Draycott Eternal: What Dreams May ComeSeason of Wishes Read online

  Something rumbled beneath Jamee’s feet. A car, coming fast. Maybe more than one car.

  Dear God, where was Ian?

  She spun awkwardly at a sudden noise behind her. Ian stood a few feet away smiling in the sunlight, one shoulder propped on the massive capstone. Dirt streaked his face and hands.

  “You look terrible,” Jamee said, running over the heather and throwing her arms around him.

  “Maybe I should look terrible more often,” he murmured, smoothing her hair with one hand.

  “Don’t change the subject, McCall. Where have you been? That rumble is the sound of a car, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Oh, I noticed. That should be Duncan MacKinnon, right on schedule.” He checked his watch, then gave a crooked grin. “I phoned him while you were sleeping.”

  “Phone? How?”

  Ian patted his pocket. “Cellular. I never leave home without it?” His smiled faded. “Duncan knew where we were, Jamee. The problem was getting to us.”

  “The fog?”

  Ian nodded.

  Jamee pulled away, her body stiff. “You could at least have told me about the phone.”

  “Things happened too fast.”

  “I don’t like deception,” she said tightly. Her emotions were in turmoil. She wanted Ian’s arms around her, but at the same time, her reliance on him frightened her.

  “Neither do I. But I gave your brother my word that I’d keep my participation a secret.”

  Her eyes widened. The rising sun left shadows over the hard planes of Ian’s face. “What made you change your mind?”

  “You did.”

  Jamee swallowed. Feelings engulfed her. It was too much too soon. She wasn’t ready to feel so painfully aware of another person. She wasn’t ready to trust a man with her vulnerability. She took a step away from Ian. “The men at the cottage are gone?”

  “As fast as they could manage with four tires losing air fast.”

  A smile tugged at her mouth. “You did that?”

  “I wasn’t going to make it easy for them. From the look of it, their tracks run southeast, back toward the village. The constable’s men should be able to trace them. Duncan’s already phoned in an alert.” Ian shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m here, Jamee. If you’re cold. If you need me.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “That’s not what you said last night.” A muscle moved at his jaw.

  “That was last night.” Jamee turned her face to the sun, shivering. “Someone could have killed you down there. I’m not going to lie, Ian. That bothers the hell out of me.” She pulled up her jacket collar as wind knifed through her hair. “Maybe things are happening too fast. For both of us.”

  Before she could say more, a trio of Land Rovers bucked over the steep incline, then shuddered to a halt below the stone circle. A tall man with black hair jumped from the lead car and sprinted over the rocky ground, smiling broadly.

  “Glad to see that the ghost of the dead Druid prince didn’t seize you in the night, Glenlyle.”

  “No one said anything about a ghost,” Jamee said tightly.

  “Oh, this old ring is haunted without a doubt. Many are the lights we’ve seen from Dunraven.” Duncan MacKinnon looked at Jamee, his blue eyes crinkling. “You must be Ms. Night.” He enveloped her hand in a firm grip and shook it twice. “Length of life and sunny days and a belated welcome to Dunraven land.”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts,” Jamee said.

  “No? Don’t tell that to Ian here. He once throttled a lad who said the Glenlyle legends were naught but poppycock.”

  “What legends?” Jamee frowned at Ian.

  “Forget the legends, MacKinnon,” Ian thundered. “Where’s that whiskey you promised me? We want a hot bath and a hot meal. On the way you can tell me what took you so long to get here.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE LAND ROVER pitched to a halt at the end of a narrow gravel drive. Up the hill, light danced from Dunraven Castle’s pink stone walls. A roof of black slate rose in a fantasy of gables and turrets above the rugged landscape.

  Jamee pinched herself to be certain she hadn’t stepped into a dream.

  “Twenty-two kings have slept here in the castle,” Duncan explained with pride. “Three wars were planned here and more than a few affairs of the heart.”

  “It…it’s magnificent,” Jamee breathed.

  Duncan chuckled. “Wait until you see Ian’s great wreck up at Glenlyle.”

  Jamee’s eyes widened. “It can’t be bigger than this.”

  “You’ll see,” Duncan said.

