Elliott groaned as blood tricked down his neck, his handsome face ashen.
“Oh, God.” She didn’t know whether to stop or go on. The sun disappeared behind the clouds, and the day turned gray and gloomy. A blistery wind blew in her face, making her blink. The knit cap inched up the side of her head, exposing her ears to the cold. The fur coat fell open. The knitted thick, wool, sweater she wore should have kept her warm. It didn’t. Her toes were frozen. Her fingers, almost. She, too, shivered.
Go. Don’t stop.
When she spotted the barn’s roof, relief welled up inside. She didn’t slow the horses but went barreling onto the grounds at a fast trot.
“Whoa.” The horses stopped in front of the barn, kicking up snow that found its way into the back of the sleigh. Meredith brushed flakes off Elliott.
The groom stuck his head out the door.
Panting hard, she asked, “Where’s David?”
“In here, ma’am.”
“Dr. Fraser needs help. Now.”
David rushed out, throwing on his coat as he ran. If looks could box someone’s ears, then she now had cauliflower stuck on each side of her head. He hopped onto the sleigh’s runners and yanked the reins from Meredith’s hands. He drove the sleigh down a long drive lined by the ancient trees to the front door of the immaculately restored Fraser House. A misnomer for sure.
David unbundled Elliott, hissing when he saw blood. He then grabbed a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and pressed it against the cut on the back of Elliott’s head.
Elliott’s teeth chattered. “Leave me alone.”
“I should leave ye’ right here.” But David didn’t. Instead, he wrapped Elliott’s arm around his muscled neck. “We’ll take this slow.” Then, with David supporting most of Elliott’s weight, the men entered the house through the front door.
“What can I do?” Meredith asked, struggling to keep panic at bay.
“The library is the second room on the right. Should be warm enough. Wait there. I’ll take Dr. Fraser to his room.”
“But—”
“Wait,” David said again in a no nonsense voice.
“Can I call the doctor?” Meredith asked.
David didn’t answer.
What the hell is going on here? Meredith started to follow. David said to wait. She didn’t want to wait. She wanted to stay with Elliott, but she wasn’t wanted or needed. Well, David didn’t need her, but what about Elliott? She pulled off her cap and tossed it in the chair. This didn’t feel right. Why? The answer eluded her. The fire in the well-apportioned library drew her in. Any other time she would have explored, touched the fabrics, examined the art work. Right now she didn’t care if there were first edition books on the shelves or not. She stood close to the flame and warmed her hands. Then memories of her father’s heart attack swamped her. The paramedics had shoved her out of the way, just as David had done.
Panic claimed a firm grip on her, and she paced the room. What if something happens to Elliott and I never talk to him again? To hell with David’s request.
She hurried out into the hallway. A center-sweep of stairs opened to a second floor balcony. Behind the stairs on the lower level, the room branched off in three directions. Which way did they go? She gulped. Why didn’t I pay attention?
She dropped into the nearest chair and put her head in her hands. This is my fault. I should have refused to go. I shouldn’t have driven the sleigh. I should have . . . what? She sat up straight. I should have stayed home. I have no business here. I’m juggling sticks of dynamite while holding a lighted match between my teeth. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. I’ve got to get out of here.
She dug into her purse for the limo driver’s business card. It would be best if she could get a ride back to Edinburgh and let David take care of Elliott.
“You must be Meredith,” said a woman with a heavy brogue.
Meredith jumped to her feet, looking around for the body that went with the voice. “Yes, I am.”
“Heard a wee bit ‘bout ye’. I’m Alice.”
Chapter Nineteen
Fraser House on Christmas Day
A PETITE, HEAVYSET WOMAN, holding a stack of linens, stood at the first landing of a divided grand staircase with intricately carved detail on the spindles and newel post. A gold and royal blue runner ran down the center of the stairs.
“Did Dr. Fraser go to his room?” she asked.
