The Perfect Gift Page 32

  She couldn’t breathe. Her heart seemed to slip in her chest. “You’ve found me,” she whispered. I did not hope for such a miracle.

  “For you I’ll work miracles and more. But I am not your lord, Gwynna. Only your husband. And I would claim your rare skill for my country’s use now.”

  As Jared fought her angry fingers, he picked up bits of broken words, and among them was the name Gwynna. With his hands on hers, the images flowed past, filtered through her dreaming mind. With them came her terror and all her pain.

  Had the past waited here for them both, restless within the abbey’s silent walls? If so, was this a final chance to bring their sadness to an end?

  He felt his friend’s hand on his shoulder. “You’d better go, Jared. I’ve spoken to Marston, and you’re to borrow his friend’s car, since it’s less likely to be spotted. Take the back road through the south wood, so you can avoid the drive. No doubt they’ll have it watched.”

  Jared was glad for the cool, clear instructions. His own mind moved like a clock filled with rust. “We will. And thank you.”

  “It’s for me to thank you.” Nicholas looked down at Maggie. “Take care of her. In some way she feels like my own blood kin.”

  They were halfway to Tunbridge when Maggie came awake in a rush of movement, one hand to the window and the other flung wide.

  Jared ducked with a curse and barely avoided the bumper of an overloaded lorry. “Careful, my love. You’ll have us both in a ditch.”

  She blinked. “Jared? Where are we going?”

  “There’s been a change of plan.” Without taking his gaze from the road, he found her hand and linked his fingers tightly with hers. “They’ve insisted that Nicholas bring you to London for questioning.”

  “And they’d do more than talk, judging by your face.”

  “It’s likely that it would be unpleasant. Now that your father contacted you, their treatment would be harsh. So they won’t find us, not for a while at least.”

  “I never meant for you to be dragged in like this,” she whispered.

  “Hush.” It was soft, but it was an order just the same. His smile returned as he wove deftly past an aging school bus and two dairy vans. “There’s a box behind you that comes courtesy of Marston. Take out everything inside it.” There was the faintest lift to Jared’s lips. “Then you will kindly put them on.”

  Twenty minutes later it was done.

  Maggie’s face was hidden beneath a layer of white greasepaint, with two bright red circles at her cheeks. Her honey hair was caught up beneath a wig of carrot-red yarn, and Jared’s change was completed soon after.

  An hour later when he slowed for a roundabout near Elstow in Bedfordshire, Jared noticed two police officers leaning intently toward the flow of traffic, checking each car and its occupants against a photograph. No one looked twice at the car with the Elite Party Service sign. Nor did the officers pay the slightest heed to the smiling Raggedy Ann and Andy who waved from the front seat.

  HILLS OF GREEN BORDERED THE TWISTING ROAD. FADING sunlight brushed ruined castles and the foundations of medieval abbeys. Mist crept over the wooded valleys as Jared left the main roads at Sheffield and wound north toward the Border country.

  “This isn’t right.” Maggie’s shoulders were hunched and tense. “I should have stayed, Jared. I should fight these people face to face.”

  “That might be honorable,” he agreed. “It would also be madness. Your father didn’t underestimate these men, and neither can we.”

  Maggie made an angry sound. “I’m trying to do the right thing. I just can’t decide what it is.”

  Jared raised her palm to his lips. “Stop worrying. Your father appears to be a man who can handle himself.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be so good at that intuition of yours.”

  “I’ve never seen anything that you need to be ashamed of, my heart.”

  “Give it time.” Maggie sighed, staring down at their locked fingers, trying to put the worry and uncertainty out of her thoughts. “What does it feel like, this thing you do?”

  “Painful sometimes. Intrusive always.”

  “And right now what do you see?”

  “Just a shimmer of images in the back of my mind. Faint colors. Sometimes a ripple of sound, almost like voices in a distant room. I’m finally learning to turn down the volume when I need to.”

  Maggie brushed his knuckles with her lips. I love you, she thought. Madly.

  “The volume just spiked,” Jared said wryly. His voice deepened. “I love you too, Margaret Elizabeth Kincade. More than madly.”

