The Witch's Stone (17 page)

“That may be, but the next time someone tells you that ye’re unwelcome in their establishment, you might wantae mention it.”

“Fine. You know the old woman at the historical society? Well, she’s ignored my request to view some documents. I’ve asked her three times. Maybe she’s the one breaking in. She’s eighty, at least, but I suppose she could have been sneaking around the house, hiking to it from some considerable distance, since we’ve never seen a car.”

“Now ye’re just being silly.”

She could hear the smile in his voice and some her defensiveness ebbed away. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention Willie sooner, but…” She trailed off, unable to find the words. How could she explain the paralyzing fear Willie’s threats had caused her? Or the shame that went with it?

“But what--”

The words died on Caid’s lips as he turned up the drive and the car’s headlights fell on someone at the edge of the woods. Whoever it was stepped back out of the glare and was absorbed into the dark.

“Did you see that?” Hillary asked.

He must have. Caid jumped on the brake and the car’s back end slid sideways on the gravel. He shifted into reverse, turning the wheel so the headlights illuminated the edge of the forest.

Nothing moved beyond the cluster of trees, their bare branches tangled and still in the eerie white light.

She glanced over at Caid. “That was a person.”

“Aye.” His gaze remained fixed on the trees. “Maybe our intruder.”

“I didn’t get a good look at him, it happened so fast.”

“Me either. There’s a torch in the cubby box.”

Hillary unfastened her seatbelt, leaned forward and lifted the latch for the glove compartment in front of her. A tiny light bulb glowed yellow, illuminating a jumble of papers and receipts. Her hands trembled as she rifled through the mess. At last, her fingers closed over hard, cylindrical plastic.

“Here.” She handed him the flashlight.

He nodded and opened the car door. “Wait here.”

“Yeah, right.” Rolling her eyes, she climbed out of the car and moved to stand next to him.

The wind whispered through the branches, the wood creaking like a rusty hinge. She shivered, unnerved and exposed.

“Can you no’ do as I ask, just once?” Caid muttered.

“Hide inside the car all helpless and weak? I don’t think so.”

“What if I’m attacked and I need you to hit him with the car?”

“If you’re attacked, I’ll have plenty of time to get the car.”

He ignored her, running the flashlight beam over the trees. Nothing moved or seemed out of the ordinary.

“I think whoever it was is gone,” he said.

A twig snapped. The sharp, hollow sound pierced the quiet.

Caid swung the light and whoever watched them dodged the beam just in time. The sound of footfalls crashing through the forest echoed in the silence. Caid rotated the light wildly, but the sounds were moving away.

His body tensed. “I’ll be back.”

“Are you nuts?” Fear for him surged inside her. Hillary grabbed his arm before he could take off. “It’s too dark. You’ll never catch up.”

“Maybe.” He relaxed beneath her fingertips and dropped the arm holding the light. “Let’s get back to the house.”

With a nod, she followed him to the car, then climbed inside. Caid reversed, turned and continued toward Glendon House.

Once inside, Hillary helped Caid explore each room, searching for signs of another break-in. They didn’t find any. By the time they returned to the kitchen, the two days of intense physical labor kicked in, leaving Hillary achy and exhausted.

Caid didn’t look much better. With his skin pale beneath the dark stubble covering his cheeks and chin, he looked as tired as she felt.

“Some night,” she said, sinking into one of the chairs by the fireplace, her muscles soft as hot wax.

He nodded. “Never a dull moment. Do want some tea or coffee?”

“Too late for coffee. Although tired as I am, it probably wouldn’t make a difference. I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea.”

“I cannae get over the difference in this room,” Caid said, as he set the water to boil. “You did a brilliant job. Thank you.”

“You said that already.”

He flopped onto the settee and propped his feet on the table. “I must mean it, then.”

She smiled and leaned back. “You were right about the plumbing, though. That still needs to be done.”

“Along with everything else, but surely this’ll help impress any would-be buyers foolish enough to consider this pile of rubble.”

