The Witch's Stone

by Dawn Brown

  Caid had been tempted to just give the house to his father. No doubt after a few blustering refusals, the old man would have eventually accepted the manor. James had coveted the place for so long, Caid doubted having to accept it from the bad son would be enough to keep his father from it. But Alex had been furious when Caid had suggested the idea as they drove back to the inn.

  “Have you completely lost yer mind?” Alex had demanded. “You owe a tidy sum to the bank. Money you wouldnae owe if you hadnae been so stubborn.”

  After his accident, Alex had taken on all of Caid’s financial concerns. For the clinic, the damages from the accident, and the fines for drinking and driving. Alex had even loaned Caid money to help him get settled once he'd left the center. As soon as Caid had been able to, he’d borrowed from the bank to pay Alex back.

  “I’ll no’ have this discussion again. It was good of you to cover my expenses, but it wasnae charity. I told you I’d pay you back, and I did.”

  "You owed me nothing," Alex said. "I didnae care about the money. Ye're my brother, and I'd pay it again if I had to."

  "It was important to me that I pay you back."

  “Aye, that’s fine, but I still dinnae understand why you insisted on taking a loan to do it. Why you didnae just pay me when you could.”

  “So we are going to have this discussion again.”

  “Stubbornness, Caid, plain and simple.”

  Exasperated, Caid dragged his fingers through his hair. “And why should you be out of pocket because you’ve a brother who’s a complete fuck-up?”

  “Ye’re no’.”

  “Aye, no’ now, but I was.”

  Alex grinned. “Maybe you were. The point I’m trying to make is dinnae give the house away. Even if you sold it as it is, you’d have enough to pay the bank. Might take a while, though. Depending on how long, you may have to pay property taxes and some of the other basic maintenance expenses.”

  “Oh well, ye’re doing a fine job convincing me to no’ give the bloody thing away.”

  Ignoring him, Alex continued. “But if you took some time, cleaned the place, added some fresh paint and sorted any of the obvious repairs, you’d sell the house for much more and faster. You could finally travel like you wantae.”

  Alex had certainly known which buttons to push. All Caid had ever wanted was to get out and see the world. But even a tin of paint cost money, and while he was able to get by on what he made writing, he was by no means a rich man.

  Caid set his fork down and drummed his fingers on the table. Each digit made a dull thud on the tablecloth.

  "Are you finished, then?"

  Caid looked up for a moment. He'd nearly forgotten Joan was there. He nodded and she took his plate.

  "Well, I'm glad to see you've the sense to feel guilty," Joan said. "Poor girl, she only tried to talk to you, and you behaved terribly."

  Actually, he hadn't really thought of Hillary since he’d sat down.

  "She wants a look at the journals. Before this evening, she couldnae say a kind word to me."

  "And how, might I ask, would she know that you’ve inherited the house with her out all afternoon?"

  "Didnae you tell her?"

  "I hadnae spoken to her until she politely refused dinner. And I think we can safely assume why she did that."

  He ignored Joan's not so gentle admonishment. "So she really didnae know?"

  "Aye."

  The apology had been genuine, and he’d acted like an ass.

  "You really are foolish," Joan continued, pouring more salt in the wound. "Agnes had a financial arrangement with the girl."

  "Hillary was going to pay her to see the journals?"

  "And to stay at Glendon House. But, from what I understand, Agnes had overcharged her. Since staying here, she might wantae renegotiate."

  Damn, damn, double damn. He'd truly made a mess of the situation. Could he convince Hillary to stay at Glendon House?

  Whatever money she paid him he could use for the repairs. It wouldn't be much, but maybe enough to fix some of the more glaring problems and clean the house up a little.

  Why had he kissed her?

  His stomach pulled tight at the memory, and he did his best to ignore it. That kiss would be his biggest stumbling block when he tried to make up with her. She'd probably accuse him of being a pervert again.

  Aye, well, no more than he deserved.

  "Dinner was lovely, Joan."

  "Thank you. Now, dinnae you have some groveling to do?"

  "Aye, I’ll be on my way.”

  Hillary lay on the bed, head propped on the pillows, legs stretched out over the spread and crossed at the ankles. Next to her, the lamp glowed softly, illuminating the small words on the page of the battered paperback Joan had given her.

  She nibbled her lip, drawn into the story despite her almost desperate need to hate the book Caid had written.

  After Joan had left, Hillary had still been furious. There was no way she could have sat across the table from Caid without shoving the plate of food in his face.

  He'd kissed her--worse, she'd liked it.

  She harbored no illusions as to his feelings for her. He'd only done it to see if he could. He seemed to think her some kind of journal slut.

  How could she have liked the feel of his mouth on hers? She hadn't been remotely interested in sex or members of the opposite sex in over a year. And now her libido kicks in? For him? One of the rudest men she'd ever met?

  Maybe she’d stopped seeing the psychologist too soon.

  Hillary had paced the room restlessly, searching for something to distract her. She’d needed to put the whole experience from her mind. She’d considered her reference books, but decided against them, too angry for the material to hold her interest. Then she’d remembered the book Joan had given her still on the dresser where she'd left it.

