The Witch's Stone (31 page)

His hands, big and warm, gripped her upper arms as he moved up behind her. The heat from his chest seeped through her T-shirt as his mouth brushed the top of her head.

“I’m sorry. I didnae think.”

She held herself rigid, refusing to give in to the quiet rasp of his voice, the tenderness of his touch.

“I left messages on your cell phone,” she told him.

“I’d turned my mobile off.”

“I gathered that. But you were gone for hours. Where did you go?”

He didn’t reply.

Dread knotted her stomach, leaving her insides cold. Where had he been? Was someone else dead?  She stepped away from his touch, turned to face him. The darkness made it impossible to read his expression. The knots in her belly tightened painfully.

“I went to see my mother,” he said quietly. “I’ve agreed to sell her Glendon House.”

For a moment, Hillary could only stand and gape. If he’d told her he’d spent the past few hours on an alien spacecraft, she’d have been less surprised.

“Why? Why would you do that?” she stuttered. “You said you would never agree.”

“That was before someone left Willie’s ear on my step.”

“You’re leaving because you’re afraid?”

Even in the darkness she saw him stiffen. “Someone murdered Willie, probably Agnes too, and tried to murder Joan. The same someone who could have easily killed you less than a week ago.”

“So you’re just packing up and leaving? Running away?”

“I’m doing the right thing, for once.”

“The right thing is to leave while there’s a killer on the loose? Don’t you feel a responsibility?”

“No, I dinnae. It’s no’ my job to bring murderers to justice, or yer job, for that matter. That’s why we have police.”

“I can’t believe you’d sell them the house now, when we’re so close.”

“Close to what? Finding ourselves dead? No, thank you. I’ll finish writing my book in Spain or Greece. I can write as easily in the sun as in the bloody dismal rain.”

“You can leave, just like that?”  Pain pierced her heart like a hot needle lancing soft flesh. “
What about us
?” she wanted to scream, but managed swallow back the words before she embarrassed them both.

Besides, she already knew the answer. The affair had run its course. He’d made no promises, they’d never planned for a future. It wasn’t his fault she’d fallen in love.

She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “When do your parents take possession?”

He shrugged. “Not for a few weeks yet.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive. In the time he’d been gone everything had changed between them. A dull ache throbbed in her chest.

“I guess tomorrow I’ll make the arrangements to change my flight.” She had what she’d come for, after all. Roderick’s journals. 

He nodded. “I should probably see to getting my own room.”   

“Good idea.”

Once he’d gathered his things and left her alone, Hillary collapsed onto the bed. The tears she’d managed to hold back despite the ache in her throat and the sting behind her eyes finally flowed freely. And as the sky outside her window turned gray with the coming dawn, she cried herself empty.

Exhausted and carved out inside, she forced herself to her feet. What was done was done.  She wouldn’t spend anymore time weeping over a broken heart. She had too much to do.

The next morning, Caid followed the corridor to Hillary’s room, exhaustion heavy on his shoulders. He hadn’t slept. The memory of his conversation with her, the hurt in her voice had kept him awake until the dull morning light filled his room.

But it was more than just guilt that had kept him from sleeping. The idea of never seeing her again left a gnawing ache in his chest. Throughout his sleepless night, he’d wander to the window where the moon shone on her rental car in the car park below, the knowledge that she was still nearby oddly reassuring.

Three times he’d yanked on his jeans and crossed the room, determined to talk to her, only to stop at the door. What would he say? That he loved her? What good would that do? He’d only hurt her, last night’s fiasco proving his point.

She’d been right. He was a selfish shit. He should have called and told her where he was. But he’d been so wrapped up in his plan for Glendon House, he just didn’t think. And he’d kept his mobile off, certain his father would call to gloat once his mother had apprised James of his visit.

He hadn’t been disappointed. Sure enough, James had left him a lengthy message telling him he wasn’t surprised by Caid’s inability to complete the house, that Caid had merely cemented his long held belief that his youngest son would never succeed at anything.