“You’re still going to sell?”

“Aye, to the first person who’ll make me an offer. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for me. My reasons for doing your kitchen weren’t completely altruistic.”  She sat up and met his gaze. “I liked this room from the moment I moved in, and this is how I pictured it. I just wanted to get my way.”

“Maybe you should buy this place.”

“What an idea.” Not that it was completely ridiculous. After all, what was she going back to? At least here she had Anne, but soon her work would be done and she’d be as rootless here as she was in Canada.

“Can you no’ see yourself living in Scotland?”

“Once I finished my book, then what?”

“
Then what?
An absolutely terrifying concept.”

The kettle sputtered into a piercing whistle. Caid stood and moved to the counter.

“Why don’t
you
want to live here? Besides not wanting to have anything in common with your father.”

He set the kettle down and turned slowly to face her. “You know, I do make some decisions based on things besides spiting my father.”

“You’re right. That was uncalled for. So why?”

“Once I’m rid of this place, I’ll be off to Spain, first. From there, who knows? Maybe Greece. I’ve wanted to travel for years.” He poured tea into the pretty china cups Hillary had found. His features drew into a frown as he lifted the cups and carried them toward her. “You maybe should have kept some of the old dishes,” he said, ignoring her question and handing her a cup.

“Half of them were chipped and mismatched.”

“I hate these bloody things.” He settled back, leaning on the arm of the couch, stretching his legs over the cushions and almost cradling his tea in his palm and against his chest. “I’m always afraid I’m going to break them.”

“So what if you did? They’re yours. You could take them outside and smash them against the wall, if you wanted.”

He was quiet for a moment, turning the cup slowly in his hand. “I suppose ye’re right.”

“I am.” She leaned forward. “So why wait to travel? You’re young, successful, nothing tying you down. What does this house have to do with anything?”

“This is a personal question,” he said, his lips curving into a slow smile.

Something fluttered in her tummy. “So?”

“Well, if I answer such a personal question, I should be able to ask one.”

“I don’t need to know that badly.”

“Coward.”

“Fine. I’ll answer
one
personal question.”

He sat up and set his cup on the table. “I know you’ve heard at least a little about my less than sterling past. You know I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober eight years, but back then I think I’d been drunk nearly as long. There were moments of lucidity, when I was between binges, but never sober. A drink or two before work, a few drinks at lunch, and of course, a few more at the pub at night. Sometimes I’d blackout. When I woke, I had no memory of the night before or how I got home--when I made it home at all. Funny thing, I nearly died in that accident, but if I hadnae hit the tree, I’d undoubtedly be dead by now.”

Her mouth had gone dry. “You don’t have to tell me all of this.”

“I do, actually. Unless, I’m making you uncomfortable.”

He was. This conversation was too intimate, too honest, but she shook her head “Only if you’re uncomfortable telling me.”

A bemused smile touched his lips. “I’m no’. No’ at all. That’s strange, isnae it?”

The fluttering was back, this time much closer to her heart. She would have answered, but her voice had suddenly vanished. Not that it mattered, the question was apparently rhetorical.

“I’d been sacked again, two days before the accident, and I’d been drunk, real drunk, out of my head, blackout drunk ever since. I had a moment of clarity when I woke at friend’s place just outside Kelso. I remember thinking quite clearly that I had to get home and start looking for a new job. Didnae matter that it was the middle of the night, or pouring rain, or that I didnae even know what day it was. So I got in the car and started home.”

He hesitated, as if waiting for her to say something, but whatever he’d been expecting, she stayed silent. She couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“Memory gets a wee bit foggy here. I remember driving, and the rain, then coming ‘round briefly in the emergency room, but I was still quite groggy. A few days later, when I was coherent enough to understand, the doctor explained what had happened. Investigators believed I lost control on a round-about and slid down an embankment, hitting a tree.”

“You’re lucky to be alive.”

