The Ruby Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy) (47 page)

Kit folded her arms. “Well, since he doesn’t think I should ride a spirited horse, he probably found me a blind twenty-year-old that someone had to beg him to take off their hands.

Sean laughed, shaking his head. “Nae, lass. Yer husband is too proud of ye to put ye on anything but the finest horse he could find.”

Her face split into a huge grin. “How old is he?”

“I’ll tell ye but ye must act surprised. He’s a yearling.”

“What color?”

“Ah, he’s a beauty. Just wait ‘til ye set your eyes on him. Yer husband knows horses. He rejected several I would have taken.”

“But what color?”

“Ye’ll have to wait.”

“He’s a chestnut, isn’t he?”

Sean’s eyebrows flashed slightly, enough to give away the final piece of the secret. She hugged him. “Don’t worry. I’ll act surprised.”

“Cullen’s been searching for a horse for ye since the day Thomas was born. He said after the race at Fort Laramie he never wanted ye to ride like that again, but watching ye suffer through childbirth, he said he’d never deny ye anything he had the power to give ye.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Kit’s voice shook with emotion. “Now, when I see the horse, I can focus on the love and the sacrifice behind the gift instead of the gift.” Sean nodded and walked down the stairs. “Uncle Sean.” He stopped and turned at the first landing. “What kind of horse did Cullen get Thomas?”

Sean’s eyes settled on Kit and a smile played at his lips. “A pretty little Shetland pony, standing about thirty-two inches at his shoulder. But ye didn’t hear that from me either.”

She didn’t’ know whether to laugh or cry or both.

As soon as Sean left the house, she went downstairs, searching for Joe.

“Can I get something for you, Miss Kit?”

“The painting over the fireplace—”

“I’m crating it now.”

“Would you put it in my bedroom? As soon as I’m gone, you can re-hang it over the mantle.”

Joe lifted the crate, smiling. “Yes, ma’am. Mister Sean loves that painting. He be happy to keep it.”

She then headed to Sean’s office. Donald had told her he’d left their itinerary on the desk. She found the piece of paper and sat in the chair to read.

Midway to Frankfort to Louisville by train. Paddleboat to New Orleans. Donald’s ship to Chagres. Boat and mules to Panama. Donald’s ship to San Francisco, all in sixty days. A hell of a trip.

The front door slammed.
“Kit.”

She glanced at the grandfather clock. Fifteen minutes exactly. “In here, Cullen.”

“Thomas is hungry.” He walked into the office, and flashing his dimples, handed over his son. “After he eats, I wonder if ye might be up for a ride.”

Chapter Fifty-Three

KIT NURSED THOMAS, put him in the bassinette, and slipped from her bedroom without disturbing her husband who was sprawled naked on the bed. The night sky held a brilliant display of stars that along with the full moon shining through the open windows lit the hallways of MacKlenna Mansion. A warm breeze rippled the drawn-back drapes, giving the air unbridled access to the shadowed house.

She tiptoed down the stairs to perform one last task.

Even without the moonlight, Kit would not have needed a candle to light the way. She knew the house and its sounds. How odd that the mansion, even in its early days, had the same creaky floorboards she’d grown accustomed to in the twenty-first century.

As soon as she entered the office, she lit candles. She didn’t need them either, but she wanted the warm glow. Hundreds of memories inhabited the room. She wanted to hear them, smell them, and wear them as a cloak one last time.

It seemed a lifetime ago that she had sat on the sofa researching the Oregon Trail and talking with Elliott about a seemingly impossible trip. Her eyes filled with tears thinking about him, her adoptive father, and Scott—three men she had loved dearly. She would never forget them.

She opened the desk’s center drawer and pushed the button, releasing the door to the secret compartment. The first time she opened it, a virtual string of dominos were set in place. They’d all fallen now, and a life had unfolded more joyous, more complete than she ever thought or imagined.

“Kit, where are ye?”

If possible, Cullen’s voice had become more musical and more sensual while living in MacKlenna Mansion. The sound sprinkled over her with the scent of rose petals. “In here.”

He leaned against the doorway with his son in one arm, the other arm behind his back. “Thomas was crying.”

