the gig, and Catherine rushed to greet the earl.
He glanced over her shoulder, appreciation lighting his blue-gray eyes. “You did well.”
“Some had already come to their senses and were making their way here,” she said with unexpected shyness. “Others came around with a few not so subtle reminders. No sign of Meghan yet?”
He shook his head. “We’ve combed the wooded area as best we can with the three of us. I’ll have your troops sweep through again, while McCarthy, Foster, you, and I search the streambed that leads to her waterfall.”
McCarthy and the vicar joined them, and the earl explained his plan. The carpenter nodded his understanding, but his gaze was on the assembly behind Catherine.
“They want to help,” Catherine said.
“Why now?”
“I think they had time to consider what they would do if their circumstances were reversed.”
Lord Somerton placed his hand on McCarthy’s shoulder. “Allow me to set up a search line and provide the group with some instructions and then we can set upon the stream.”
Catherine could tell the carpenter wanted nothing more than to continue his sweep of the area. But in a short period of time, the earl had won McCarthy’s respect to the point of deferral.
“Your wife said you have not eaten anything since yesterday,” Catherine said. “She sent a small basket of foodstuff along, as did many of the women from the village.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “But I’m not hungry.”
“You soon will be and probably at a most inconvenient time.” She motioned him toward the gig. “Eat, please. Keep up your strength until we find Meghan. You, too, Mr. Foster.”
“Did the ladies by chance send refreshment?” Mr. Foster asked.
“Yes,” she said. “We have water and ale in the back.”
The carpenter pulled a sandwich from an overflowing basket. “I should never have let her out of my sight. She was always so trusting of strangers.”
“Meghan’s disappearance was not your fault, Declan,” the vicar said. “You cannot always know another’s mind, no matter how much you love them.”