Dark Enchantment (19 page)

Left behind by another woman who had been held captive here?

A boyish innocence tempered Caleb’s voice as they discussed where and when his family had acquired the first-edition copy. Arianna’s heart filled with an almost painful yearning to see him again. God, what was she going to do? Changing the channel on her infatuation, she tuned in to her sixth sense and listened intently to his tone, to the inflection of his voice. And she could detect nothing…
nothing
…furtive or suspect in either one.

Suddenly she was beset with doubts. Could she have misunderstood what she had overheard this morning? Or had Flanagan perhaps mistaken his employer’s instructions? If so, this was the time to find out. Before she went sneaking off like an idiot on a miles-long hike down the side of a mountain. “Everyone’s been great. I’m glad you called, though. I’m thinking about renting a car. Would it be a huge inconvenience for someone to take me into town?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Not a’tall. I’ll have our driver give you a lift whenever you’d like.” Her entire body slumped with relief. “In any case, I plan to be home late this evening. Would you care to join me in my apartments tomorrow for breakfast, say six A.M.?”

Accepting his invitation, she got directions to his room and hung up. Thank God, it had all been nothing but a huge misunderstanding.

* * *

That night she dreamt of a faerie prince with eyes of green and hair as dark as midnight. As he galloped away on a fiery steed toward the setting of the sun, tears fell from her eyes like molten crystal. A breeze of harp song carried the sound of her cries to his ears, and he reigned in, circling back to return for her. And with one muscled arm, he swept her up in front of him onto a saddle blazing with diamonds and with gold. Together they rode through the moonlit night, through the thunder of shifting time and space, until they came to a land known by the Ancients as Tir na Nóg.

A place where no one grows old…and no one dies.

And there, with a tapered finger raised toward the heavens, Caleb drew a rainbow of precious gems for her across the endless sky.

Chapter Twenty

T
he next morning she was running late. It was six-fifteen by the time she rapped lightly on Caleb’s door. As she walked into the room, he set the Irish Times aside and got up out of his chair. A welcome sight in faded jeans and a blue-and-black-hoody, a slight smile raised one corner of his mouth. With the dark stubble shading his face, he looked like he had just climbed out of bed. As if she had been stranded in a desert of longing, Arianna drank in the sight of him. From the crown of that tousled head to the muscled thighs of an equestrian, the man was raw masculinity. Rampant desire.

Joining her at the door, he bent his head and touched her lips with his. He tasted of peppermint. “Well, good morning,” he murmured huskily. “Had you any trouble finding your way here?”

“Kind of, yeah. I tried asking a few people, but everybody was so vague. I was beginning to think the location of this place was a state secret.”

Caleb chuckled. Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he escorted her to a small table beneath a mullioned window. “The staff are a wee bit protective of my privacy.”

“Yeah. Like the Secret Service are a
wee bit
protective of the President.” When the wisecrack earned her a slow, crooked smile, Arianna felt like she had hit a Vegas jackpot.

“I’ll have to tell them you’re very welcome here in my private chambers,
cailín
.” He spoke softly, eyes boring into hers with a meaning as clear as spring water. “Anytime.”

A round antique oak table, set for breakfast, waited for them in a cranny beneath a window that boasted yet another spectacular view of the coast. Before taking her seat, Arianna looked out at the voluptuous waves rolling onto a sandy beach below them.
This is it,
she realized. Her heart skipped a beat at the revelation: That just below this section of the castle, Caleb had stood on the infamous day of the lightning strike.

“What a lovely view to wake up to each morning,” she breathed. The waking sun peeked over the horizon, scattering a trail of diamonds across the white-capped waves like skipping stones. Already dawn had begun to color the puffy gray clouds in shades of purple, pink and lavender.

“’Tis indeed.” He sounded distracted as he poured her a cup of coffee from a silver decanter on the table, then refreshed his own cup from an ivory ceramic teapot. A glance around the room found the masculine space comfortably furnished with Bakshaish carpets, leather wainscoting, and beautifully embossed chests probably imported from the Indies.

Arianna noted the Royal Aubusson tapestry on the far wall. “Is that…?”

Caleb glanced at the wall. “Handed down from my great-grandfather,” he said. “Originally a wedding gift for Marie Antoinette’s marriage to the Dauphin.”

A guilded mirror hung over a huge stone fireplace that took up one end of the capacious room. An elaborate collection of sconces, ornaments, tapestries and other works of art decorated silk-lined walls the color of rich, dark port.

He passed the sugar and cream. “This is my study. The apartment also contains my bedchamber, some smaller bedrooms, dressing rooms, a kitchen, classroom and nursery.”

Nursery.
The word struck an emotive chord within Arianna, evoking images of the two of them breakfasting here while a tiny dark-haired angel played at their feet.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “The pipe organ in the corner… You play?”