  Fully intending to mock Caid, Hillary had picked up the book and settled back on the bed, but soon her anger ebbed away, the need to mentally berate Caid forgotten. The need to figure out why someone would stalk a seemingly mild mannered loans officer became far more important.

  The soft knock at the door made her grit her teeth. Probably Joan, insisting she eat something. Hillary set the book down on the bed, crossed the room and opened the door. Caid stood on the other side, his eyes dark and his mouth set in a grim line.

  Her heart fluttered a little when she remembered the feel of those lips on hers.

  Good kisser or not, he was still a jerk.

  "I'm not in the mood for another round." She started to close the door, but he put his hand out to stop her, his body filling the doorway.

  Fear, practically paralyzing, rushed through her as images of Randall filled her head. His body blocking a faraway threshold and forcing her back against the wall.

  She took a step back and lifted one trembling hand like a traffic cop with the shakes. "Don't do that."

  Caid frowned and nodded slowly, backing off. "I'm sorry."

  God, she must look like a lunatic if the mixture of confusion and horror in his expression were any indication.

  "No," she said, covering her face with both hands and rubbing her eyes vigorously. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired."

  And that's all it was. Well, that and her confrontation with Willie. Obviously, the incident still nagged at her subconscious. To keep memories of Randall at bay, she had to work at it. After an emotionally draining day like the one she'd just had, was it any wonder he'd crept into her thoughts again?

  She dropped her arms back to her sides. "What do you want?"

  "I wantae apologize," Caid told her. "I'm very sorry for what I said. It's been a long day and I let my temper rule my brain. That's no excuse I know, but…" He shrugged.

  She could relate to the effects of a long day. "Accepted.”

  He blinked, as if surprised. Perhaps he’d been expecting more of an argument. But what would be the point? After tonight she’d probably never see him again. “Now, if you don’t mi
nd--"

  "I'd like to make it up to you."

  "Oh?"

  "I've an offer that might prove advantageous to both of us. Could I come in for a moment?"

  She shrugged and stepped aside, as much to prove to herself that she could as to hear his offer. "Why not?"

  "Thanks." His gaze fell on the book open on her bed. "Are you reading my book?"

  Heat stung her cheeks. "Yes. Joan insisted on lending it to me. I didn't want to appear ungrateful."

  "Well, there is that. Are you enjoying it?" A hint of insecurity tinged the usual couldn't-care-less tone of his voice.

  "More than I wanted to."

  He chuckled, clearly understanding her meaning.

  "So, let's hear this offer." She sat on the corner of the bed and he on the hard-backed chair next to the dresser.

  "As you now know, I've inherited Glendon House." He smiled ruefully, then continued. "The truth is, I've as much need for the decrepit estate as I have for a hole in the head. I plan to sell it, but I need to do a little renovation work first. Only a mad person would buy it as it is now. Joan told me you'd had a financial agreement with Agnes to stay and view the journals. I'd like to honor that agreement. You get the journals, I get the money to repair the house. Both of us get what we want."

  Her heart rate quickened. The journals, and just when she’d given up. Damn, if only the offer had come from someone other than Caid. Could she trust him?

  "Now whose apology is suspect?"

  "Aye, I understand. You and I have no’ started on the best footing, but perhaps we can set all that aside. My apology was sincerely meant. I behaved like an ass earlier and, no matter what you decide, nothing changes that."

  "Your aunt was hosing me. Her rates were a mite higher than Joan’s."

  "We can certainly renegotiate the terms you and Agnes had arranged. What do you think is fair?"

  "I think what I'm paying here at the inn should be adequate."

  "Aye, but you’d be getting everything that goes with the inn as well as the journals."

  "Everything that goes with the inn? So you'll be cooking for me and tidying up my room and bathroom?"

  "What ye're paying here seems more than fair."

  "I thought so."

  "We’re agreed, then?" He held out his hand.

  “Maybe.” She jabbed a finger at him. “You had better never pull a stunt like you did in the hall again.”

  “On my honor.”

  For whatever that was worth.

  "Okay." She nodded and took his hand, letting his long fingers close around hers. He smiled, cocky and boyish. Something fluttered low in her belly.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.

  Chapter Seven

  The dream settled over Hillary like a wet wool blanket, heavy and cold. Though she would have done anything to stop herself from reliving that night, her brain was like a television set with a broken on/off switch. She had no choice but to sit back and watch the show.

  It started with a pounding, a steady rhythmless beat on her front door. As she drew closer, the blue and white stained-glass window in the door prevented her from seeing who stood outside.

  A nervous shiver raced over her skin.

  She glanced at her watch. Eight-thirty. Not terribly late, but she wasn’t expecting anyone.

  Don’t open it, a voice whispered from somewhere inside her. She gave herself a mental shake and opened the door. A sick, lousy feeling settled in the pit of her belly. "Randall, you're not supposed to be here."

  "Dr. Bennett, you have to talk to me." Tall and thin with gaunt features, he leaned against the doorframe, his skin oddly pale.

  "Randall." She used her stern voice, the one she saved for students who weren’t going to pass her class. "I have a restraining order. If I call the police, they'll arrest you. You've already been expelled. Go home."