“Yes,” Meredith said, “but I’m lost. I don’t know where his room is.”
“He shouldn’t have been out in the cold. He was jostled around for hours in that sleigh. Was it yer idea?”
Meredith bristled. “He had it all arranged. I didn’t know . . .” She stopped. Explaining to the housekeeper was unnecessary. And besides, she already knew she should have discouraged him.
“Can’t stop him. He’ll do what he sets his mind on even if it’s no good for him.” The woman reached the bottom step and readjusted the load she carried in her arms. “How about a cup of tea?”
“I thought it would be best if I left.”
“You plan to walk back to the city, do ye’?”
Meredith shook her head. “I was going to call for a ride.”
“Nobody will come out here to get ye’ today. Best thing now is to take ye’ coat off and have a cup of tea. Dr. Fraser will want to see ye’ after he’s tended to. Call me Alice.”
Alice wasn’t snarky, just abrupt and opinionated. She and Louise must get along well. Thankfully, she had talked Meredith off the running-away-ledge.
She followed Alice’s tiny footsteps down a long hallway then through a maze of cold, but extraordinarily large rooms furnished with sixteenth and seventeenth century furniture and original paintings by eighteenth century artists. Her junior year in college studying art in Paris occasionally came in handy.
The twists and turns disoriented Meredith, making a return trip to the foyer impossible. She was stuck until Elliott decided to ask for her. If he never did, Meredith assumed she’d stay lost in the castle until the end of time. If she had a floor plan, it would be a fantastic place to spend the rest of her life. And it would take a lifetime to explore all the rooms.
“Watch yer step,” Alice said when they reached the kitchen, which Meredith was convinced was located in another county. They had walked at least the length of a football field. “Stand over there next to the fireplace. Warm up a wee bit.”
Meredith made her way to the fireplace, stood with her back to the fire warming her hands, taking in all there was to see. Workers had dug a two-foot wide trench through the wide-planked wood floor from the interior wall to the exterior wall on the opposite side of a room. The kitchen appeared large enough to support a five-star restaurant. The appliances were all industrial-sized stainless steel.
Alice filled a teapot with water from a jug, set it on the stove, and turned up the gas flame. “Dr. Fraser wanted you to visit the wine cellar. It’s through that door,” she said, pointing to the far corner of the room, “and down the stairs. Tea will be ready in a few minutes.”
“I’d rather check on Elliott.”
“David’s probably on the phone with Kevin. They’ll patch Dr. Fraser up. You can see him in a wee bit. Now go on to the wine cellar.”
“Who’s Kevin?”
“Ye haven’t met the lad?”
“No, but I’ve heard his name mentioned.”
“He’s Dr. Fraser’s assistant. Been with him now four years, I reckon.”
An assistant and a chauffeur are tending to Elliott? Something didn’t sound quite right.
“Don’t you think he needs a doctor?”
“Those two lads know what they’re doing.”
Pictures of emergency rooms and intensive care cubicles played in a loop in Meredith’s mind. The lads know what they’re doing. She found that hard to believe. Elliott needed to be in the hospital. Period. If there wasn’t any improvement when she saw him, and she doubted there would be, she’d insist he call his doctor or, damn it, she wou
ld. She shook her head, exasperated with herself for allowing him to take her on a sleigh ride.
Since all she was doing was waiting on water to boil, she decided to check out his collection. A heavy oak door opened on well-oiled hinges, and she descended into a big, cold cellar—a perfect place for long-term ageing. An oak scent permeated the air. Probably old barrels cut up for racking.
When she reached the bottom step, she stopped, flash-frozen to the spot. Was her heart even beating? Row upon row of five-foot tall shelves lined each side of a wide middle aisle. She flipped a light switch and another whole section opened up. If her sense of direction was accurate, the back part of the cellar lay beneath the raised courtyard.
Dust danced with her breath. There was no sound except her shallow breathing and her heartbeat, which began to thump loudly in her chest again.