“When I woke up, my leg broken in three places and sober for the first time in years, I would have argued that. Alex came to see me because, after pushing the limit for so long, I had finally wound up in real trouble. Driving under the influence charges, considerable property damage. Alex promised to take care of everything if I promised to let him check me into a clinic. If didnae cooperate, he wouldnae help me and I could have very likely gone to prison.”

“Obviously, you didn’t go the prison route.”    

“No, I chose the clinic, but to be frank, at the time that was as much a jail sentence as the other. I chose the one where I stood the least chance of being anally penetrated.”                                                                                                                                                               

She snorted, despite herself. “Good thinking.”

“So, while I lay in excruciating pain, begging doctors and nurses or anyone else to bring me something, anything--no one did, Alex had warned them about me--my brother hired a lawyer. He took care of the charges, paid all my fines--which were considerable--and paid for the clinic. I was mid-way through the program before I even thought of the money he’d paid out. Around the same time, I realized how lucky I’d been to hit the tree.”

“Because it saved your life.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Alex saved my life. But what if I’d hit another car? How could I have lived with myself if I’d killed someone?”

Hillary’s stomach turned cold and heavy. Little did he know, she could have told him exactly how it was done. She lived it everyday. Had for nearly two years. Not that anyone would have called what she’d done these past years as living. She swallowed hard.

“You’re paying your brother back.”

“I’m paying the bank back. I already paid Alex, I didnae want him to be out of pocket because of me. He did so much for me, and I wasnae terribly grateful at first.”

Emotion made his voice thick and his eyes bright. He cared for his brother, admired him. She could read it in his face, hear it in his words.

“I’m sure he forgave you. Maybe he expected it a little.”

He smiled. “Maybe. Point is, the reason I havenae traveled before now is, well, I couldnae afford to. The writing’s only starting to pay, and not enough to pay off my loan. I suppose I could have just said that.”

“When did you start writing?”

“Do I get to ask you two questions, then?” He grinned, as if immensely pleased with himself.

“Why? Is the answer
so
very personal?”

“No’ really. I began writing in the clinic as a distraction. Far more interesting to write about an investment broker framed for murder than dwell on how badly I wanted a drink.”

“Did you sell it when you got out?”

“Eventually.”

She started to ask something else, but he interrupted. “I dinnae think so. It’s my turn. Why did you get divorced?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. He’d been so honest with her, how could she be anything else but? Yet the idea of telling him about Randall, of seeing the same doubt in Caid’s eyes that she’d seen in Michael’s, left her cold. She couldn’t bring herself to speak the words. “We grew apart.”

“Bull shit. Next you’ll be telling me it was a mutual decision.”

“Not quite. I instigated, but I don’t think he was devastated by the suggestion. Boring, I know, but sometimes people just wake up and realize the person they married isn’t who they thought they were.” And when things get hard, they see just how weak the other person can be.

How alone Michael had left her. He’d thrown her to the wolves, abandoned her along with most of her friends, peers, and co-workers. If it hadn’t been for her parents, she would never have made it through.

Exhaustion combined with the unpleasant memories brought tears to the corners of her eyes. She looked away before Caid saw.

“I’m tired,” she said, setting the remains of her tea on the table. “I’ve got to get to bed.”

As she stood, so did Caid. He took her hand as she tried to go by him and stopped her. “I get one more question, remember?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

He released her hand, then gently traced his knuckle over her cheek. “What happened to you?”

“I’m so tired, Caid.” She turned away and started for the stairs, wondering the same thing.

What had happened to her?

Hillary squinted against the pale sunlight, seeping through the infernal gap in her drapes. With a groan she rolled over, yanking the blankets over her head.

She must have looked pathetic last night. What had possessed her to let the conversation turn so personal? But she already knew the answer. She wanted to know more about Caid.

She nibbled at her lower lip, thinking about how often her thoughts had wandered to him over the past few days. Remembering his mouth on hers, when he’d kissed her in the kitchen and the bolt of need that had surged inside her.