“Occasionally.” An indolent shrug, and a rueful grin. “I find it suits a somber humor.”

Serious. Somber.
Brooding.
All words that described his mood this morning. Although she gave him five stars for his valiant effort to keep things light and easy, she could detect his weariness. What heavy cross was he bearing? What personal trial had left the bruised strain behind those hypnotic sea-green eyes? Did he have an insane wife locked away somewhere in the keep like Mr. Rochester in Jane Eyre? Did he regret inviting Arianna to stay here in his home? Or was his impetuous confirmation of their somnambulant relationship the thing he was regretting?

There was a light knock on the door and Maeve came bustling into the room. A couple of the kitchen girls carrying food trays followed closely on her heels. Stopping by a Chippendale mahogany sideboard to the left of the window nook where Arianna and Caleb were sitting, she began to direct the placement of a buffet of various breakfast foods.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Maeve. As always.”

Caleb’s compliment brought a rosy glow to the woman’s cheeks as she flapped the serving girls out of the room. “Hope ye enjoy it now. Just give us a shout if I’m after forgetting anything.” As Maeve turned to leave, Arianna didn’t miss the tight-lipped glance she tossed in their direction. It didn’t take a mind reader to know what verdict the woman had reached from the evidence staring her in the face.

She was alone with a man in his private apartments at dawn, and him all sleep-tousled and unshaven. Her eyes were too bright, her cheeks still flushed from the kiss they had shared when she arrived. The tank top and jogging pants she had dragged on because she had been running late make it look like she had just tumbled out of bed.
Caleb’s
bed.

“Let’s go fill our plates,” Caleb said, pushing back from the table.

Joining him at the sideboard, Arianna chose small portions from a selection of eggs, white and black pudding, rashers, sausages, stewed tomatoes, mushrooms and baked beans. A traditional full Irish breakfast. There were also scones, fresh berries, and oatmeal.

As she sat back down, Caleb brought his own filled-to-groaning plates to the table. “Don’t let Maeve be winding you up,
cailín
,” he told her.
So he had noticed her reaction.
“’Tis all part and parcel of castle life, I’m afraid. Everyone after knowing and involving themselves in everyone else’s business. But Maeve forgets herself. And I’ll be sorting her out on it, you can be sure.”

Arianna shook her head. “No, just let it go, okay? That’ll only make me more uncomfortable around her.”

Caleb took a deep breath, held it, then let out a heavy sigh. “As you wish.” Picking up the frosty crystal pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice, he filled Arianna’s glass and topped off his own. “So tell me, what mischief have you planned for today?”

Arianna took a sip of coffee. “Think I’ll head over to the cottage. Try to put a dent in getting that mess cleared away.”

Caleb’s brow furrowed, but he held his tongue.

“I wasn’t able to get any reception on my cell phone inside the castle. So last night I had the idea to try it outside and was able to get a call through to my friend, Tara.” Arianna dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “She wanted to know if I planned to be back in the States by Thanksgiving—which I don’t, of course. So she and Michaela have decided to bring Thanksgiving to me over here.”

“Your friends are coming to Ireland?”

“That’s the plan. I imagine it’ll only take a couple of days to get the windows and locks, and a security system installed. Once that’s done, I can move back in and take my time getting the rest of the place habitable before they get here.”

“You think it’s wise, having your friends here?” Impassive green eyes fixed on hers as he took a sip of tea. “After what’s happened, I mean.”

“I didn’t get into a lot of detail with Tara about the break-in. If I had, she’d have been over here like a shot. The cavalry.” She shook her head. Cutting off a bite of over-easy egg, she rambled on, ignoring Caleb’s deepening frown. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking of arranging my business back home so I can stay here through the winter.” She gave a lopsided grin. “Only thing is, I’m really going to miss the New England snow.”

“You’ve what? Two weeks until your American Thanksgiving? Sure, by then the
gardai
may have the bastard who destroyed your place in custody.” Caleb set his cup down, leaned forward. “Until they do, you’re not to be going anywhere near that place alone,” he ordered, soft words draped in a platform of steel.

“Whoa, just hold on a dog-gone minute.”

Caleb gave an exasperated sigh. “Listen to me, Arianna. There’s something between us, something long-term that I’ve not quite gotten my head around as yet. But I care about you, about what happens to you. You’re an intelligent woman. You know yourself, going back to that cottage now would be a foolhardy thing to do.”

Okay, so give the autocratic Irishman an “E” for effort. At least, he was trying to reason with her, trying to curb the infuriating, chest-thumping male chauvinism that seemed second nature.

“I’ll stay here.” At his look of relief, she quickly amended, “A
t night
. I’m sorry, Caleb, but I simply have to be there during the day to get things done.”

