by Lynn Kurland
“Lunch. I didn’t dare go back out.”
He winced. “That’s my fault. We’ll find something on our way.”
She looked at him gravely. “Did I hurt you?”
“With that wee chair?” he asked easily. “Never.”
“I’m glad I missed,” she said. “That’s a Sussex armchair. A reproduction, but still pricey to replace.”
“Bloody hell, woman, furniture?” he asked in mock horror. “Trying to annoy the parents?”
“How did you know?”
“I had parents, as well,” he said dryly. He held up his hand when he heard Oliver click in.
“Rufus is downstairs waiting for you. He’ll ferry you to your car, then come pick me up.”
“Right.” Derrick stood up and took Samantha’s suitcase. At least Emily’d had the good sense to buy her something with wheels that was fairly small. “Let’s go whilst we can,” he said to Samantha. “Our ride is downstairs. Peter?”
“Cameras still off. Empty hallway footage on a loop.”
“Thank you.” Derrick looked at Samantha. “The cameras will be off until we make the stairwell. You’ll have to pretend to help me from there.” He paused. “Are you okay?”
She nodded quickly. “Fine.”
“Then let’s go.” He locked the window, righted the chair, then picked up her suitcase and opened the door for her. He had to admit, though, that he went out into the hallway first. Chivalry had to take a backseat to safety now and again. He paused at the top of the steps. “Pete?”
“Camera on,” Peter said. “You’re live.”
Derrick made it down the stairs, barely, fairly sure he would owe Samantha a day at a spa in return for her services, then waited as someone hurried over and took her suitcase for her. He listened to her invent a remarkably believable tale based on their predetermined story, then found himself helped on both sides as he staggered out to the waiting car.
Which was, as it happened, something that looked as if it stood to fall apart any moment.
He piled into the back with Samantha and kept his hands over his face until they pulled away.
“All clear,” Peter said in his ear. “Nice performance. That’s a wrap for me. Cheers, lads.”
Derrick scowled at Rufus. “Is that the best you could do?”
“You don’t think I want my car on security camera, do you?” Rufus said, in mock surprise. He looked in the rearview mirror. “Good evening, Miss Drummond. All safe now.”
“Thank you,” Samantha said faintly.
“Have your keys, Derrick?”
“Aye, just drop us where you can. I’m assuming Oliver parked somewhere discreet.”
Oliver’s snort in his ear was rather too loud, no doubt on purpose. “Rufus, don’t you leave us here, damn you. I’m not walking back to London. Is that where you want us, Derrick?”
Derrick considered. “I’m wondering what you might discover if you shadowed this pair we’re leaving behind for a bit.”
“I’ll keep you apprised, shall I?”
“Please.”
“Safe home,” Oliver said. “Cheers.”
Derrick pulled his earpiece out, untaped his microphone, then tucked both into a jacket pocket. He sighed, then looked at Samantha. She was studying him carefully.
“Standard fare,” he said with a weary smile.
“Interesting fare.”
She didn’t know the half of it, but he wasn’t about to enlighten her. Rufus dropped him off at his car without fuss. He got his gear and Samantha’s stowed, then opened the door for her.
“Is this yours?” she asked in astonishment.
He shrugged. “It’s just a car.”
“It’s an Aston Martin Vanquish,” she said reverently. “It’s not just a car.”
He smiled. “And I think you just earned yourself a turn at the wheel at some point in the future.”
She put her hand on the roof. “Is this Lord Robert’s?”
“Does it matter?”
“No, but I want to know whose seats I might potentially spill something on.”
“Do you think I’m actually going to let either of us eat in this thing?” he said with mock sternness.
“It’s his.”
“It’s mine,” Derrick said, not actually meaning to divulge that, but finding that he still had some pride to defend.
“I thought as much,” she said smugly.
He felt his mouth fall open, then he looked at her narrowly. “You’re cannier than I gave you credit for being.”
“Thanks for the rescue. This is much better than being driven off in a pumpkin.”
And with that, she helped herself to his fine leather seats and pulled the door shut from under his hand. He sighed, then walked around the car and opened his own door. He slid in under the wheel, then wondered what Oliver had done to deface his pride and joy. He jerked the Tahitian Love Nest palm-tree-shaped air freshener off his rearview mirror, tossed it out the door with a curse, then shut the door and turned the car on.
He couldn’t help it. He sighed happily.
So did Samantha.
He looked at her. “I thought your interests were limited to textiles.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “Issues of Road and Track were always hidden cunningly under stacks of Textile History. I had to pay for it with a money order and hit the mail first to protect my anonymity, but my parents were clueless.”
“I had no idea how devious you were.”
“Drive on, Roster, and I’ll tell you more. That near brush with death has made me feel very chatty.”
He smiled, then looked at her before he put his car in gear. “You did well.”
She didn’t laugh so much as make a sound of uneasiness that she was apparently trying to pass off as humor. “I thought I was going to die.”
“It’s my fault. I should have been more careful.”
“Of course it’s not your fault. How would you have known? And what could you have known? Those guys were just barking up the wrong tree.”
