Carys’s spirits plummeted.
Dear God, had he been spying on them? If so, he’d have even more fodder for his hateful blackmail.
Howe caught sight of her and skidded to a halt, panting. “Ah! Carys. Thank God I’ve found you.”
She frowned at his panicked tone. “What are you doing out here?”
Tristan stepped forward, out of the shadows, and Howe gave a visible start. He obviously hadn’t expected to see him there with her. How odd. Maybe he hadn’t been spying, after all?
“Yes, Howe. What do you want?” Tristan’s voice was hard. “I hope you weren’t following Lady Carys to accost her.”
Howe somehow managed to look offended, as if he’d never dream of accosting a woman in a garden, which considering his far-from-spotless behavior was deeply ironic.
He rested his hands on his hips as he tried to catch his breath. “I came to find her,” he said, still gasping, “because I didn’t want to cause a panic. Her bear has escaped. I saw him running off into the woods.”
Carys shook her head. “Buttercup? Don’t be ridiculous. He’s safely in his cage. It’s probably just a guest, dressed up. Why, Squire Digby’s come as Hercules. He’s got a lion-skin rug over his—”
“I’m certain,” Howe insisted. “I saw him myself! I heard him growl. He ran off into the woods, that way.” He pointed behind him.
“Buttercup couldn’t possibly have opened his own cage. Someone must have let him out.” She narrowed her eyes in sudden suspicion. “Was it you?”
Howe drew himself up. “Of course it wasn’t. Why on earth would I do that?”
“I don’t know. Just to make mischief, probably.”
“What were you doing in the gardens?” Tristan demanded.
Howe shot him a smirking, knowing, look. “Same thing you are, I imagine, Montgomery,” he drawled. “Taking the night air.”
Tristan looked like he might say more, but Carys caught his sleeve. “I’d better go and take a look. If Buttercup has managed to get out, I can coax him back into his cage. He’s probably already frightened, with the extra noise and the music.”
Howe let out an audible sigh of relief. “Excellent. I knew it would be better to tell you than those hotheaded brothers of yours.”
“Shall I get some food from the house?” Tristan offered.
“I’ll go,” Howe said quickly. “You should stay with Carys. She shouldn’t be out there facing that monster alone.”
“He’s not a ‘monster,’” Carys scolded. “And he’s no danger to me. But I can’t guarantee how he’ll react if he meets anyone else. The poor thing must be terrified.” She glared at Howe. “Go and ask Cook for some fruit.”
“What if I come across him?” Howe asked. “What shall I do?”
“Let him sniff the fruit. He’s not very fast. He’ll lumber after you. Draw him toward his cage, throw the fruit inside, and when he follows it in, close the door. If that fails, sing ‘Bobby Shafto.’”
Howe’s look of confusion would have been funny if the situation weren’t so dire.
“What, the sea shanty?”
“Yes.”
“But—”
“Just sing it to him,” Carys said impatiently. “It calms him down. Now go!”
Thankfully, Howe turned and loped off toward the house. Carys turned to Tristan, who was checking his pocket watch. “How much time do we have before the fireworks?”
“A few hours yet.”
“That should be enough.” She started purposefully toward the animal cages. “He can’t have gone very far.”
The lanterns didn’t extend to the edge of the grounds, but there was enough moonlight by which to see, and her heart sank when they found the iron door to Buttercup’s enclosure swinging open. She’d been hoping Howe had been playing a cruel trick on her, worrying her for no reason, but that clearly wasn’t the case.
Had he been the one to release the bear? She wouldn’t put it past him; he was certainly vindictive enough, the swine.
She squinted into the recesses of the enclosure, but it was so large and full of greenery there was no hope of seeing if the bear had returned of his own free will.
“Buttercup!” she crooned softly. “Are you in there, sweeting?”
Not a rustle came from the darkness, so she picked up the little music box from its place near the door. “I suppose we’d better start looking.”
A dark shape swooped overhead and she let out a startled yelp. “Huginn!” she scolded. “Shoo! Go to bed.”
The raven cawed loudly, delighted to have surprised her, and Muninn’s answering call came from deeper in the woods. Carys let out a defeated sigh. “Oh, fine, if you want to come, come. But no silliness, you hear me? We need to find Buttercup.”
Huginn blew her a noisy kiss.
“Should we go and get horses?” Tristan asked.
“No. They might get spooked.”
He pulled one of the pistols from his belt.
“What are you doing? You are not shooting my bear.”
He sent her an exasperated look. “Of course I won’t shoot him. But if he threatens a guest, we might need something a little more drastic than singing. I assume he dislikes loud noises and bright lights?”
“Yes. Firing that would scare him witless.”
“Well, then. I’d rather be prepared. Just in case.” He unhooked the brass powder flask from his belt and tipped a small measure into the barrel of the pistol.
“I can’t believe you came fully armed to a costume party,” Carys marveled. “I thought those were just for show.”
He sent her a cynical smile. “A Montgomery on Davies land always comes ready for a fight.”
She rolled her eyes. “This is the nineteenth century, for heaven’s sake. Not the eleven hundreds. Haven’t we moved on from that now?”
“You’d think so,” Tristan said, “but you Davieses have an uncanny ability to attract trouble. I’ve come to realize I always need a little extra firepower when you’re around.”
He produced a metal tin from his pocket, extracted a tiny square of fabric wadding and a round lead shot, and pushed them both down the barrel with the slim metal ramrod secured on the underside of the pistol. Carys watched his brisk efficiency with a dazed kind of awe. His final task was to pour some powder into the pan on the side and flip closed the little cover that shielded it from the wind.
“All right. Let’s find that bear of yours.”