In disbelief, she stepped over to the first row of shelves and began a slow walk down an aisle stocked with dozens, no, hundreds of bottles of wine. The light feeling in her chest was one she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Well, maybe she’d gotten close to the feeling while kissing Elliott in the sleigh. Close? She waived her hand refusing to argue with her internal editor. She pushed thoughts of kissing Elliott aside, amazed once again at the magnitude of a collection that belonged to a man who didn’t drink wine.
While lingering for long minutes, intoxicating aromas and tastes jumbled and exploded in her mind. She read labels and calculated market prices. The shelves held wines from Burgundy, Bordeaux, Alsace in France; Tuscany and Piedmont in Italy; Ribera del Duero, Penedas, and Priorat in Spain; the Duero region and the island of Madeira in Portugal. From the United States, she found Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlots from Washington State, Pinot Noir from Oregon, and Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc from California. Her wines were there, too, although not as dusty as the others.
For a private residence, the collection was astounding. She turned down another row, finding two of the greatest d’Yquem—an 1811 and an 1847. Close by was a 1900 Margaux. Down the next row, she found a 1928 and a 1929 Mouton Rothschild. “Unbelievable.” Surprise after surprise. A vintner’s dream collection. Suddenly, she gasped and pressed her dusty fingers against her mouth. “I’ll be damned.”
On a shelf against the wall were two magnums of the 1870 Lafite. Giggling, she reached for a bottle but withdrew her hands. Reached again, but withdrew them once more. Then did it again and again, giggling each time. Finally, she got herself under control, picked up the legendary wine, and blew dust off a mint-condition label.
A towel hung on a hook above the shelf. Her hand shook as she used the rag to wipe the bottle clean. The red wax seal hadn’t been broken. “Original cork. Extraordinary condition.”
If Elliott decided to sell the wine, what price would Christie’s put on a collection that held wines spanning more than two-hundred years?
Meredith’s dad would have loved visiting this cellar. A stab of sorrow cut a jagged line through her heart. She could see him now. Face beaming, voice growing hoarse from shouting about the robust red wines to anyone who would listen. With a catch in her throat, she said to him, “I’ll enjoy this for you, Daddy.”
A hot tear dropped on the bottle as she placed it back into its niche. Then, wiping away another, she turned toward the stairs for a final look.
“I’d love to see the cellar book,” she said to no one other than herself.
“It’s all on computer now.”
Meredith squealed, and her hand flew to her chest at the sound of David’s voice raining down from the top of the stairs. Stammering she said, “You scared me.”
“Sorry,” he said, approaching the bottom step. “Dr. Fraser would like to see you.”
She reached for the railing, taking deep breaths to calm her racing heart. “How is he?”
“Better.”
That doesn’t tell me much. “Did you call the doctor?”
“No need.”
That’s highly unlikely. “Which way to his room?”
“Down the hall, last door on the right.” She hoped there were signs or breadcrumbs, because she seriously doubted the room was just down the hall.
She started up the stairs then stopped. “Do you know how many bottles are in the collection?”
“About twenty-five thousand.”
Her hand squeezed the railing, turning her knuckles white. “Twenty-five . . .”
“Thousand,” David said with a chuckle.
“It’s got to be worth at least fifteen million dollars or more.”
David turned out the lights, set the alarm. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
“No, I guess you wouldn’t.” She rushed up the steps and bounded into the kitchen. Alice stood at the counter setting a tray with tea, cups, and sandwiches. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time,” Meredith said.
Alice narrowed her eyes. “Been down there awhile. Don’t know what’s so interesting about a bunch of old bottles.”
“David said Elliott was asking for me.”
“Reckon so. Go on now. David will bring the tea. Go down the hall to the end. You’ll find him.”
Meredith doubted it, but she skedaddled out of the kitchen and jogged down the long hallway. She passed the foyer and laughed. Alice really had taken her on a round-about.
