A Highlander for Christmas (33 page)

“Crazy dog. Must be this house.” Maggie shivered as something stirred at the back of her mind. On her first night she had felt an overpowering attraction to this very spot, where the moat whispered beneath the old bridge.
Her fingers
clenched on the grass as a fear settled over her. “Stop it,” she said sharply.

Max stopped running and eyed her warily.

“Not you. Go on and play.”

Maggie stared at her unfinished choker, forgotten on the ground, and wondered if the Draycotts listened for ghostly steps in the moonlight or laughter from shadowed hallways.
Or did you get used to all the beauty and the magic it held?

She reached up to massage the knotted muscles at her neck, but it made her remember the heat in Jared’s thorough, patient hands.

His slow inventive kiss.

“
Enough
.” Angrily, she tossed down her tools and strode to the edge of the moat, where a pair of swans cut a silver path across the water. It was a place out of dreams, a house whose beauty was almost painful. Age and history had left their mark on every weathered stone. So had the love and pride of generations of Draycotts.

She turned to find Marston crossing the lawn, his running shoes glowing in the sunlight.

“I hope I am not disturbing your work, Ms. Kincade.”

“I wasn’t getting very much done. Watching Max is more fun than working.” She stared up at the gray walls and the yards of gleaming glass. “Don’t you feel strange here, Marston? Last night I had the definite feeling one of those old suits of armor was about to climb down off the walls and follow me upstairs.”

“A not unusual sensation.” He studied the high parapets, stark in the sunlight. “It is a house of power and secrets, to be sure. My father swore he saw someone step down from a portrait in the Long Gallery on Boxing Day.” His mouth curved slightly. “My mother swears it was merely the result of his overindulgence in Scottish whisky.”

A ghost in the portrait. The hairs on Maggie’s neck prickled at the image. “I suppose you’ve heard a lot of legends like that about the abbey.”

“More than I can count.”

“And what about you, Marston? Have you seen a gray, ephemeral shape drifting down from the paintings?”

“Draycott Abbey holds many secrets, Ms. Kincade. They are part of the house’s great allure.”

“Then you
have
?”

He looked out over the moat. “When the sky is black and the wind is high off the weald, I have heard sounds. Twelve bells and one more. I have even sensed that I was not entirely … alone.” He shrugged. “Probably no more than my overactive imagination fueled by my great love for this place. But I am rambling most disgracefully. Your cousin from Sussex just phoned.”

“Faith?”

The butler nodded. “She requested that you return her call at your leisure.”

“I’ll go right now. Come on, Max.” With a loud bark, the dog raced toward her, his long ears flopping. Maggie cast a look back at her silver wire and
pliers.
“Is it safe to leave my things out here?”

“I believe so,” Marston said dryly. “There has not been a simple burglary at the abbey for three hundred years.”

Only much later did his odd choice of words strike Maggie.

Simple burglary.

What other kind was there?

~ ~ ~

“Maggie, where the heck are you? Why didn’t you tell me you’d gone to the abbey? I tried your hotel and got no answer, and I was going out of my mind dreaming up disaster scenarios.”

Leave it to her cousin to track her down, Maggie thought with wry affection. “I’m fine, Faith. I meant to call, but things have been a little rushed.”

“Is something going on? You sound funny. Distant, I guess. Or tired.” Maggie’s cousin spoke in a husky rush, allowing no time for a response. Faith Kincade approached a conversation like everything else in her life: with careful planning and a breakneck pace of execution that permitted no deviations and no delays.

“Maggie, there is something wrong. Why don’t you answer?”

“Because I can’t fit a word in, as usual. And I’m fine, Faith.”

“Then why did you leave London? When I couldn’t track you down, I called Chessa in New York. She told me to try Lord Draycott.”

Maggie pushed back a damask curtain at the window of the sunny first-floor study. Max was curled on the floor beside her, half asleep. “I’m here working. At least I’m trying to. This house is rather … overwhelming.”

“I’d give my firstborn for a private tour of those phenomenal gardens,” Faith wailed.”

“You don’t have a firstborn, Faith. Or have you been holding out on us?”

“As if I had time for a meaningful relationship, with six topiary centerpieces to finish by next week. I don’t even have time for an
unmeaningful
relationship. When I was in school they never told me that perennials and herb gardens could be hell on a person’s love life.”

“And you’re enjoying every second of it,” Maggie said astutely.

“You bet I am. I’ve got topsoil up to my elbows and hazel twigs in my hair and I’ve never been happier. Why just yesterday—” Faith stopped. “This call isn’t about me,” she said sternly. “What’s going on? You wouldn’t have left London earlier than planned without an ironclad reason, not with the Etruscan jewelry show opening this week. What gives?”

Maggie tried to avoid an out-and-out lie. “I wanted to try some new ideas before the exhibition.”
The exhibition I probably won’t be in,
she thought darkly. “When Lord Draycott asked if I’d like to stay here for the week, I jumped at the chance.”

“And miss the Etruscan exhibit?”

“We’re not exactly on Mars here, you know. I’ll get back to London before the month is out.”

Maggie heard the rhythmic tap of her cousin’s slender fingers on the phone. “You’re lying. It’s a man, isn’t it? After all these years you’ve gone and fallen in love. Oh, this is perfect! Is he English, American? How did you meet him?”

“There’s no man, Faith.”

“You don’t have to hide anything from me, Maggie.”

“I’m not hiding. There is no affair—meaningful or any other sort. I’m here to work and that’s it.”