  Jamee glanced at Ian, who smiled calmly. “Where’s that wife of yours, MacKinnon? I’ve been wanting to give her a kiss for months now.”

  “One kiss, laddie, and no more. Otherwise it will be clay-mores at dawn on the beach.”

  Ian sighed loudly. “It never fails to amaze me that Kara settled on an oaf like you.”

  “For one reason and one only. The lady obviously has excellent taste.” Duncan opened Jamee’s door with a flourish. “Welcome to Dunraven Castle, Ms. Night.” With that, he swept Jamee up into his arms and headed toward the massive oak door.

  Jamee looked around her with great interest, not at all put out by his dashing gesture. “Is this standard procedure or is the fanfare only for impressionable Americans?”

  “Quite standard, I assure you. The custom began several centuries ago when one of my more debonair ancestors insisted on carrying a queen of Scotland over the muddy paths beside the pigsty. The pigsty is gone, but the ritual remains, I’m glad to say.”

  “You can put her down now, MacKinnon,” Ian said with an undercurrent of irritation.

  “Not until we reach the front door. Ritual is ritual, you know.”

  Ian snorted. “Only when it suits you.”

  Jamee hid a smile, relishing the sunlight on her shoulders and the wind that rose from the sea, fragrant with salt and pine. “I like your kilt, Lord Dunraven.”

  “Call me Duncan, my dear.” Duncan chuckled at the irritation on Ian’s face. “And do not be misled. A kilt is the best costume for a fight, you understand. There is nothing to bind or restrict a man’s movement. Scratch a Scotsman’s customs and you’ll generally find something to do with fighting or planning a fight.”

  “Or drinking,” Jamee said helpfully.

  “There is that,” Duncan conceded. “As I recall, your father did a fair bit of that himself when he and your mother visited at Rose Cottage for their second honeymoon. I can’t tell you how sad I was to hear of their accident.”

  “They did so much love it here,” Jamee said wistfully. “I think it was all of Scotland, in fact. They both had family here generations back. In a way, it was like coming home for them.” Jamee swallowed, keeping her voice steady. “Could I see the cottage this morning?”

  “Anytime you like.” Duncan nodded at a lean man with wiry white hair who pushed open the front door. “Here they are at last, Angus. Bedraggled but no worse, I think. Meet Angus McTavish, Ms. Night. Angus rules us all with an iron hand. The McTavishes have been here at Dunraven almost as long as the MacKinnons, and they’ll be the first to tell you we couldn’t have managed without them, whether in war or in peace.”

  “Nor could you,” the old servant said smugly. “It is a pleasure to welcome you to Dunraven, Ms. Night. I remember your parents well. You have the look of your mother about you, lass. The same wonderful eyes.”

  “Thank you,” Jamee said, flushing. “They mentioned how kind you all were here. You, too, Mr. McTavish.”

  “Ach, lass, call me Angus, like the rest do.”

  Duncan carried Jamee over the threshold and set her down in the Great Hall.

  Ian stared over Angus’s broad shoulder through the open door. “Good lord, Angus, what have you done to the braw old place?”

  The beams were draped with holly and tinsel. Tiny colored lights flashed from the mullioned window and vintage ornaments of satin and glass gleamed on D
unraven’s massive mantel.

  Jamee caught her breath in awe, feeling like a child set down in a chocolate shop.

  “It’s prepared for the photo shoot by Lady Dunraven,” Angus explained. “Most of the staff of New Bride magazine are helping out.”

  Jamee looked from wall to tabletop, unable to decide which fabric to examine first. Dozens of tartans lined the stairway and covered the magnificent oak chairs. The beauty of the old house reached out, touching Jamee’s heart.

  “This is the MacKinnon tartan, isn’t it? I recognize the red-and-green design.” She studied a length of old fabric draping a heavy oak hunt table beside the front door.

  “So it is,” Duncan said proudly. “At least six generations old, by my father’s reckoning. It was said to be woven by an ancestor with magic hands and rare skill.”

  Jamee felt a curious tension at her neck as she studied the fragile old wool. Some part of her yearned to touch it, while another part of her drew back.

  “Her name was Maire MacKinnon,” Duncan said. “I believe there’s a portrait of her in the attic if you’re interested.”