  “What happens next?”

  “We drive and hope we’re not followed.”

  Maggie took a breath, then let it out slowly. A silver river snaked past the broken wall of a vast abbey, each stone a dark giant in the fading light. “I wish I could trust my father, but I don’t. He’d come and go too many times over the years. In some ways he might as well be a stranger. Tell me about this place where we’re going. Glenbrae, you called it?”

  “It’s secluded and full of magic, according to Nicholas. Of course most of Scotland is magical if you have the taste for greenery and mist.”

  Maggie turned her head at the tremor of longing she heard in Jared’s voice. “You miss that, don’t you?”

  “Sometimes. But there was no longer anything to hold me in the village. Or anywhere else in Scotland.”

  “What about your family?”

  “My parents are both gone. My brother…” Jared stared into the dark line of the distant mountains. “My brother died at his own hand. The MacNeill gift was more than he could bear.”

  Maggie’s fingers tightened. I’m here, she thought. For as long as you’ll have me. Until forever if you want it.

  His fingers laced with hers. “Forever won’t be half long enough.”

  Warmth swirled through Maggie’s heart. “I’ll hold you to that. Commander. Now tell me about this beautiful glen.”

  “Green hills and fine dark woods above a pristine loch. The house is thirteenth century. A traditional Scottish tower house with turnpike stairways and all the usual fortifications.”

  “Fortifications?”

  “Window slits. Gun loops and massive walls, built to hold out rival clans or generally nasty neighbors. Fighting was a way of life back then.”

  Maggie hid a shudder. “No dungeons, I hope. And no wars now either.”

  “Only the tourism wars, waged for hard cash. Glenbrae House does well enough in that area, I believe. Nicholas says that visitors come back again and again for its thatched roof and the roses that bloom far into autumn on the mild west coast. Thankfully, the owners are obsessive about period authenticity.”

  “They’re expecting us?”

  Jared nodded. “For safety, we’ll have to use different names, of course.”

  “That’s what my father said.” More deception, Maggie thought. More danger to innocent strangers who shouldn’t be involved. She tried to calm her thoughts, knowing Jared would read her clearly. “Do you think he managed to cover our tracks?”

  Shadows touched Jared’s face. “If not,” he said grimly, “we’ll know it soon enough.”

  Hope O’Hara MacLeod stood in the sunlight beneath Glenbrae House’s high cantilevered ceiling. On the table in front of her, bows of red raffia twisted around wreaths of holly, and stockings of antique lace lay ready to grace the inn’s broad mantel. A fire hissed happily, casting golden light over the walls of her tiny office.

  Hope was well pleased with the inn she had made and well pleased with the happiness she had found in this quiet corner of Scotland.

  Dozens of guests had stayed beneath Glenbrae House’s thatched roof, but her favorites had been Nicholas Draycott and his family. Even now it was hard to believe a year had passed since their visit.

  Hope frowned at the phone as static swallowed the voice on the other end of the line. “Hello? Yes, I’m here, Nicholas. And we’ll be delighted to receive your
two visitors. You say they’re arriving tomorrow?”

  “Probably late in the day, though I can’t be certain.” There was something in his voice that made Hope wait for him to be more specific.

  The viscount cleared his throat. “Two people. Will Cameron and Annie, his wife.”

  Hope repeated the names, marking them in her careful hand in the registry. “Will they have special interests while they’re here? Salmon fishing or deer stalking?”

  “None of that.” His voice tightened. “All they wish is a few weeks of quiet. No telephones, no curiosity. And no people asking questions, I hope.”

  So that was it.

  Hope felt his tension reach across the phone, and she wondered what sort of problems brought the two travelers to Glenbrae. But she had good reason to trust this man completely. “Easy enough to arrange. I’ll see that they’re put in our quietest room. As it happens, we’ve no one else here but a pair of retired schoolteachers from Holland.” Again the silence hung. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

  “A great deal, I should think, but Will Cameron will tell you everything when he arrives. My regards to MacLeod. Tell him I’m counting on some excellent fishing in the spring.”

  Hope smiled. “He’ll be delighted to oblige you.”

