A Matter of Circumstance and Celludrones (16 page)

He nevertheless lifted her down with great care and set her on her
feet, and Lily felt instantly ashamed of her heartless fears.

“Thank you, Neco.” She smoothed her ruffled skirts and by the time she
thought to offer him a sweet smile to make up for her disloyal thoughts, he’d
already grabbed the reins and was leading her stallion to the tethering tree.

Greyston had a leather box slung over one shoulder and another bag
that looked to be of woven hemp over the other. His riding coat was coal black
and reached the top of equally black thigh-high boots. His hair even more
mussed up than usual, his brown eyes serious and his grin playful, he looked
every bit a dashing ruffian up to no good. It didn’t take him long to live up
to his appearance.

A short walk up the mountain, keeping close to the perimeter wall
where a stone path kept back the bush and undergrowth, brought them to an iron
gate.

Greyston rattled the heavy chain securing the gate, then stood aside
and spoke to Neco. “You’ll have to break it.”

“Is that really necessary?” Lily squeaked, taking a defensive stance
in front of the gate. “Destruction of property is a legal offence.”

Greyston’s gaze took in the full height of the gate, which was at
least half that of the twenty-foot high wall. “The last time we were here, Neco
and I scaled it.” His eyes came down to sweep over her voluminous skirt. “I was
assuming you’d prefer to not break your neck today.”

Lily scowled at him. “That’s trespassing.”

“And what Lady Ostrich would like to do to us is called murder, but I
don’t see that giving her any sleepless nights.” He put his hands on her waist
and deftly lifted her out of the way.

She was on her feet again before she could kick or struggle and she
was not amused. She certainly didn’t intend to measure her own actions by Lady
Ostrich’s standard. She glared at Greyston. “I’m not wholly opposed to an
intrusive approach, as a last resort, that is, once we’ve exhausted more
conventional means. But we haven’t even—” She broke off with a gasp at the
distinctive sound of metal snapping.

Neco thread the chain and bulky lock through the iron bars and turned
to her. “I’m sorry, m’lady, I did not mean to startle you.”

Greyston unlatched the gate and entered into the courtyard beyond.
When Lily followed, it felt as if she were stepping through a film of invisible
sludge. The resistance tugged at her limbs and she had to push through it to
the other side. She put her hand out to prod the empty space in the entrance.
Once again, she felt the thickness, but couldn’t see any difference in the air.
“How curious.”

“Did you feel the barrier?” Greyston asked.

“I felt something,” she said. “What is it?”

“We think it may be a force field of some sort between the gate
posts,” Neco said. “It has no effect on me, though, so not magnetic.”

“It was the same when I went over the top,” Greyston told her. “Duncan
McAllister was a scientist and the proclivity must run in the family.” He
walked deeper inside, saying, “These are the grounds of the original castle.”

They were in the walled enclosure she’d seen from the bottom of the
slope. The narrow band of pine trees between them and the newly built manor
rose high above the wall to her left, completely blocking the view of the main
house.

There was no sign of the pile of ruins she’d expected. The courtyard
was a wall-to-wall garden, not exactly landscaped but definitely crafted by
design. A man-made lake covered two thirds of the area, the thick rushes and
slick layer of algae on the rocks indicating it had been built some time ago.
The trees, bushes, grassy patches and flowerbeds were thrown together into a
natural hodgepodge of countryside squashed into a civilised garden.

Greyston had wandered over to the edge of the lake and was on his
knees, digging with his bare hands in the ground beneath a squat tree. As Lily
drew closer, he rocked back onto his haunches and opened the leather box that
had been slung over his shoulder. The hemp bag, she noted, had been propped
against the trunk of the tree.

He brought out that ridiculous pair of goggles she’d seen him wearing the
first time she’d set eyes on him across the green. The thick lenses were each
set in their own five-inch brass tube and there was a complicated set of dials
on one side that unbalanced the entire contraption.

“Focal Opaque Transparency Goggles,” Greyston explained. “Or Foggles.
Once calibrated to the frequency of a specific substance, this allows us to see
straight through it.”

Lily couldn’t begin to contemplate the science behind that, but she
grasped the theory well enough to be amused when he put the Foggles to his eyes
and pointed it at the ground. “Are you hoping to see through to the other side
of the world?”