“He’s married, is that it? Something complicated and terribly tragic—a sick wife that he can’t bear to leave.” Faith gave a noisy sigh. “Don’t worry, I won’t say a word to Chessa.”

“Faith, I am
not
having an affair with a married man.”

Movement across the room made her turn. Jared braced one shoulder on the door frame, studying her. Maggie wondered just how long he had been listening. “Hold on, Faith,” she said, covering the phone. “Did you want to speak to me about something?”

“Actually, I came to give you the official tour, but there’s no hurry. Go ahead and finish your call.”

She uncovered the phone. “I’d better go, Faith. I’ll speak to you tomorrow after things are more settled.”

“That was him, wasn’t it?” Faith crowed with triumph. “Tell him the secret’s safe with me. If he needs a good lawyer, I have the name of someone very reliable in Tunbridge.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. Once her cousin had an idea in her mind, there was no shaking it free without major surgery. “Faith—dear, sweet Faith—you are completely off target this time.”

Jared suddenly stiffened. He strode past Maggie toward the window.

“Look, Faith, I have to go.”

“But—”

“Talk to you tomorrow.” Maggie cut the cell connection. “What’s wrong?”

Jared shook his head, rubbing his neck as if it hurt. “Something … someone. Odd, I can’t feel it now.” He made an angry sound and closed his eyes, his fingers opening slowly on the window, almost as if he was trying to feel something written there.

Which made almost as much sense as a ghost stepping out of a portrait, Maggie thought irritably.

Suddenly his shoulders tensed. “Got you. There past the moat.” He raced for the door, his hand already digging beneath his jacket. Maggie could have sworn she saw the dull outline of a gun as he pounded down the hall. She was about to go out after him when Marston panted up the rear hall, a large box in his hands.

“The strangest morning in a decade,” he muttered. “First my line rings every two minutes. Then this package arrives. Ah, Ms. Kincade, I have something for you. But why was Commander MacNeill racing toward the moat?”

“He said something was wrong.” Maggie glanced at the bulky package. “That’s not mine. I’m not expecting any deliveries.”

Marston’s hands tightened on the box. “In that case, I believe we will hold this for the commander.”

“Is there a return address?”

Marston smoothed the wrinkled paper. “Middle Earth Designs. Does that mean anything to you?”

Faith. Dear, sweet Faith.

“It’s my cousin’s landscape design company in Sussex. She must have meant it as a surprise.”

The butler continued to stare down at the box. “I believe we should wait.”

“Why?”

Marston hesitated.

“Because I told him that all packages had to be cleared through me.” Jared’s hair was windblown, and his eyes glinted with menace. “I’ll take it.”

Maggie blocked his way. “Not until you tell me why you charged outside just now.”

“I thought I saw someone by the bridge. I was mistaken.” His words were clipped. “It was that great gray cat chasing butterflies in the sunlight.” Jared took the box in a careful grip. “When did it arrive?”

“Just a few moments ago, Commander.” Marston’s forehead creased with concern. “I would have brought it sooner but there were a dozen calls on my personal line.”

“What sort of calls?” Jared asked.

“Misdials. When I answered, the line was dead.”

“How many times?”

“Ten. Maybe twelve.” Marston’s brow rose. “You don’t think—”

Jared cut him off, lifting the box to a polished oak side table. “Middle Earth Designs?”

“That’s my cousin’s company in Sussex. There’s nothing to get upset about,” Maggie said sharply. “Faith loves surprises. She’s always sending unexpected gifts to her friends.”

“Call her back,” Jared said flatly.

It took a heartbeat for his quiet order to sink in. “You think it’s some sort of … trick?”

Jared bent to examine the paper. He traced each edge carefully, then sniffed the bottom.

“Jared, you’re pushing this all out of proportion.”

“
Call her.
” This time there was no ignoring the snap of a command in his voice. “Ask her if she sent you anything for delivery today.”

“Oh, all right. Then she’ll be positive I’ve gone off the deep end,” Maggie grumbled, reaching for her phone and dialing her cousin’s number.

“Middle Earth Designs. How can I—”

“Faith?” Maggie spoke quickly, so her cousin wouldn’t hear the worry in her voice “Sorry to bother you, but did you send me a package? A large box, about 10 by 20.”

“I was going to send you some roses tomorrow. In fact, I just cut them a minute ago. But today—no.”

Something cold brushed Maggie’s chest. She stared at the anonymous, impersonal box. “It’s from him,” she whispered. “He knows I’m here. He knows Faith and Chessa, too. He knows everything about me,” she whispered.

“Maggie, what in heaven’s name is going on?”

Maggie’s hands shook. She felt nauseated, vulnerable.

Jared caught the phone before it fell. “Your cousin will call you back in a little while.”

“Who is this? I want to talk to Maggie.”

“I’m sorry, but I have to ring off now.” Jared was cool. Implacable.

Completely professional, Maggie thought.

Because now it was his world and his business. He was assessing a threat, estimating a counteroffensive. What had she gotten herself into?

“Sit down.” Jared pushed her gently into a chair.

She smelled the sharp tang of whisky as he pressed a tumbler into her hands. “He knows, Jared. He was out there by the moat, wasn’t he?”

“We don’t know that,” he said flatly. “Drink this.”

Maggie stared at the heavy crystal tumbler. Jared opened his fingers over hers and guided the glass to her mouth. “All of it.” She coughed at the hot bite of the spirits, then finished the inch left in the glass, determined not to fall apart. “What happens now, Jared? He’s gotten in—but why?”