He dragged a frustrated hand over the early-morning stubble that darkened his chin. “If I’d my way, you’d be staying away from there altogether, until the bloody nutter that wrecked the place is behind bars.” As she drew in a breath to object, he raised a hand. “Clearly, that’s not going to happen. So, I suggest a compromise. I’ll drop you there in the morning, collect you when you’ve finished each day.”

White-knuckled terrified of heights, it suited her just fine to be chauffeured up and down that treacherous mountain pass leading to the castle. “Works for me.”

With an appreciative glance around her, Arianna skillfully changed the subject. “You know, considering the size of the room, it’s surprisingly warm and cozy in here. Gotta be the way it’s furnished. Lots of wood. Natural fibers. Warm, dark colors.”

“Can’t take credit for that, I’m afraid. It’s been like this for as long as I can remember. Here in the study is where my father worked on castle accounts and such. As a lad growing up, the room was pretty much off-limits to me.” A forlorn look darkened his features.

Arianna put her hand over his. “I bet if you had a black-haired, green-eyed little terror getting into all your paperwork you’d be tempted to ban him from your workspace, too.”

“Perhaps.” A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. “I’ve been told I really was full of the devil as a child.”

“Do tell.” She gave a dry smile. “So, what’s the story with Flanagan, anyway?”

“Story? What about him?” Caleb was eating European style as they chatted, fork turned over in his left hand, knife in his right, which he used as a mini-shovel.

“I get the impression he’s more to you than a…what did you call him? A steward?”

Caleb smiled. “You’d be right about that. ‘Twas himself who was a father figure to me growing up. After my mother’s death, my own father withdrew emotionally. I reckon he was after blaming his newborn son for taking his wife from him. The night of my birth, he handed me over to Granny to raise. ‘Twas in her home I remained for the first five years of my life. They were happy, secure, well adjusted years, mind. During that time, the stories Flanagan told of my father during his frequent visits were my only connection to the man.”

“You were fortunate. Having a grandmother to give you a loving, stable childhood.”

“I was indeed. Until my fifth birthday anyways.” Caleb crossed his knife and fork on his plate and picked up his teacup. “My father decided ‘twas time for the son and heir to be returned to the castle, to be groomed for the future responsibilities of his station in life.”

“What? At the age of five, he took you away from Granny? From the only mother, the only home you’d ever known?”

“Ah, sure, but isn’t Granny a force to be reckoned with.” His chuckle held wry amusement. “No way on God’s green earth was she letting the man get away with that craic.”

“But he was your legal guardian. What could she do?”

“Collected her things, along with mine, and moved house, straight up to the castle. ‘Twas here she stayed ‘til I was twelve or so and content with my lot, before returning to her own place.” Caleb paused, his eyes thoughtful, as if he were deciding whether to continue the conversation on such a personal track. Then with an almost imperceptible nod, he carried on. “Even living at the castle I was after seeing very little of my father. Not until my twelfth birthday. That’s the age our people…em, our
family
acknowledges a boy’s right of passage into manhood.”

“Kind of like a Jewish boy’s bar mitzvah.” Moved by his willingness to share with her something so personal, so clearly painful, Arianna felt something important shift between them. Her heart broke for the lonely little boy he had been. Like her, a motherless child. Only difference was her father had been warm and loving, while Caleb’s had rejected him. How very sad that he was made to feel unwanted, unloved. She could almost picture him: A mischievous cherub with sea-green eyes and loads of inky black curls falling riotously around his tiny face. A little boy carrying an unfair burden; saddled with the blame for his mother’s death. It was the kind of emotional baggage that stayed with a person.

Knowing intuitively that he would despise any response that resembled pity, it was understanding she offered instead. “Your father must have loved your mother dearly, to have been so affected by her death.”

Caleb’s expression grew hard, his jaw rigid. “You’re wrong about that,
cailín.
Dead wrong. My father loved no one. Sure, ‘tisn’t in our—‘twasn’t in his nature to do so.”

“But to have been so devastated—”

“‘Twas his honor that suffered, not his heart,” he insisted, his face a mask of disdain.

“It’s likely he blamed himself for getting her pregnant.”

“And well he should have. My mother was…fragile. And the blood of our people…of…the men in our
family—
” Caleb seamlessly corrected, seeming to pick his words with care — “holds certain rare…properties…I suppose you might say. Elements that made it dangerous for my father to mate with a woman whose blood didn’t…possess similar properties.”

Mate?
“You mean, kind of like the RH negative factor?”

“Something of the sort…although more the reverse, actually. Instead of the antibodies in our blood putting the life of the infant at risk, ‘tis the mother’s life that’s endangered. In truth, my father should never have risked taken her to his bed a’tall.”