“Come see,” he murmured. “McAllister’s laboratory was built into the
foundations beneath the castle. Last time we were here, I discovered a slab of
iron beneath the soil that seems to extend under the lake. This was why I
acquired the Foggles in the London.” He un-plucked his face from the Foggles.
“Neco, what’s the calibration code for iron?”

Intrigued, Lily dropped to her knees beside him, mindless of the dirt
scuffing her dress.

Neco rattled off a string of digits. Greyston adjusted the dial, then
put the Foggles to his eyes again and looked down. After a long moment, he let
out a deep breath. “It’s as I thought.” His head came up and he handed the
Foggles to her. “Don’t touch the dial.”

Lily carefully grasped the barrel of the Foggles and peered through
them at the solid metal. The vision was slightly grainy, but she could make out
the top ledge of a bookshelf, stacked with manuscripts and loose papers. She
tilted her head to direct her view at an angle into the room and caught the
edge of a desk with a chair set in front of it.

“The walls and ceiling must have been reinforced with iron,” Greyston
said. “McAllister’s laboratory survived the explosion.”

Lily brought the Foggles away from her face. “How do we get inside?”

“Let’s find out.” Greyston pushed to his feet and held his hand out
for the Foggles. “Neco, give me the calibration for soil.”

Once he’d set the dial, he looped the strap around his neck and
started down the length of the lake with the Foggles trained on the ground and
Neco keeping pace at his side.

Lily rose from her knees and dusted off her skirts. “If that’s really
McAllister’s workspace, it might hold all our answers. Scientists are usually
particular about recording detail.” A frisson of excitement and apprehension
shivered down her spine.

Greyston paused to look at her. “The laboratory has been preserved and
this lake was put here specifically to prevent accidental discovery.”

“What are you saying?”

“Whoever lives here now knows something about McAllister’s work, but
is he continuing with it or merely keeping history secret?” He shrugged and
went back to examining the ground. “The iron chamber stretches all the way
here…” He walked around the curved end of the lake, then in a straight line
toward the wall dividing the enclosure from the pine trees and the grounds of
the main house. “It narrows into a tunnel…” he stopped when he reached the wall
and turned to Neco “…that goes under the wall.”

“There would be no purpose to that unless it connected the laboratory
directly with the main house.” Neco asked.

“None whatsoever.” Greyston left the Foggles to dangle around his neck
and put his hands on his hips, staring at the wall. “Damned nuisance.”

“What were you hoping for?” enquired Lily, catching up to them.

“A trap door that I could blast open,” he replied bluntly.

Her eyes darted to the hemp bag by the tree. “Please tell me you don’t
have dynamite in there.”

“Dynamite is noisy and the destruction is difficult to contain,” Neco
said.

She glared at him.

“We use explosive paste that’s plastered into the cracks.” Greyston
gave a disgruntled sigh. “And totally useless for imploding bloody tunnels.”

“Or we could acquaint ourselves with the steward and wangle an
invitation inside,” Lily suggested frostily. She knew Greyston was accustomed
to living above the law, but exploding (or imploding) things was outside of
enough.

“I want to get into McAllister’s laboratory,” Greyston said in much the
same tone. “Not take afternoon tea with a frigid manservant.”

“I’m not a dunce,” she hissed. “I was thinking I could cause a
distraction once we’re inside, giving you an opportunity to slip away and
investigate.”

Greyston opened his mouth, and then shut it without a word. He looked
at her, his furrowed brow gradually easing. “That’s not a bad idea.”

She was still irritated at him, but she did nearly jump into
Greyston’s arms when a ferocious growl came from behind. He pulled her into his
side. Neco stepped forward, ready to lunge. The beast bounding toward them was
a wolfhound, his coat a thick silvery-grey with pure white markings around his
eyes and snarling snout.

“Sannon, heel boy,” came a mellow voice.

The dog skidded to a halt a few feet from them, but didn’t quite heel.
He danced a line in front of them, making gurgling sounds as if he couldn’t
decide whether to whimper or growl.