  “He still has that great broadsword hanging in the hall, does he?”

  “I’m looking at it now.”

  “Excellent.” On that somewhat obscure comment, the viscount hung up.

  Hope was still frowning by the sunny front window when the sword’s owner strode into her office. His broad shoulders nearly filled the doorway, and his laughter crackled warmly in the narrow room. “More guests to claim your time, is it? By all the saints, woman, I’m tempted to drag you off to the loch. There I might at least find a minute or two alone with you.”

  Hope smiled as she always did when Ronan MacLeod looked at her just so, and her heart gave its customary lurch. “But you wouldn’t need to drag me, love. I’d come away with you on an instant’s notice.”

  The Scotsman’s scarred hands slid into her hair, and he pulled her against him with a fire that amazed her, considering how they had spent the hours before dawn. “I love you, Hope MacLeod. Never doubt this for an instant.”

  “How could I, when you have such inventive ways of showing me?”

  His hand slid lower, curved protectively below her waist. “Have you felt a stirring yet?”

  “Impatient man. It will be weeks yet. Maybe even months.” Abruptly Hope went still, her eyes very wide.

  “What is it?” her husband demanded.

  “There.” It came again, the faintest hint of tiny feet or restless arms. “He moved, Ronan. Almost as if he heard your voice.”

  “Or she” he corrected. “A heartbreaker with her mother’s smile and strange modern ways.”

  Their hands linked, cradling Hope’s softly rounded stomach. “Modern ways that suited you well enough, Crusader.”

  “Aye, so they did. So they do.”

  Hope let her head rest on his shoulder. Already she was sorting through practical questions of linens, silverware, and pastry. There would be flowers to pick, meals to plan. “Blast, I almost forgot about dinner tomorrow. I’ll have to tell the Wishwells we won’t be able to join them after all.”

  MacLeod sniffed. “I doubt you need bother.” He thought of the three spry sisters who lived in a tiny cottage at the foot of the loch. “They’ll find out even before you want them to. That seems to be a particular gift with them.”

  “Someone’s coming.”

  Morwenna Wishwell bent closer to the window. She was a tiny lady, with white hair and eyes of shocking robin’s egg blue. They seemed to dart back and forth across the glen, missing nothing, strikingly young in a face pale and lined with age. She skimmed the misted window with one palm, gazing to the south. “Two of them.”

  “Who’s coming?” Her sister Honoria, plump and red cheeked, rocked in a chair before the fire with a white cat sleeping in her lap.

  “Someone important. I can see that.” Morwenna Wishwell stroked the silver brooch at her neck. “They are vulnerable.” Her lips lifted. “Very much in love, it seems.” Once again she smoothed the brooch. “You try, Perpetua.”

  The tallest of the three, Perpetua Wishwell stared out into the gathering twilight. “I feel it also.” There was something oddly compelling in her eyes as they searched the horizon. Beyond the snug cottage an owl called sharply, echoed by the sharp bark of a fox.

  Perpetua nodded slowly. “I hear the wind which brings closings after long centuries and a finish to an old mystery. We must be honored this will take place here in our glen.” Her lips curved in the ghost of a smile. “But then we are singularly skilled for managing such things. This time we will not need Adrian’s assistance.”

  Morwenna leaned forward. “He’s coming to Glenbrae?”

  “Not without our summoning.”

  Morwenna murmured a low phrase, and orange sparks shot in a noisy dance up the chimney.

  “Do stop that, Morwenna.” Perpetua frowned. “In a moment you’ll have the cottage burned down around us.”

  Morwenna shrugged. “I like to see the sparks, Pet. Besides, I’m cold. Winter’s come full well. Can’t you hear the wind howling?”

  All three fell quiet, listening. Above the wind they heard another sound, low and muffled. It might have been the distant drone of a car traveling fast or it might have been angry voices carried on the gusting air.

  “Coming from the south,” Perpetua said slowly. “Now, as they did long years before, while danger followed. Two of them I see. But others are soon to come.” The fire hissed up in angry sparks and Perpetua sighed. “Come then, my dears. If this danger is real, we have much work to do.”

