Claire disobeys Jamie's admonition to stay put and finds herself at the circle of stones, once again. Meanwhile, wallowing in misery, that very same day, Frank travels to Craigh na Dun, and is startled as he imagines hearing Claire calling to him...
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. . . . .
It was heaven, being surrounded by all these historical documents and ephemera. He could sit here all day with the vicar, perusing the papers. It was a treasure trove, and his head was immersed in it most joyfully. He almost felt guilty telling Claire to borrow Mrs. Baird's car to return to the stones alone to see about that little blue flower she had plucked. It was obvious to him as well as Reverend Wakefield's caretaker, that his poor wife was bored to tears with all the genealogy, and endless reams of written history. What excited him was not necessarily fascinating to Claire. In any case, she could get some fresh air, away from these musty smelling stacks. Besides, he told himself, the curious forget-me-not or whatever the bloody hell that blossom was, seemed to appeal to her sense as an amateur botanist.
Reveling in every new piece of information, the time flew by. Mrs. Graham offered to have him stay for dinner, but Claire would be waiting at the bed and breakfast. Frank declined politely, took up his hat, and left, pledging to come back in the morning.
On the way home, in a burst of spontaneity, he stopped at a flower shop, and bought a bouquet of Gerber daisies and baby's breath. After all, this was their second honeymoon. It wasn't fair to her that he spent most of his time in a stuffy room with an old vicar. He'd take her out tomorrow evening; someplace nice, secluded, with good food, and a bottle of their best wine. Whistling, he headed toward the building, and a quiet night with his beloved wife.
. . . . .
As he got to the hostel, he noticed a police vehicle parked outside the front entrance. Perhaps the men had just dropped by for a spot of tea and biscuits?
He reached the registration desk, and there was Mrs. Baird in an agitated state, gesturing wildly at the two uniformed gentleman. Frank wondered if someone had nicked the silverware, or snuck out the rear exit without settling his account. Ah, well, it was none of his concern.
He arrived at their room, but had to unlock the door himself. That was peculiar. Why hadn't Claire opened it for him? He entered, glancing around, and placed the flowers on the highboy.
"Claire," he called out, while removing his necktie. "Sorry I'm late. I was just so embroiled in all the records that Reverend Wakefield had at his fingertips that the time slipped away from me. I'll make it up to you tomorrow night. I promise." Oddly, there was no answer, only silence.
"Claire ...?"
His stomach clenched, and he began to feel uneasy. The loo was empty. Furthermore, on inspection, the suite appeared as if nothing had been touched since the maids cleaned the room. Surely, his wife would have returned from Craigh na Dun by now. She could possibly be shopping somewhere, but most of the shops had closed at this hour. He had barely squeezed into the one for the flowers, mere minutes before closing time.