He wasn’t at all sure they were, but that was the part of the puzzle he just couldn’t quite figure out. He checked his surroundings one last time for anything untoward, then got out onto the road.
“We’ll know more tomorrow,” he said slowly. “Rufus and the lads will do their bit.”
“Who are you guys?”
“It’s complicated.”
“But you’re the good guys.”
That was a statement, not a question, which he appreciated. He smiled briefly, then concentrated on the road.
“One could hope. And now that we have an endless drive in front of us tonight, put on your chatty self and tell me what you sketched today and where you went.”
“It was more of a journey of self-discovery,” she admitted. “Because I don’t like being alone.”
And neither, he realized, did he. He reached over, took her hand, squeezed it gently, then forced himself to concentrate on where he was going.
Because if he wrapped his bloody car around a tree because he’d been fussing over a woman, Oliver would never let him live it down.
Chapter 19
Samantha looked at the clock on the dash and realized she’d been asleep for well over three hours. She had managed to talk until about three, but that had been it for her. She looked to her right to see how Derrick was doing. He looked tired, but coherent.
“Do you ever sleep?”
He smiled but didn’t look at her. “I was planning on a very long nap later this morning. How was yours?”
“Not long enough. Where are we going?”
He glanced at her then. “You’re fairly trusting, aren’t you? To hop in a car with a strange man and allow him to drive you who knows where?”
“Lord Epworth trusts you, you rescued me from a thug earlier in the evening and other various thugs earlier in the week, and you drive a Vanquish. How bad can you possibly be?”
“And I let you drink tea in my car.”
&
nbsp; “See? You’re a prince.”
He only smiled and concentrated on the road.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. I’ve tried to time it properly, but I don’t know how successful I’ve been.” He shook his head. “I’m more tired than I should be.”
She understood, and she’d been the one sleeping all the way to Scotland. She took the opportunity to sit in absolute luxury and put off thinking for a bit longer. She didn’t want to think about the night before. She didn’t want to know why Derrick and his friends acted more like superspies than treasure hunters—well, she actually wanted to know that very badly, but she could wait for that as well. She just wanted to feel safe for a bit longer until she couldn’t ignore reality anymore.
They drove through a village at dawn. It was a charming place that looked as if it had been frozen in time during some happy, prosperous period where everything was good.
Derrick continued on through the village, then turned after a bit onto a long, well-maintained gravel road that wound through forests and fields. The trees were full of shadows and mists and things that were gloriously mysterious and portentous. She had no trouble believing that a medieval peasant would have been terrified to find out what lurked in those forests.
“Close your eyes.”
She did, mostly because she had the feeling it would be worth the effort.
“All right.”
She opened her eyes, then gasped. There on a rise sat a medieval castle. Well, perhaps there were a few additions here and there, but on the whole, it looked as if it had been ripped out of the thirteenth century and plunked down in the twenty-first. She looked at Derrick.
“We didn’t hit one of those mushroom rings, did we?”
“Nay, it’s just Cameron Hall, home to the Camerons for centuries.” He looked at her. “Not a bad pile of rocks, is it?”
“It’s stunning. Is it Lord Robert’s?”
“Aye. He’s very attached to it. Centuries of Cameron pride and all that.”
“And how are you related, and all that?”
He laughed a little. “My grandfather and old Alistair Cameron—he was Lord Robert’s, ah, well, his, um—”
She listened to him stumble over his genealogy and found that very odd. “You must be very tired.”
“Hmmm,” he agreed. “Anyway, Cameron has the title now and my grandfather was the second son, so there you have it. And with every child Cameron and Sunny spawn, I’m more and more comfortable about my distance from the title and responsibility.”
“Really?” she asked. “You don’t want to be laird?”
“No desire at all.”
“Why not?”
“I’d have to wear a suit and tie more than once a year at a funeral.”
She smiled. “Considering I’m not sure I’ll ever wear another pair of pantyhose, I think I might understand.” She looked at the castle and felt herself grow increasingly nervous. “Will they let us in?”
“Might even give us breakfast if we promise to wash up.”
She looked at him quickly but saw that he was teasing. “You could have left me at a hotel, you know. I haven’t really been invited—”
“You’re my guest,” he said simply. “Don’t fash yourself over it, Samantha. There are plenty of guest rooms so you won’t have to sleep on the floor. The only thing that would make your stay more pleasant was if Cameron and Sunny were here. They’re marvelous hosts and don’t stand on ceremony. I’m not sure Cameron even knows where his shoes are once he’s past the front door. I know Sunny doesn’t.”
She had no choice but to believe him, so she decided for once to do just that. She’d spent her life trying to decipher the subtext beneath what her parents were saying. Maybe it was time to just take someone at his word.
He put his car in a garage and the world didn’t end, then fetched all their gear and tsk-tsked her when she tried to take her suitcase. She gave in and let him ply his chivalry on her.
She walked with him around the corner of the keep and waited until he’d gotten his key near the front door. It opened before he could manage to get it into the lock and a petite woman who looked like an older version of Emily stood there.
“Ah, Derrick, mon cher,” she said, leaning up to kiss both his cheeks, “Oliver called to let me know you were coming, but I expected you much sooner than this.”