  Before Jamee could answer, footfalls sounded on the broad stone staircase. A woman with deep auburn hair slid a foot over the bannister and sailed gracefully down, right into her husband’s arms.

  Duncan tried to look angry and failed miserably. “I thought we agreed there would be no more of that, Kara. Not for the duration.”

  His wife gave him a cajoling smile. “Of course we agreed. But I didn’t want to keep our guests waiting.”

  “Blast it, Kara, you promised me.”

  Kara Fitzgerald MacKinnon wriggled out of his arms. Her purple sweater brought out glints of red in her auburn hair as her gaze swept over Ian, then settled on Jamee. “Here you are at last, my dear. What a nasty welcome to Scotland you’ve had.” She shoved a pencil into her auburn curls and shot another measuring look from Ian to Jamee. “I hope you’ve taken good care of her, Ian.” She tucked her arm through Jamee’s. “Your boxes arrived yesterday in perfect shape. We’ll send someone for your car shortly.” Kara smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid it’s a little chaotic here. We’re finishing the Christmas issue for New Bride. I thought you’d like to rest and change before you meet everyone.”

  Jamee thought about the bits of bracken and heather caught in her braid. Her face had to be streaked with soot. Cleaning up seemed like a wonderful idea. She wasn’t ready to meet the curious stares of a dozen strangers.

  Not while she was still trying to sort out her emotions about Ian.

  She glanced across the hall, where Ian was caught in quiet conversation with Duncan. Neither man was smiling. Jamee could guess the subject.

  So he really was a bodyguard. She could probably live with that.

  He might be hurt at any moment taking a bullet if her kidnappers decided to rush her. Jamee felt a knot of dread fill her chest. That she couldn’t live with.

  Ian had taught her to trust him. He had made her feel safe in his embrace. No, she thought sadly, he had made her feel much more than safe. He had made her feel alive. Wanted.

  Beautiful.

  Now that she knew the threat in store, how could she wait patiently for Ian to take a blow or deflect a blade aimed at her?

  Damn, why couldn’t life ever be simple?

  “Here, give me your bag.”

  Jamee blinked, realizing Ian was standing in front of her. “What?”

  “Your workbag. It has to weigh a ton. Hand it over.”

  Jamee’s shoulders straightened. “I’ll manage. I always have. I always will.”

  His eyes darkened. “But this time you don’t have to manage. That’s what I’m here for.”

  “Is it?” Jamee’s fingers tightened on the leather handle. She was driven to fight him, to resist the effortless sense of security he spun whenever he was around her. She had worked too hard for her independence and self-reliance to let them slide away now. “No, I’ll keep it. I always carry my own weight.”

  Irritation flashed through his eyes. “I know what you’re trying to do, Jamee. In a way, I even applaud it.” His voice fell, audible only to her as Duncan and Kara moved toward the main corridor of the house. “You need to keep in control, especially after what you saw at the cottage. Unfortunately, that’s not going to be possible. They will be closing in, and I’m here to protect you when they do. You’re going to have to use me, like it or not.”

  Jamee’s lips trembled. “I don’t like it. Not one damn bit.”

  “If it helps,” Ian said harshly, “I don’t like it, either.”

  “It doesn’t help.”

  Ian muttered a low phrase of Gaelic and tugged the heavy bag from her shoulder. “Trust me a little.”

  Jamee swallowed. He didn’t understand. There was nothing halfway about trust, not for her. How did you trust someone to kiss you, but no more? How did you keep trust from spilling over into everything you did? No, it was all or nothing. “I’ll try to remember that. Meanwhile, the trust works two ways. I want to know exactly what’s happening, Ian. Every minute. If you have any news, I want to hear it, too.”

  “If I can.”

  “Dammit, Ian—”

  “Don’t fight me, Jamee. It will only make this harder. And that’s the last thing I want for you,” he said softly.

  “I have to fight. It’s either fight you or—”

  Her words were swallowed up by an excited ripple of laughter as people spilled into Dunraven’s Great Hall. Like exotic tropical birds, rail-thin models in long velvet dresses huddled around a striking man with almond-shaped eyes and bright purple hair. When he saw Jamee, his face broke into a smile. He hurried across the room, shoving aside the German camera around his neck, and thrust out a hand. “Hidoshi Sato,” he announced. “You must be Miss Night. I’ve seen your work in Textile Quarterly. Great use of color. And you’ve been doing some fabulous things with alpaca and flax.”