She folded her arms across her middle. “I just nursed him to sleep.”

“We missed you.”

“What are you going to do when our daughter is born? Carry them both around?”

His eyebrows arched. “Are ye pregnant again?”

“With your insatiable appetite, it won’t take long.”

His quiet laugh slid over her like a warm, sweet kiss. “If I remember,
ye
woke
me
last night demanding my attention.”

A flame sizzled through her, and she shivered at the delicious memory. “And you gave me all you had.”

He bowed his head, slightly. “Yer putting the brooch away?”

“Yes, but I decided not to tell Sean.”

“Why?”

She tapped her fingers against the box in her hand. “He doesn’t need it. He’ll meet Lyle Ann Poe next year in Charleston, and they’ll have Sean II and three daughters within a few years. The brooch will be in the desk when my adoptive father needs it.”

“Yer sure ye want to give it away?”

She opened the box and gazed at the stone. “I remember the first time I saw this. I was afraid to touch it.” She snapped the lid closed, placed it in the compartment, and shut the door. “I’ve received every gift I was meant to receive, and now it’s time to send it on to the next person.” She stepped away from the desk. “There’re two others out there somewhere—an emerald and a sapphire.”

“How do ye know?”

“Sean told me. Something magical is supposed to happen when they’re all together again. I’d just as soon be as far away as possible when that occurs.”

She opened the secret door in the bookcase.

“You included drawings of Thomas didn’t ye?”

She patted the journal in her hand. “And you, me, Sean, Braham, Henry, and some wonderful sketches of Grandfather. I’m also sending him the one Sean drew of the three of us.”

“Kit?” He paused a moment. “We can go to yer time, if ye want. I know ye miss Elliott.”

“There is no more
my time.
There is only
our
time.” His open nightshirt gave her a view of the pulse beating in his neck. Living in the future was not his first choice, but she knew he would make the sacrifice if she asked.

She placed the notebook in the compartment, closed the door, and sealed it with wood glue she’d snatched from the laundry room when she’d rescued Tate and Tabor. “Hmm, all done.” She brushed her hands together. “Let’s go to bed.” She waggled her eyebrows.

He cleared his throat. “I have something for you.”

“You’ve given me everything I could possibly want.”

“I don’t have diamonds to give you. You have plenty of your own. I don’t have gold. You have that too. But I have this. He handed her a red rose he’d been holding behind his back. “I removed all the thorns.”

He had taken her breath more than once, but this was the
pièce de résistance.
When she could breathe again, she kissed him, sweeping her tongue against his lips. “Thank you for loving me. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for giving me my dreams.”

She sniffed the sweet flower. He had indeed removed every one of her thorns, and she knew in her heart, she had truly bloomed in the power of his love.

Epilogue

MacKlenna Farm, Lexington, Kentucky, August 2012

ELLIOTT UNLOCKED THE mansion’s front door, entered the house, and turned off the security alarm. “We’re only staying a few minutes so don’t run off,” he said to Tate. The dog sniffed the air, and Elliott patted his head. “Nope. She’s not here.” He’d said the same thing every night for the past two weeks, but Tate still sniffed for her. “Come on, let’s go.”

A nightly sweep of the premises had become a routine, not because it was necessary, but because he needed to know if anything had changed. And Tate, being Tate, always had to go with him. Tabor remained curled up on the sofa at Elliott’s residence located on the other side of the stallion complex.

The critters had adjusted to Kit’s departure. He couldn’t say the same for himself. He missed her like crazy. Instead of getting easier, the pain of the separation seemed to be getting worse. Sleeping was difficult. No, it was damned near impossible. If only he knew what had happened to her, the nightmares might stop.

Sandy had received a few phone calls after the article appeared in the city-state section of
The Lexington Herald-Leader,
announcing Kit’s decision to live abroad. Her friends were confused and concerned, but interest waned as plans for the September Yearling Sale and the three-week fall meeting at Keeneland peaked, just as Kit had predicted.

Elliott considered returning to Scotland as soon as live racing concluded the end of October, and while there, decide whether to retire. With Sean and Kit both gone, his passion dwindled for both the farm and racing. After all, he wasn’t a MacKlenna, and he certainly didn’t need the money.