“I thought the keep was best seen by sunrise, so we dawdled.” He stepped aside. “Madame Gies, this is Samantha Drummond. Samantha, Madame Gies. She’s Emily’s grandmother.”
“Ah, you know my sweet Emily?” Madame Gies said, reaching out and drawing Samantha inside. “And you look weary, poor lamb.” She looked at Derrick. “Food or sleep, pet?”
“Sleep first, if you don’t mind.”
“Very sensible,” she said, “for I imagine you’ve been driving all night. Come along then, children, and let me see you settled.”
Samantha had the impression of an enormous great hall with a fireplace befitting that hall, stone floors, comfortable but very lovely furniture, and then a long staircase that she climbed only because she knew there was the hope of a bed at the top. She soon stood in the middle of a bedroom that looked as if it had been furnished in the Middle Ages and simply blinked stupidly as Derrick brought in her suitcase and set it down on the bench at the foot of the bed. It had curtains that could have been drawn, though she imagined she wouldn’t get that far.
“Loo over there, love,” Madame Gies said, “and water and juice on the dresser there. Derrick, your room is as it always is. Cleaner than you left it, if I might say so.”
Samantha watched him kiss Emily’s grandmother on the cheek. “You indulge me too much.”
“I’m going to start throwing out clothes if you don’t learn to pick them up off the floor.” Madame Gies looked at Samantha and smiled. “I’m not serious. He’s very tidy.”
Samantha wanted to tell her that she wasn’t sure Derrick really cared what opinion she had of him, but the woman left before she could. She looked at Derrick, though it took her a moment or two to focus on him. He was yawning uncontrollably, so perhaps he hadn’t noticed. He finally shook his head sharply, then walked over to her and pulled her into his arms as if he’d been doing it without thinking for . . . well, forever.
He kissed the top of her head, then pulled away and put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re safe here.”
“Thank you,” she managed.
“I’ll see you for lunch. Hopefully.”
She nodded and watched him go, pulling the door shut behind him.
She considered, then locked the door.
It had been that kind of week so far.
• • •
It was after noon before she’d managed to get herself up, into the shower, and dressed. She dried her hair, braided it, and took her courage in hand to venture out of the guest room. She walked down the stairs, then paused at the bottom of them because she wasn’t quite sure what to do next.
A man leapt up from one of the couches set there in front of the fire and walked over to her, smiling broadly.
“Ewan Cameron,” he said, holding out his hand toward her. “Cousin to the laird, but unfortunately too far from the title for that to matter. You’re Samantha.”
“Well, yes, I am,” Samantha managed.
“I don’t know anything about you, but I’m sure we can remedy that—”
“When hell freezes over,” a voice said from the vicinity of the doorway.
Samantha looked over to find it was Derrick who had come inside and banged the door shut behind himself.
“Good hell, Ewan, give it a rest, would you? The poor girl’s been traumatized enough already.”
“Aye, obviously by your sour self.” Ewan wrinkled his nose. “Go shower. Samantha and I will spend the time getting to know each other.”
Samantha frowned at Derrick. “What happened to you?”
“Went for a run,” he said, looking as if he’d
done just that. “Clears my head.”
“And fouls the air around you,” Ewan said.
Samantha looked at Ewan. “Do you run?”
“Very slowly and only when chased,” he said with a wink. “I’ll tell you all about it while my cousin goes and grooms. It won’t take him long. We can only hope he does more than just brush his teeth.”
“Shut up, Ewan.”
Ewan suggested something quite a bit viler for Derrick to do. Samantha felt her mouth fall open, but Ewan only reached for her hand.
“Take your time, cousin,” Ewan said, tugging her along with him toward the fireplace. “Sam and I will be getting to know each other better.”
“Don’t call her that.”
Samantha glanced at Ewan, then turned with him to study Derrick, who looked suddenly very uncomfortable.
“Well,” he said, “you might not like it.”
“Perhaps not coming from you,” Ewan said, “but from someone she’s fond of? We’ll be examining that—”
“Ewan, will you just shut up?” Derrick asked wearily. “Samantha, please feel free to find a chair and break it over his head. You’ll do us all a very great favor. I’ll be right back down.”
Samantha watched him trot up the stairs, then looked at his cousin.
“Is that standard fare?”
Ewan laughed a little and offered her his arm. “Let’s go sit by the fire. Castles are cold, even in the summer. And yes, that’s standard fare. Derrick takes himself too seriously. I feel it’s incumbent upon me to help him stop that.”
“I don’t know him well enough to know,” Samantha murmured. “He seems driven.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Ewan offered her the seat closest to the fire, then sat down with her. “I’m not as obnoxious as I seem. Just trying to do my part for the betterment of the species.”
Fortunately for him, he didn’t have as much time for betterment as he no doubt wanted and fortunately for her, Derrick arrived in jeans and a T-shirt, not shorts and his shirt flipped over his shoulder.
Dory Mollineux, his V-neck sweaters, and his Top-Siders would have all wept with envy.
“Let’s talk over lunch,” Derrick said. “I’m starving and I’m sure you are as well.”