  Jamee flushed slightly. “You saw those? I thought only about twelve people ever read the magazine. You know, I actually began my fabric work in Japan. I worked with a kimono weaver in Kyoto.”

  “So desu ka?” Hidoshi said in Japanese. “No kidding.”

  Jamee answered easily.

  “You speak Japanese?” Kara looked impressed. “How do you say, ‘One more shot of me without makeup and I’ll deck you’?”

  “Far beyond my language abilities, I’m afraid,” Jamee said with a laugh. “I can just about order a bowl of soba noodles and buy tickets for the Bullet Train.”

  “Where is Rob, by the way?” Kara handed a silver-and-red wreath to Hidoshi. “He said he would be finished shooting the Wise Men twenty minutes ago.”

  “Beats me,” the photographer said. “Probably waiting for the light to be perfect. That’s why I like him for an assistant: he takes his time so he’ll get things right on the first shot. No wasted film to explain to the suits up in accounting.” Hidoshi held up the wreath and frowned. “Way too bland. How about adding two angels and some more candy canes? You can never have too many angels or too much candy at Christmas.”

  “I don’t think you’ve met Megan O’Hara, my colleague at New Bride magazine. Megan is the keeper of the records, the keys and my general sanity.” Kara put one arm around a fresh-faced young woman with masses of freckles. “This is Jamee Night, Megan. And since everyone else seems to have come along, why don’t you make the introductions, Duncan?” Kara looked uneasily at her husband.

  Jamee realized why. Kara was uncertain how much of the truth to reveal to the gathered company, and she was leaving the decision to her husband.

  Did one of the smiling faces in the crowd belong to a criminal? Were the friendly eyes even now hiding secret knowledge of all that had happened at the cottage?

  Jamee took a sharp breath. Stop being paranoid, she told herself as Duncan MacKinnon took a spot on the winding staircase.

  “Very well, my love, I’ll be happy to do the honors. I want everyone to meet Jamee Night and
her friend Ian McCall. They’ll be staying here for a few days while Jamee finishes a set of textile designs we’ve commissioned for the castle. Any questions?”

  One of the models tossed back her mane of honey-blond hair and eyed Ian hungrily. “And just what is Mr. McCall going to be doing while Ms. Night is busy working? I wouldn’t want him to be lonely.”

  Duncan raised one brow. “I’m sure Lord Glenlyle will find something to keep him busy.”

  “Lord, is it?” The model licked her lips with predatory delight. “I’m available, Lord Glenlyle. Just remember that.”

  After a startled silence, Hidoshi cleared his throat. “You aren’t going to have time for any moonlit strolls, Tania. Tonight is the dinner scene and tomorrow is the Victorian wedding. We’ve got fittings to finish, remember?”

  The woman smiled. “Oh, there’s always time for a good thing, isn’t there, Lord Glenlyle? Especially since you don’t look like a man who lets time go to waste.”

  “Sorry, but I’m going to be fairly busy myself,” Ian said easily, slipping one arm around Jamee’s waist. “I have to be sure that the woman I love doesn’t get lured away by a dashing stranger.”

  Jamee felt her face fill with heat. His voice was low, tender, filled with emotion. The woman he loved?

  She stared at Ian, shocked to realize how much she wanted to believe his words. He looked entirely sincere, his eyes those of a man in love.

  She took a ragged breath. “Ian, why are you—”

  He cut her off neatly. “Shall we tell them now, my love?”

  “Tell them what?”

  Ian took her wrists and slid them around his waist, drawing her against his chest. “About what happened up at the cottage.”

  “You mean, the cold, the fog and the fire?”

  He laughed huskily, as if sharing a private and very intimate joke. “No, I mean, the other part.”

  Jamee stared back at him in confusion. Her pulse hammered at the press of his body. “What other part?”

  “The most unexpected gift in the world. There we were, just the two of us. No phones, no faxes and no distractions.” He brushed a curl from her cheek. “That’s when I realized the depth of my feelings.”