  Back and forth the road snaked, past circles of prehistoric stone, gaunt trees, and fallen gravestones. Maggie drowsed, caught in fitful dreams, then awoke to keep Jared company. He drove fast, but not excessively so, forced often to slow for mist or crossing sheep. Just after dawn he pulled to the road’s edge and stretched lazily, enjoying a view that had changed little for centuries.

  Maggie stood beside him. “It’s beautful.”

  “So it is. I’ve forgotten how these quiet hills can stir the blood.” The sun climbed over the jagged walls of a ruined castle and painted the loch a coppery red. Their hamper was empty, but thanks to Marston’s preparations they had eaten extremely well. Maggie had taken the wheel on two occasions, though she found driving on the opposite side of the road a harrowing experience.

  From Jared there was never a complaint. He was calm, unflappable.

  Professional.

  Maggie could only bleed at the thought, for she realized how hard-won all his calm had been. She turned, fitting her body to his. “Tired?”

  “A little. But we don’t have much farther to go. Two hours or a bit less, I estimate, though the roads may be tricky as we work north.”

  “In that case, I won’t offer to drive.”

  “I’ll manage.” He gathered her against him, enjoying how dawn painted her hair with sparks of red and gold. “Worrying again?”

  Maggie shook her head. She wouldn’t give in to fear. Meanwhile, she was making no attempt to hide the tenderness she felt at Jared’s touch.

  Not that she would have succeeded, when their hands were linked so tightly.

  “I have a bone to pick with you, Commander.”

  One dark brow rose. “This sounds serious.”

  “Deadly. As I recall, you once mentioned small cars. Something about performance statistics.”

  “You tempt me sorely. But when I have you, Maggie love, it will be in a proper bed with a roof over our heads.”

  What he meant, Maggie thought bleakly, was when they were at Glenbrae. When they were safe from pursuit.

  An hour later, as sunlight glinted over glen and byrne, Jared sat forward, pointing down to a slender loch and a gray stone tower house that beckoned in the distance. “I believ
e that’s Glenbrae House before us.”

  The house was older than Maggie had expected, weathered walls rising to a roof of immaculately tended thatch. To the north, mist drifted past steep cliffs, mirrored in the dark loch, and the air was heavy with the scent of pine trees. It was a place of magic, Maggie thought, watching smoke plume from the high chimney.

  She drew a long breath, praying they would be safe here.

  Jared stopped the car before a winding stone fence. “Don’t go back and forth over it, Maggie. It’s best this way. It gives Nicholas time to bargain with Whitehall, while your father does the things he must.”

  “Do you believe it is really my father?”

  “If anyone would know the voice, it’s you, my love. He may also be playing a deeper game than you imagine,” he warned gently.

  Maggie squared her shoulders, studying the precise angles of the thatched roof. “I’ve tried to prepare myself. I know the truth may be a shock, but I simply want the questions put to rest.” She took Jared’s arm as he helped her from the car. “Right now I refuse to think about anything else but stripping off this ugly wig and washing off this greasepaint. I doubt that anyone will be looking for us here.” Abruptly her breath caught. “We weren’t followed, were we?”

  Jared sent a last glance over the misty hills. “Not a chance. I would have noticed.”

  The proprietor of Glenbrae House was waiting for them as they came up the walk. If Hope MacLeod was surprised at her visitors’ dress, she was careful not to show it. She spoke with easy friendship as she welcomed them to a cozy room where firelight glinted off polished wood and colorful chintz.

  “Lunch will be ready shortly. If you prefer to eat upstairs, that will be easily managed. You’ve had quite a journey, I understand, Mr. Cameron. You might want to clean up, too.”

  “Nicholas gave you our names, did he?” Jared stood tensely.

  “He phoned last night to confirm your arrival. He sounded somewhat anxious.”

  “We were in a rush to get away.” Jared gestured at their clothing. “As for this, well, it’s rather a long story.”

  “There’s no need to explain, I assure you. My husband will bring in your baggage, but why don’t I show you to your room first?” She hesitated. “Lord Draycott said you wanted to be undisturbed.”