Meredith found Elliott’s bedroom door partially opened. Tiptoeing, she entered the room. A chill took root at the base of her spine as deep, intense color swirled around her. Walnut and mahogany chests of drawers, tables, and ornate oak chairs lined the walls, pervading the air with scents of ancient wood and layers of polish. Her fingers glided across the spines of leather bound volumes of Sir Walter Scott, Edwin Muir, and Robert Burns, gathering dust in elaborately built bookcases.
Waning rays of light drew her to a tall window bracketed with heavy velvet drapes. She pushed aside a swathe of fabric with the back of her hand to take in the view of the terrace and the ice-crystal blue Loch Ness. The hills beyond looked like steps climbing to the sky, their snow-capped peaks pink with the glow of early sunset.
The master suite’s collective aura swept her back hundreds of years to when Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Jacobites fought for Scotland and the return of the Stuarts to the throne. She found herself listening for the long-forgotten, riotous voices of brave Highland lads who had once gathered there.
An amused chuckle floated across the room. She turned toward the sound, toward Elliott, He was reclining on a hand-carved, four-poster canopy bed, draped in swags of burgundy velvet. “This is the only part of the house that didn’t catch on fire. Legend says the soldiers ran in here to get away from the flames. Ye’ feel their souls, don’t you?”
“Yes.” She let the curtain fall. “I’m glad to know it’s not just me.”
He patted the mattress beside him. “Come here.”
“I don’t want to jostle you.”
“This is a Tempur-Pedic. You can jump on one side, and I wouldn’t feel it.”
David walked into the room carrying the tea service.
“Just leave it on the table,” Elliott said.
David nodded and left the room.
“Can I pour you a cup of tea, or do you want a sandwich?” Meredith asked.
“No, but help yourself.”
“Maybe later.” She removed her boots and crawled across the giant bed. “How’s the pain?”
Long, thick lashes rimmed his lowered eyelids. “Better.”
“What’s in the IV?”
“Antibiotic and fluids. I got a wee bit dehydrated.”
“Don’t you need a doctor?”
“David was a medic—”
“But—”
“He’s trained. Don’t worry.”
The first time she’d met the driver he had exhibited almost panther-like agility, appearing and disappearing at Elliott’s slightest nod. A man of many talents and someone Elliott obviously trusted. Driver, medic, what else?
She stretched out beside Elliott and rose up on he
r elbow. “I met Alice.”
He stroked the side of her face with fingertips that twitched slightly. “David likes you. That means Alice does, too. He’s her wee boy. But the ol’ gal’s got a rough exterior.”
“She’s very protective like everyone else around you. Why is that?”
He shrugged, and for an instant his expression held an imprint of some deep sadness. Then it disappeared, and his grin returned. “Did you go to the wine cellar?”
She kissed the tip of his nose. “You can’t fool me about your wine knowledge. Not after seeing your collection.”
Elliott wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. “The wine belonged to my da. I rarely go below. Was there a lot of dust?”
She pressed her cheek against his soft cashmere sweater. “Enough to make a man or two.” Snuggling even closer she said, “Supposedly, women love nestling into a man’s side because that’s where we came from originally. You know . . . a rib.”
The rumble of laughter in his chest tickled her cheek. “Close your eyes, my wee Eve, and catch up on a bit of rest. Then we’ll eat from the garden.”
“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but the garden is covered with snow.”
“Aye, but what was once there is now pickled and canned and frozen.” He cupped the back of her head, entangling his fingers in her hair. “Shh. Sleep.”
If he thought she could sleep nestled against him, he had more than saline in his IV.
Chapter Twenty
Christmas Dinner at Fraser House
MEREDITH AWOKE BUNDLED in a down comforter, sensing that she was alone in the room. She blinked, confused, but oh so toasty warm. “Don’t make me move,” she groaned. Jet lag, late nights, and a couple of hard runs had done her in, and she didn’t want to budge.
The Last MacKlenna Page 12