The words, meant to bite, had elicited little response from Caid. He’d been too concerned about the worried messages Hillary had left.

What an absolute ass he’d been. Not only had he worried her sick, he came back and announced he’d sold Glendon House, effectively ending whatever was between them.    

As much as he hated to hurt her, he’d done the right thing. Any doubt he’d felt had evaporated after the phone call he’d received from Bristol earlier that morning.

Caid stopped outside Hillary’s door, but hesitated before knocking. Perhaps she was still sleeping. Maybe he should let things be.

The hell with it. He had to talk to her. He couldn’t just leave things as they were.

He rapped his knuckles on the solid wood. After a moment, the door swung inward and Hillary stood in the opening. A brief flash of déjà vu gripped him.

It was only a few weeks ago that he’d stood in Joan’s hallway outside Hillary’s room, trying to convince her to stay at Glendon House with him, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

“What do you want, Caid?” Hillary asked.

What did he want? To grab her and pull her against him. To tell her he loved her and beg her to stay with him. Instead he blurted, “I spoke to Bristol.”

“Me, too.”

She looked pale except for the dark half-moons under her eyes. She probably hadn’t slept much, either. Guilt gave his insides a good twist. Her hair, still damp from the shower, fell to her shoulders in soft curls. Her scent, light and feminine, teased his senses.      

“He told you they matched the blood on the rug to Agnes, then?”

She nodded.

“It’ll be at least another week before we can get back into Glendon House. Did you leave anything behind?” He struggled to ignore the tiny kernel of hope that she might have forgotten something.

“No. Everything of mine is here with me.”

“I see. Were you able to reschedule your flight?”

She dropped her gaze. “I can book for tomorrow morning.”

Good. A flight out in the morning meant she’d have to leave Culcraig today and stay overnight in Glasgow. She’d be safe.

“What about you?” Her eyes met his once more. “Will you be staying here until you can get back into Glendon House?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m going back to Edinburgh. I’ll stay with my brother. I dinnae wantae leave things between us the way they were last night,” he began.

“Me, either. I’m just not sure what to say.” A ghost of a smile tugged at her mouth. “It was nice knowing you.”

He didn’t know what to say, either, not that he could have spoken even if he did. Emotion clogged his throat and his voice seemed to evaporate. He let out a slow breath.

“Fuck it.” He grabbed her to him, capturing her mouth with his, swallowing her gasp. His hands slid around her back, pressing her soft form against his length. She wrapped her arms around his neck, opened her mouth and let him taste her.

He kissed her hard, devouring, losing himself in her sweet flavor. The temptation to edge her back into the room, strip down and have her was nearly overwhelming. To touch her soft skin, to feel her wrapped around him just one last time…

He turned his head, breaking the kiss, but neither of them moved away. They continued to hold each other, their breath coming in ragged gasps.

He brushed his lips against the soft skin of her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Without meeting her eyes, he pulled away from her embrace and started back the way he’d come. He didn’t dare turn to look at her.

Once back in his room, he stood under the cold spray in shower until his teeth chattered. Having brought his body back under control, he toweled off and dressed.

When he went to the window, her car was gone.

A fine drizzle clung to the heavy mist blanketing the village as Caid steered through the narrow streets of Culcraig toward Bristol’s office. He hadn’t actually needed to make the trip, at least not straight away, but when Bristol had rung and told him Warren was finished with the journals, he’d leapt at the chance to fetch them.

Any excuse to escape the tomb-like silence of Glendon House.

Going back had been a mistake, he’d realized as he walked from one empty room to another, a nearly crushing weight pressing down on his chest. Being there without Hillary just wasn’t the same. The house seemed bigger, cavernous and so damn empty.

But after five days with Alex in his brother’s two-bed flat, they were beginning to wear on each other’s nerves.

Two nights ago, while Caid was stretched out on the settee, flipping unseeing through the stations on the telly, his brother had finally snapped.

“For God’s sake, Caid, just ring her, already.”

“Ring who?” He knew. Hell, he’d thought of phoning her more times than he wanted to admit, even to himself.