The owner of the voice appeared at the gate. He was over six foot
tall, dressed in fawn leather breeches and dark brown boots that reached his
knees. His open-collared white shirt contrasted starkly with his golden skin
and the black hair that fell around his face in long layers.

“Here, Sannon.” He slapped a palm to his thigh as he came closer. “He
won’t attack,” he assured them, his gaze starting at Neco, pausing on Lily, and
then stopping on Greyston. “Unless I give the command.”

Lily’s fingers tightened on Greyston’s arm. The dog was still dancing
excitedly, yapping, growling, whining and, she was sure, a few inches closer
than the last time she’d looked. “He’s looking straight at me,” she whispered
hoarsely.

“He won’t hurt you,” Greyston said softly, then raised his voice to
speak to the man. “Control your animal, sir, or I’ll see it done for you.”

The man’s jaw set in a grimace. He’d looked slightly feral before. Now
he looked downright lethal. Although he appeared to be only thirty or so years
of age, his face was as harsh and rugged as the Scottish terrain they’d crossed
to get here.

The dog let out a hollow growl and strained forward.

Greyston tensed.

Lily yelped.

Neco threw himself at the wolfhound. Man and beast hit the ground in a
rolling scuffle. As enormous and vicious as the dog was, Neco rolled out onto
his feet on the other side of the scuffle with the bulk of the dog clamped
beneath his arm and his hand firmly securing its muzzle. He didn’t appear to
notice the muscular hind legs kicking wildly into his hip as he set his
attention on the owner. “I’m not convinced your dog is properly trained.”

“You’re trespassing,” the man murmured vaguely, but didn’t press his
advantage. He also seemed more interested in Neco than in the plight of his
dog. “What name was given to you, celludrone?”

Neco told him without hesitation.

The man’s gaze flashed to Greyston. His eyes creased in serious
contemplation as the stare drew out, neither of them saying a word.

Lily wasn’t surprised that Greyston had no defence on hand, but surely
the man had a few choice accusations to offer up at their appalling disregard
for his property and privacy? At last, he broke the stare to glance over the
courtyard, his eyes resting significantly on the hemp bag propped against the
tree and then again on the spot where Greyston had scratched in the ground.

When his gaze returned to them, it was accompanied by an unexpected
smile that Lily found quite entrancing. He was not a handsome man by any
traditional means, but that smile erased some of the roughness from his face.
Although, she did note, it didn’t warm his dark, blue eyes the way Greyston’s
smiles were prone to.

“Given the circumstances,” he said, “I think introductions are in
order. I’m Kelan McAllister, Earl of Perth.”

Lily dipped into a cordial curtsey. For all his swarthy skin tone,
rugged features and unsmiling eyes, his manners were impeccable and that was
something she could certainly appreciate.

“Duncan McAllister was the previous Earl of Perth,” Greyston remarked.
“I didn’t realise he had a son.”

Lily had no intention of adding rudeness to their list of
transgressions. She dug her nails into Greyston’s arms, a warning for him to
resist and desist. “Delighted to make your acquaintance. I’m Lily d'Bulier and
this is Greyston Adair,” she said, leaving off the
lord
and
lady
as seemed to be the custom in the Scottish highlands.

Kelan inclined his head at her. “Welcome to Cragloden.” His gaze
returned to Greyston. “Duncan had no offspring. He was my father’s younger
brother.”

“Your father was the
elder
brother?”

“Still is,” Kelan corrected. “I suggest we take this conversation
inside, where I’d be happy to discuss the complexities of my family history.”

“That’s very obliging of you.” Greyston’s tone suggested a bit too
obliging.

“Not at all.” Kelan waved a hand toward the exit, gesturing them to go
before him. To Neco, he issued, “Bring Sannon, would you? And don’t forget to
collect your belongings,” he added without so much as another glance at the
hemp bag.

Lily’s cheeks stung at the blatant reminder. Her hand slipped from
Greyston’s arm as he headed for the gate, her own steps sedate and hounded with
mortification at the position she found herself in. To break into an earl’s
castle, to be discovered doing so, and then to be invited into his home.

“It’s negligent to own a dog that vicious and not be able to control
it,” Greyston muttered harshly—perhaps some bluster to cover a morsel of guilt
that had survived his complete disregard for socially acceptable practices,
Lily could but hope.