The Witch's Stone

by Dawn Brown

  An attractive redhead sat draped over one of the chairs, her bare foot propped on a table he recognized from the parlor. Once coated in dust so thick he’d thought the table’s color was gray, now the dark wood gleamed.

  “Do you like it?” The redhead asked, standing and coming toward him.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Sarah, and you didnae answer me. Do you like the room?” She reached for his hand and linked her slender fingers with his.

  “Aye,” he said, distracted. “Where’s Hillary?”

  “Let me show you everything.”

  Sarah tugged on his hand, leading him toward the little sitting area. Was he on television? One of those terrible home decorating shows? He glanced around quickly, scanning the walls for hidden cameras. What in the hell was going on?

  “Where. Is. Hillary?” he asked again, enunciating each word.

  “I’m here.”

  She stood just inside the kitchen, her damp hair tousled. The image of her the day he’d caught her in only her bra and panties flashed before him. Perhaps she could sense his thoughts. Her eyes were dark and annoyed, and her mouth set in a tight line.

  Sarah’s free hand ran the length of his arm from his elbow to his wrist, causing an annoying tickle. He extricated his fingers from her grip and started toward Hillary.

  “Did you do this?” he asked.

  She smiled faintly. “I did. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s astonishing. I barely recognized the place.” When he stood next to her, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Are we on television?”

  She laughed and he couldn’t help but smile. The sound warmed him. “No. I just wanted you to see what I meant by the house having potential.”

  “It looks wonderful. You didnae by any chance have the plumber come in, too?”

  “I only had two days.”

  “Excuses.”

  She gave him a playful shove.

  “Thank you,” he said seriously, his gaze locking with hers. Dark and haunted, her eyes drew him in. “No one’s done anything like this for me before.”

  He wanted to kiss her. Deep and hard and hungry. Like a craving, the urge made his entire body itch. But something told him she might find the action a little extreme for a thank you.

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth then lifted to his eyes once more.

  Or maybe not.

  “The least you could do is buy us dinner?” Sarah piped up from behind them.

  “Aye. I suppose so.”

  “I see you’ve met Sarah,” Hillary said, taking a step back.

  He nodded, but kept his eyes on her. Did she want him as much as he did her? Not likely. She’d been throwing walls up between them almost from the moment they met.

  “Sarah stopped by today and offered to help. A good thing too, I never would have finished before you got back.”

  “I guess dinner is the least I can do. Are we off to the pub, then?” Caid asked.

  “Aye,” Sarah replied. “Let me clean up a wee bit, first.”

  When he turned back to Hillary, she looked a little pale. “Are you too tired? You must have worked like mad to finish in two days.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  “Did you want go somewhere else? Or just stay in?”

  “The pub’s fine, isnae it Hill?” Sarah interrupted, joining them.

  Hillary frowned slightly before turning her attention back to him. “The pub’s fine,” she agreed.

  But Caid had his doubts.

  Caid opened the door and waited for Hillary and Sarah to step inside the bar before following. The combined odors of fried food, vinegar, beer and cigarette smoke filled the air. The latter hovered like a blue haze in the dim room.

  The pub was crowded, bodies packed tightly around the bar. The tables and booths near the front were filled, but Sarah managed to find an empty booth at the back. She sat down and he sat across from her. Hillary slipped onto the wooden bench next to him.

  A skinny blonde with frizzy hair and taut, worn skin, the kind from years of hard living, came and took their order, then moved on to another table.

  “So Hillary,” Sarah said, raising her voice a little to be heard over the steady din. “How is yer work with the journals coming? Have you learned the truth about Anne Black?”

  “So far, Roderick’s only mentioned her a few times, though he does find her strange,” Hillary said.

  The waitress brought their drinks, setting the two pints in front of the women and passing Caid his ginger ale.

  “I imagine the journals are rather one sided,” Sarah said as she leaned forward. “And not likely to examine the real reason the village turned on Anne.”

  “And what reason was that?” Caid asked, before taking a swig from the glass.

  Sarah shifted her attention to him, her eyes bright. “Her gift. She had visions of the future, but the people of Culcraig were frightened. Especially when her predictions came true, so they killed her. That’s why she cursed the men who murdered her, and their families.”

  Caid snorted. “Cursed them?”

  “Aye, as they strung her up. Isnae that right, Hillary?”

  Hillary shrugged. “So the legend says. I imagine Anne was trying to use their fears against them in an attempt save her life.”