“Hillary,” Alex ground out.

Caid didn’t look away from the screen. “I told you, she’s gone home.”

“She lives in another country, no’ on the bloody moon.”

“It’s finished. We’re finished.”

“If that’s true, then stop yer moping. It’s driving me mad.”

He hadn’t been moping, of course. When had he ever been melancholy about a woman? Never. Still, the news that he could access Glendon House again had come as a relief. Even if he could stay only a few days before his parents took ownership.  He and Alex needed the space, and Caid some time alone.

As he pulled into the car park for the brick building that housed Culcraig’s small police office, Caid reconsidered the pragmatics of his plan. Hillary’s presence seemed to haunt the ancient house, especially in the kitchen. He could almost see her seated before the fireplace, poring over the journals. The image made his chest ache.

With a sigh, he popped the door open and stepped out of the car. The cold damp air wrapped around him like a shroud. In a little more than a week he would be enjoying the warm sun in Spain. The surge of anticipation the thought usually conjured didn’t come. It hardly ever did anymore. Things had changed. He’d changed.

“Douglas.” Bristol’s surprised voice snapped Caid from his reverie. The man had just stepped outside and was shoving his arms into his coat sleeves. “You didnae need to come down. I would have dropped the books by for you.”

“I had a few errands to run, anyway,” Caid lied. “And I’ll be gone in a day or so, once my parents take possession.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.  I’d hoped you’d reconsider and stay on,” Bristol told him.

Caid shook his head. “This place isnae for me.”

Bristol opened his mouth as if to say more, but closed it again. He sighed, instead. “The books are in my car.”

Caid followed the cop to the car park. Bristol opened the passenger door, lifted the three journals from the seat and handed them to Caid.

“So the detective had no use for them?” he asked.

“No,” Bristol shook his head slowly, “Warren doesnae see the connection. I’m hoping Hillary finds something else now that Mrs. Semple’s giving her access to the records she needs.”

For a moment, Caid’s heart ceased to beat. “You spoke to Hillary in Canada?”

Wariness stole into Bristol’s expression. “No, she’s still in Culcraig, staying at the hotel.”

“Bloody hell.” Caid fought the urge to smash his fist into the hood of Bristol’s car. What had he done it all for? Groveled to his mother… Let his father gloat… What in the hell was the point of doing the right thing if she was just going to stay in Culcraig and put herself in danger anyway?

And she’d
lied
to him!

“I assumed you two had a falling out,” Bristol said. His mouth twitched as if he were struggling not to smile. “I didnae realize you thought she’d gone home.”

“She’s at the historical society now?” Caid asked, forcing his voice to remain as close to normal as possible.

“That’s where she said she’d be today.”

Caid tucked the books under his arm and started toward his car.

“Could you ask her to ring me?” Bristol called after him. There was no mistaking the amusement in the cop’s voice, now. Caid’s irritation rose another notch. “I’d like to hear about her progress.”

Caid yanked open the car door and slipped inside. So would he.

Hillary tapped her foot on the wood floor to an inaudible beat. A tiny surge of excitement raced through her as she made a third connection, exactly the same as the two previous.

How could she not have considered this before? Closing the heavy book, she leaned back on the hard chair. The wood creaked in the quiet. She’d been so fixated on the idea that the current deaths in Culcraig were imitations of the ones described in Roderick’s journal she hadn’t considered another possibility. And this was so obvious.

“How did I miss it?” she muttered aloud.

“Shhh!”

Hillary rolled her eyes before looking at the old woman who shushed her. All Hillary had to do was breathe deep, and Mrs. Semple was there with a ready hush. No matter that they were the only two people in the building.

Seated behind her desk, with a book open in front of her--this done strictly for appearances, the woman had yet to turn a page inside of three hours--Mrs. Semple stared at Hillary with huge round eyes, magnified even larger by her oversize glasses. The size of her eyes, combined with her full lips and slightly sagging cheeks, gave her an unfortunate trout-like appearance.