The Perfect Gift Page 33

  Jared heard the question in her voice. “We’re hoping for privacy, yes.” Then with a soft oath, he turned back. “No, that’s not the entire truth. You’re entitled to know everything. People may be following us, and for reasons too complicated to explain, we don’t wish to be found if anyone comes asking.”

  “So I gathered.” Hope considered them, then nodded. “A favor asked by Lord Draycott is a difficult thing to refuse.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Jared muttered.

  “Put your mind at rest. If the cavalry attacks, my husband will simply beat them off with his broadsword.”

  Jared’s eyes narrowed. “He knows how to handle a broadsword?”

  “Amazingly well. Almost like a true native of the Middle Ages.” Hope’s eyes crinkled at some secret bit of humor. “Now if you’ll follow me, your rooms are just up these stairs, and everything’s ready for you. I think you’ll find the moonlight above the loch superb tonight.”

  “What were they like?”

  Ronan MacLeod paced before the fire, all curiosity, his dark hair windblown from his hike up the glen. To his regret, he’d been caught laying a new section of roof for the Wishwell sisters, and he’d missed meeting the new guests.

  “Very nice, for all they arrived in full clown costume. They said they may be followed, Ronan. There could be danger, just as Nicholas hinted.”

  “If Lord Draycott is involved, they’re to be trusted,” Ronan MacLeod said with no hint of hesitation. “No one will disturb them here, or I break my vow as a knight of St. Julian.”

  Hope rested a soft finger at his lips. “No more a knight. Now you are a simple twentieth-century man, my love.”

  “Not simple, I hope,” he muttered. “Were I that, you’d be bored inside a day.”

  Hope’s head tilted. “One thing you will never be is boring, my love.” Her eyes narrowed. “And unless I’m mistaken, Nicholas Draycott sounded worried. He wanted to be sure that you still had that broadsword in the hall.”

  “A mystery,” her husband said slowly, more curious than ever to see the new arrivals.

  THE BEDROOM WAS HIGH, NESTLED BENEATH THE SLOPING thatch, where it looked out over the whole length of the loch. Candles glinted on the side tables as the last blood-red tinge of sunlight danced off the windows and lit the polished wood floor.

  It was a room rich with history, Maggie thought. A place warm with the love of the generations who had lived here.

  Maggie awoke locked in Jared’s arms. The soft whoosh of falling snow brought her fully awake. She tilted her head, peering through the frosted glass pane, and through the haze she saw a pristine world of white and silver, where snow blanketed the glen.

  Maggie made out the stone fence and the dark detail of a hedgerow. Farther to the north, something moved toward the loch, a small shape against the snow.

  Maggie frowned. It almost resembled a great gray cat, the same animal she had seen at Draycott. Impossible, of course. The abbey was miles away, and no animal could have made that journey.

  The linens rustled. A heartbeat later, Jared’s strong body moved against her.

  She turned slowly. Her hand opened on his chest. Good morning.

  “That it is. And it’s still early.” His hand traced her ribs and the gentle curve of her stomach. “Far too early to be up and about.”

  His mouth moved slowly down her shoulder, skimmed her waist, then nuzzled the tangled caramel curls at her thighs. “Far too early to think of leaving bed,” he said hoarsely.

  Maggie’s laughter caught in a sound of surprise.

  Then she thought no more about snow or gray cats or the father who had brought her so much pain.

  When Hope answered the knock at the kitchen door an hour after dawn, she had flour up to her elbows and sugar in her hair. Relics of her current baking project—three dozen chocolate scones and a dozen tea cakes.

  She found the Wishwell sisters standing on her doorstep.

  “Sorry if we’re too early.” Morwenna Wishwell tugged her shawl closer about her shoulders, her eyes bright with excitement. “We couldn’t wait, you see.”

  “Come in before you freeze.”

  The three sisters roamed through the warm kitchen. “I do so love the smell of baking scones,” Honoria said. “It reminds me of when I was young and a certain dashing clansman from Skye—”

  “No reminiscing,” Perpetua said briskly. “Remember why we’re here.”

  Honoria flushed. “Of course. It was just the snow, bringing everything back.”