Tate trotted down the hallway, sniffing the floor, his tail flipping back and forth, Elliott followed, a small smile playing at his lips. The dog entered the office first and headed straight for the wet bar where he sat, whining.

Elliott flipped on the lights. “What will it be tonight, boy? A dram of whiskey or a doggie treat?” Tate barked and Elliott laughed as he poured a drink for himself and gave the retriever a bone-shaped biscuit.

He tossed back his drink and walked to the bookcase, removed a handful of leather-bound volumes, and pushed the lever to open the secret compartment. It didn’t open. He pushed again. Nothing. He broke out in a cold sweat. Was he having a heart attack? No, he didn’t think so. Only stress. He took deep breaths. When he calmed, he pushed the lever once more. Again, nothing.

I will seal it so no one finds my journal.

He slapped the bookcase’s edge. “She actually did it.” With his hand shaking like an old man with palsy, he pulled his MacGyver knife from his pants’ pocket and cut into the wood, loosening the seal. The door popped opened with a faint swish of misplaced air.

There sat Kit’s journal.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead. Damn. Pictures of Kit from the time she was a toddler learning to walk to a perfect princess modeling her prom dresses played in his mind like a PowerPoint slideshow, each slide fading in and out.

He needed a few more drinks.

He returned to the bar and poured two fingers of scotch, gulped it down, and poured more. What was he trying to do, drink the whole damn bottle? He stared at the notebook nestled in the niche in the bookcase. Did Kit place it there within a year of leaving her time, or toward the end of her life? If she was ninety-years-old and dying, he didn’t want to know. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a swig then wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist.

Suck it up, Elliott.

He returned to the bookcase, lifted the journal from the cubbyhole, and opened it to the last page. Kit had dated the entry June 1, 1853. His entire body relaxed with the exhalation of a long held breath.

“Now, this will be a good tale.” He turned out the light and left the room. “Come on, Tate, let’s go home.”

They walked down the hallway, passing the portraits of the MacKlenna men. When he reached the end, he noticed there was no longer a single female painting. There were two.

Tears burned his eyes. He brushed his fingertips across the newest portrait, and cleared his throat of the knot hanging there. God, he missed her, but life went on, and so must he. He pressed the control button for the home audio system, and a Bach Partita filled the mansion with glorious music.

“Goodnight, Kit. May God hold you in the palm of His hand.”

COMING SOON

The Last MacKlenna

HOT WATER PULSED from the shower’s top and side-mounted jets filling the villa’s master bath with steam. Meredith Montgomery peeled off sweat-soaked running clothes. The Garmin watch on her wrist flashed impressive numbers. Distance 9 miles. Pace 8:10. Time 113:30. The run, however, put her behind schedule on a day packed with appointments. If her assistant couldn’t rearrange her commitments, Meredith’s afternoon flight to Scotland looked dicey.

A pink-ribbon calendar hung above the vanity. A star drawn with a red Sharpie marked the date—December 19. A ripple of tension went through her.
Why does it have to be today?
She took a deep breath, then stepped into the hot water focusing more on her schedule than her monthly breast self-exam.
Ask
Katie to confirm the reservations at the B&B in Edinburgh and the National Archives.

Meredith lifted her left arm and placed her hand behind her head.
Make time for the winemaster.
He’d been trying to talk to her about starting a new vineyard on the south-facing slope. Launching
Cailena,
her new chardonnay, was too important to be side tracked by another project, and she’d put him off. If he could develop a new vineyard without draining resources, she might agree.

The soapy pads of three fingers rotated up and down her breast, feeling for lumps in the soft tissue.
Get the agenda for the meeting with the web designer.
Her fingers traced the same path they had followed every month since cancer took her other breast.
Call Hank to find an exercise rider for Quiet Dancer while I’m—

Her hand froze. Fear, bitter and fire-hot, coated her tongue.
Do it again.
She retraced the edges of an irregular-shaped lump.
Do it again until it goes away.
But the lump remained—alien, hard and rooted in the breast, growing wild inside her.