  “It was more than that. Within seven years, each man’s family suffered a tragedy.”

  “I wouldn’t put much stock in that. Seven years is a fairly large expanse of time, and everyone experiences ups and downs in life. Because these men contributed to a woman’s murder, anytime something went wrong they probably automatically attributed the event to Anne and their--”

  Hillary stiffened next to him. Caid looked up as a lean man, perfectly bald, with an unkempt goatee wrapping around his thin lips, approached. A tiny, silver skull and crossbones dangled from his ear. Caid had seen the man before, but couldn’t for the life of him remember his name.

  “Willie,” Sarah supplied as the man reached their table.

  “I thought you and I had an understanding,” he said to Hillary, ignoring Sarah and Caid. Willie’s tone was low and menacing, and Caid wanted to reach over and shove the little prick away.

  “Did we?” Hillary said, her voice quiet.

  “Aye. So what are you doing here, then?”

  “For the love of God, Willie, you’ve no’ banned Hillary from the pub, have you?” Sarah asked, rolling her eyes.

  “Banned her from Culcraig.”

  “You must be mad. For what reason could you possibly have to do that?”

  “I want no liars in my place,” Willie bit out.

  Sarah laughed. “You are mad.”

  Willie turned his rancorous stare on her. “I’m mad, am I? You should talk, Sarah Miller. Are you here caring for your poor, ill gran, or is she caring for you?”

  Sarah’s eyes narrowed, her mouth curving into a hard, humorless smile.

  “Fine, Willie, you win. We’re going.” Hillary stood and drew his attention back to her. As she slid from the booth, Willie refused to step back, his chest nearly brushing hers.

  A sort of primal rage filled Caid. He stood quickly and put himself between Hillary and Willie, wanting to drag the miserable man outside and pound on his bald head. He hadn’t been in a fight in years, but he wouldn’t have forgotten how. Just like riding a bike.

  “Think again.” Willie nodded to the bar where three local louts watched with interest.

  Four to one. Well, he’d had worse odds before, granted he’d been nearly blind drunk at the time and currently had no recollection of how it all turned out. Odds were, he was about to have the piss beat out of him.

  Hillary gripped his arm, her fingertips burrowing into the flesh. “Let’s just go.”

  “I couldnae agree more,” Sarah said, glaring at Willie.

  As they turned to leave, Willie shoved his shoulder. Caid whipped around, his hand closing into a tight fist.

  “She stays with you,” Willie
said.

  Caid held the man’s gaze, but didn’t answer.

  “Get rid of her. Otherwise, you never know what could happen.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You’ve had a run in with him before,” Caid said.

  “Awhile ago.” Hillary slunk down further in the passenger seat. At least he’d waited until they’d dropped Sarah at her cottage before starting his interrogation. Thank God for the dark. He couldn’t see the embarrassment staining her cheeks.

  “Why didnae you say anything?”

  For a moment Michael’s voice, thick with accusation, filled her head. If you didn’t do anything, why didn’t you say something before now?

  She swallowed hard before speaking.

  “I didn’t think he’d do anything if I was with people. When I had lunch with Bristol, Willie didn’t say a word until Bristol left the table.”

  “But Willie might have done something had you been alone?” Caid’s voice sounded tight, but the same darkness that kept her expression hidden did the same for him.

  “I doubt he’d do more than toss me out of the bar.”

  “Is that women’s intuition speaking? Tell me, has it occurred to you that it’s Willie breaking into Glendon House?”

  “You think the break-ins are my fault?” Her pulse thudded in her ears and an icy sweat coated her skin.

  “I’m no’ trying to assign blame, but had you mentioned yer run in with Willie sooner we may have had someone for Bristol to investigate. Beyond that, you were alone in the house when our intruder came calling. What if his disappearing poker wasnae getting the results he wanted? What if he decided to escalate the threat?”

  “You don’t know that it’s Willie breaking in. And if the poker is a threat, how do you know the threat is directed at me?”

  “I dinnae, but at least it gives us something concrete to go on.”

  “Concrete? He doesn’t approve of the work I’m doing and told me I couldn’t drink in his pub. That’s a long way from breaking and entering.” But the man had also had a run in with Agnes days before she died. Coincidence? It had to be. Agnes’s death was accidental. Bristlol said so. If she shared her concerns about Willie with Bristol, the Inspector would likely offer the same sympathetic smile he’d given her when she found Agnes’s body, and a pat on the head. What with all she’d been through, after all.

  “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 ha
ve 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.”