  Hope intervened, sliding a plate of heated scones before them, then settled in a chair before the fire, rubbing at a streak of flour on her neck.

  “And where is the MacLeod this bright morning?” Morwenna asked.

  “He’s gone up the glen. He heard gunshots in the night, he says.” Hope frowned. “I suspect it was nothing beyond the backfire of a car. Sometimes the noise disturbs his sleep.”

  Perpetua nodded gravely. “He is right to check the hills. Strange things are brewing this day. When does he return?”

  “Any time now.” Hope sat up straighter, remembering the call from Nicholas Draycott. “Why, is something wrong?”

  “Not yet,” Perpetua said. “Actually, we’ve come to offer our cottage to your new guests.”

  “You’ve met them?” Hope’s eyes widened.

  “We saw them arrive yesterday. They seemed a romantic pair, and we wondered if they would like more privacy at our cottage.”

  “It would be no chore,” Morwenna said eagerly. “I’d love to lend a hand here with the cooking, since your young French chef is away visiting her family. And there are all those lovely lace angels to be finished for the Christmas tree. We could all help.”

  “I don’t know.” Hope shifted uneasily in her chair. What were the three old sisters about now?

  Just then footsteps rang on the path and the door banged open. “What do I find here, a ceileidh so early in the morning? Or has the Glenbrae Investment Club decided to meet to ponder some grand new stock acquisition?” Ronan MacLeod stamped into the room, bringing snow and life and crackling vitality. Icy white flakes dotted his hair and shoulders, and his cheeks had a ruddy glow from an hour spent stalking the high hills.

  Hope itched to slip into his arms for a kiss, but somehow she resisted, though she suspected her three visitors knew the cost to her willpower.

  Perpetua rose to her feet, frowning. “You’ve been checking the glen, so your wife says. Have you found any poachers in the snow?”

  “Not a soul. Any sensible person would be at home enjoying fresh scones with friends before a roaring fire.”

  Some of the tension seemed to go out of Perpetua’s angular face. “Good. The hills will bear watching, even in this snow.”

  “You mean they might come here this soon?” Morwenna clasped her hands anxiously. “But we thought—”

  “Never mind what we thought,” Perpetua snapped. “’Tis of no interest to our friends.” She gazed out at the dark face of the loch, as if gathering her thoughts. “The fact is, we’ve come to offer our cottage to your new arrivals, if they’ll have it. It’s small, but cozy, and we thought they might like more privacy.”

  “Oh, did you? And what gave you that thought?” Ronan asked, laughter in his eyes. “Will you tell me it was the same thing that had you checking the loch road last month when those two travelers were stranded in the storm?”

  “A bit of coincidence,” Perpetua said, shrugging.

  “Coincidence, do you call it? And what of the load of schoolchildren left stranded by the peat bog when their driver fell weak with the influenza?”

  “A lucky guess. We’d been watching the bus from the window and noticed it had stopped moving.”

  “Is that a fact?” Ronan rubbed his jaw. “For myself, I would have thought you had no view of that stretch of bog from where your cottage lies.”

  Perpetua jammed her hands into her pockets. “It’s certain that you’re wrong. And you haven’t said
what you think of our idea.”

  Ronan laid a hand on Hope’s shoulder. “I think it best to tell them, my heart. They’ll nose out the truth soon enough.”

  “Tell us what?” Morwenna studied them, all curiosity.

  Hope sighed. “It seems that our guests may be in some danger.”

  “Danger?” Honoria pushed to her feet in a whoosh of beautifully muted tartan. “Then they must come down to the cottage. It’s much harder to find than Glenbrae. Besides, who would think to look for them there?”

  Ronan’s eyes narrowed, searching her face.

  “Trust us,” Perpetua said. “It will be much better for them there.” She made a slight gesture with her hand. “And who knows, an early storm might cut the glen off from the outside altogether.”

  Morwenna drew a sharp breath. “Pet, do you really think—”

  “What I think is that they must leave immediately. We’ve plenty of food set aside,” Perpetua continued briskly, “and it would be a pleasure for us to come here to Glenbrae House. Don’t try to pretend that this isn’t your busiest time of year, with Christmas on the way.”