  "No!" he shouted, standing straight. "You had me expelled."

  "You got yourself expelled. You were asked to leave me alone, to stop sending me letters, to stop following me."

  "It’s okay. I know why you did it." His voice was little more than a quivering whisper.

  "Go. Michael will be home soon--"

  "No, he won't." A smile curved Randall’s lips, slow and predatory. "He's gone until Friday."

  Apprehension crept up her spine.

  Her husband had left that morning for a conference and wouldn’t be home for four days. And Randall had known. "How did you know that?"

  "Now that I'm not in school, I have a lot of free time."

  For the first time since this whole thing with Randall had started, fear tightened her insides. Over the past months, she’d found him sad, a nuisance, unfortunate, but never frightening.

  "I'm closing the door. You have five minutes to go away, then I'm calling the police."

  She started to push the door closed, but he blocked it with his hand and moved so his body filled the doorway. "I just want to talk to you."

  "No, you have to go." She placed the flat of both palms on his chest and tried to push him back onto the porch, but he was stronger than she gave his skinny body credit for.

  "Listen to me," he shouted. He grabbed both her upper arms, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh, and thrust her back. Her elbow struck the heavy newel post at the bottom of the stairs, sending a sharp rocket of pain darting up her arm. “I just want to talk.”

  The hell with that.

  Rubbing her aching elbow, she edged closer to the opening that would lead her into the dining room. She could run through there, to the living room and out the back door, then to her neighbor’s where she would call 911.

  Randall moved further into the house, closing and locking the door behind him. The heavy clunk of the bolt sliding into place chilled her blood as her control over the situation slipped away.

  “Why are you trying to run?” Randall snapped, stepping in front of her and using his frame to block her escape.

  He was skinny, taller than her, but beanpole thin. Maybe if she caught him by surprise, shoved into him as hard as she could, she would knock him over and buy herself enough time to get away.

  “I just need you to understand,” he said, almost pleading. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She reverted to her disappointed school teacher voice, doing her best to ignore the pounding of her heart. “I didn’t realize that was an option.”

  “Well, you’re making me angry.” He sounded like a defensive child. She was certain the power had shifted back to her.

  “I’m sorry, Randall, but this behavior is unacceptable. If you want to speak to me, forcing your way into my house is not the way to do it.”

  “This is the only way. You got me expelled and if I leave you’ll have me arrested.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is. It’s your fault. We’re supposed to be together now.”

  “You’re one of my students--”

  “Not anymore. You had me expelled, but it’s okay, I know why you did it. We couldn’t be together if I was in your class or going to the university. But now we can.”

  The full impact of his delusion struck her as it never had before. How could she have confused this with a crush gone too far? It didn’t matter now. She had to get away from Randall.

  She charged him, head down and forearms up, like a football player pushing toward the goal. Randall let out an airy “oomph!” as she forced him back and out of her way. Her dining room came into view just as he locked his hand around her arm and yanked her back.

  "Bitch!" he screamed, his voice hoarse and shrill all at once.

  His free hand closed into a fist and swung back. She squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn't see him hit her. But she heard the flat thud as his fist connected. And felt the explosion on her cheek that made her ears ring and sent her tumbling backward.

  He was on her in a second. Straddling her hips and tugging at her shirt.

  “You’ll see. You’ll see,” h
e muttered over and over again, like a kind of mantra.

  She tried shoving him off, slapping and punching at him. The reality of what was about to happen was sinking in, bringing with it the sick realization she was helplessness to stop him.

  "Stop Randall, please. Stop!"

  If he heard her, he made no indication. He yanked her shirt up and pulled her bra down, exposing her breasts. His groping hands on her flesh turned her stomach. She screamed, loud and high as she continued to struggle.

  "Shut up!" He backhanded her, grinding her lips against her teeth. The sweet metallic flavor of her own blood filled her mouth. Her head swam, but she was still conscious enough to feel him pull at the zipper on her jeans.

  Desperate, she reached out and seized his face with both her hands. Gritting her teeth, she gored both sides of his face with her fingernails. He howled and pulled away from her, giving her the chance to scurry out from under him and dart for the dining room.

  For a moment, she thought she might be free, then Randall leapt at her, tackling her into the buffet, sending the ornaments decorating the surface crashing to the hardwood floor. Her shoulder struck the large gold-framed mirror hanging on the wall. The glass cracked with the impact. They rolled onto the floor, the heavy mirror landing on top of them, showering them both with shards of broken glass before falling aside.

  She started to crawl away. Then his hands were on her again, flipping her onto her back. And he was straddling her. He bent his head, pressing his mouth to her neck. Her stomach lurched.

  She reached out, her fumbling fingers straining for something, anything that she could use to knock him off. Her hand closed around something cool and smooth. She gripped it tight. The sharp edges sank into her palm.

  A guttural cry filled the air--later she would realize the sound had come from her--as she swung wide. The tip of the broken mirror connected with his neck, sinking deep into his flesh. He sat up straight and opened his mouth. A strange gurgling sound bubbled out.