  Hope made an uncertain sound. “It seems wrong. They’ve just arrived here as our guests, after all.”

  “It could be that our friends are right.” Ronan rubbed his jaw. “Searchers would come here first as the obvious choice. That would give us time to send them about their business.”

  Morwenna gave a lilting laugh. “With your broadsword raised, I hope. I do so love it when you swing it through the air and sunlight catches on the blade. You always had a rare gift with the sword, MacLeod of Glenbrae.”

  Hope frowned. “I can’t just ask a pair of guests to leave.”

  “You’d like us to leave?” and Jared stood staring at them in dismay from the hallway. “Is something wrong?” Jared asked.

  Hope shot to her feet. “Nothing of the sort. I trust that you slept well. We didn’t want to wake you after your long drive. I’ll have breakfast directly, if you’d like to sit in the breakfast room before the fire.”

  “No, my love,” Ronan said quietly. “I think it better if our guests sit here while we discuss this matter over hot scones and tea.” He looked at the unsmiling man behind Maggie. “You will be Will Cameron?” His eyes narrowed. “Fine wool though it is, that is no Cameron sett you wear.”

  “No, it is not,” Jared said stiffly. “I fear we have brought danger to your house.” He held out his hand. “I am Jared MacNeill.” The two men shook hands, and as they did, Jared seemed to stiffen, his eyes intent on MacLeod’s face.

  But before he could speak, Morwenna was guiding him to a chair before the fire, with Maggie beside him. “You see,” she said quickly, “it was all our idea. We thought you might like more privacy, so we offered the use of our cottage. We’re beyond this side of the loch, you see, and not at all visible from the main road. Since we understand you’re in some…difficulty, we hope you’ll accept our offer. “

  Jared rubbed his neck and glanced at Maggie. “But we couldn’t put you out of your home.”

  “Nonsense,” Perpetua said briskly. “We’ve been yearning to get our hands on the Christmas decorations for months now, and this will give us a fine excuse.”

  Maggie looked at Jared. “It might work,” he said slowly.

  “Then you’ll come and have a look.” Perpetua filled their cups with steaming tea. “But not until you finish these lovely scones that Hope has made, and with them a nice cup of Darjeeling. I believe the mist will have lifted by then.”

  Honoria nodded. “Yes, the mist definitely will have lifted,” she said firmly.

  The little cottage was nestled into the curve of the high hills, as cozy as Perpetua Wishwell had promised. Long oak beams ran the length of the snug kitchen above the cheerful snap of a fire, and copper pots glittered on a wall filled with potted herbs.

  Tartans lit every corner, and at the top of the stairs, a large guest bedroom perfectly suited to their needs overlooked the cliffs to the north.

  Maggie stood in the doorway and listened to the gentle whistle of the wind around the eaves. “It’s lovely,” she admitted, running a hand over the thick down comforter. “The furniture looks very old.”

  “Positively ancient,” Morwenna confided. “In fact it’s—”

  Honoria cleared her throat. “We’ve already prepared food. The pantry is full of stews and fresh bread, so you’ll be snug here with no need to go out for anything.”

  A fluffy white cat jumped to the bed and brushed against Maggie’s palm, purring loudly.

  “Don’t worry about Chloe. She generally keeps to herself, don’t you, my love?” The cat moved to Perpetua and gave a low meow, then leaped to the floor and raced down the corridor.

  “Is everything settled then?” Perpetua asked briskly. “I think it would be the answer to your problem. No one is likely to seek you up here.”

  Jared laid one hand on the marble mantel. There was energy here, energy such as he had never felt before. It was a quiet, timeless force, like moonlight on a field in winter. When he had shaken hands with Morwenna Wishwell, he had had a brief flash of noise in his head, like the pounding rush of a waterfall. Even now as he studied the room he had the impression of colors and faint movement at the corner of his eyes.

  But no amount of focusing could bring the images any closer.

  Maggie took Jared’s hand. “It would be nice here. And it would be secluded.”

  Jared nodded. “If you’re certain it will be no inconvenience.”

  “Not a bit.” Perpetua smiled broadly. “We’ll collect our things and be off right now, if that suits you.” She turned to the window. “Chloe? Where has that cat gone?” Below her, on a granite boulder flecked with snow, she made out a dark shape.

  A great gray cat, body tense, ears alert.

  Morwenna crowded close beside her. “It’s Gideon,” she whispered. “I’d know his head anywhere.”

  “Hush,” Morwenna muttered.

  “But if Gideon is here, there is danger. Adrian would never have sent him otherwise.”

  “Hush,” Perpetua commanded. “We’ll be finished here in but a moment.” She turned swiftly. “There’s plenty of peat set by for the fire. I fancy that you know how to handle the peat, Commander MacNeill.”

  Jared nodded. He had learned to stack the peats well as a boy. “That I can.”

  “Then we’ll be off.”

  Jared watched her bustle through the passage, all energy and effort in spite of her obvious age. The three ladies were unusual, that much was certain. So was the broad-shouldered MacLeod. When Jared had shaken his hand, there had been a wave of dizziness, almost as if time or space had been displaced.

  Another mystery, Jared thought. Mystery seemed to suit this quiet glen.

  He turned at a quick tapping by the door.

  “It’s Hamish Lennox,” Morwenna said. “Come in, child, and warm yourself.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the boy said politely. “The missus at the great house, her that’s wed to the MacLeod, sent me down. ’Tis a call that is waiting for the mister. Come all the way south from a proper English viscount,” he added triumphantly, stamping snow from his feet.

  “I’d better go up. I’ll bring our bags back when I come,” Jared said to Maggie. “Meanwhile, why don’t you stay here and get settled?”

  “Perfect,” Honoria announced. “Morwenna will stay to help you. For myself, I’m going to join Perpetua outside and see what’s become of that cat.”

  “Can’t I come too?” Morwenna asked plaintively. “If it was Gideon, I want to—”

  “You’ll be needed here. Come along, Hamish.” Speaking softly, Honoria led the young boy outside.

  The fire sparked pleasantly. Somewhere came the sharp bark of a fox.

  “Why don’t you sit here by the fire?” Morwenna said after a moment. “Just you rest in this great chair.” She tucked a soft length of tartan around Maggie’s legs. “There now, that will be better. You’ve not
a shred of worry in the world, my dear. You’ll be quite safe here. We will all see to that.”

  Dimly, Maggie heard the lilting words and wondered if she had misunderstood. Then her head slanted back against the soft cushions as she drowsed in the warm glow of the fire.

  Safe, she thought.

  Journey’s end.

  And as she fell asleep she didn’t hear the door open. Nor did she hear Morwenna’s light footsteps cross the gravel path.

  “So you’re from the north, are you?” Perpetua asked Jared as they crunched through the snow toward the great house. “What part would that be?”

  “Kinlochewe.” His eyes darkened. “I’m afraid I’m the last of my line.”

  “A great pity, that. But you’ve a look of health and strength about you. I’ve no doubt that lady by the fire will give you fine sons and a daughter or two.”

  Jared struggled with the odd sense that he was being probed, read as clearly as he had done to others. “Have you lived here long?” he asked, avoiding more questions.

  “Some people say we’re as old as those gray cliffs up there. We stay by our choice. This glen holds a special magic for us. A man Highland-bom like yourself would understand that sort of hold well.”

  Jared understood perfectly, crunching through the new fallen snow while the wind sent white flakes in a giddy dance about his shoulders. This was a place of beauty and magic. He realized he would be sorry to leave it.

  “Are you certain about loaning us your cottage?”

  “Of course we are. If not, we wouldn’t have offered. Few besides us have ever slept there, you know. Now go on with you and see to your telephone call. I’m going to have a look about for that irritating cat.”

  But there was a searching look on her face as she watched him vanish inside Glenbrae House. A moment later a gray shape streaked toward her over the fresh white snow.

  “So here you are, Gideon. Trouble afoot, no doubt. Just like that rogue Adrian not to come himself.”

  The cat’s tail flicked sharply.