My Scottish Summer

by Connie Brockway

  He was interested, all right. He gestured toward the large burgundy leather chair beside Ann. “Have a seat, Dr. Fitzpatrick. And show me the reason you think you can find the Matheson jewels.”

  Ann hesitated a moment before taking a seat on the edge of the chair. He noticed a fine trembling in her hands as she pulled a slim brown leather book from the briefcase. She then removed another book, this one covered in dark burgundy leather, photocopies of letters covered with a bold script, and a green velvet pouch. She opened the brown leather book and placed one of the photocopies beside it. “If you compare the journal to the letters that Adair wrote, it is obvious they were both written by the same hand.”

  Iain rested his hand on the desk and leaned forward to look at the journal and the letter she had laid beside it. When he drew near Ann, a delicate floral scent swirled through his senses, tempting him to press his lips against her soft hair. Since he knew where that would get him, he forced his attention back to the handwriting of Adair Matheson. “It could be his.”

  Ann glanced up at him, a determined look in her eyes. “It is his.”

  “After all of this time.” Iain lifted the journal, a sense of wonder streaming through him. His life at Dunmarin had given him a strong appreciation of the past and of those who had come before him. He carefully turned the thick pages, glancing at the words written by one of his ancestors nearly two hundred years ago, accepting a possibility he had not considered since he was a lad. “You say he left clues to finding the jewels.”

  “I found four of them scattered throughout the book.” She pulled a small black leather notebook from the brief-case and flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for. She handed the notebook to Iain. “I listed them here.”

  Iain glanced down at the page, where four lines had been written in a precise script. “With the Sentinel of the Selkies you will take your first step. In the bosom of the Sentinel, find the lion who greets each day. In the jaws of the lion you will find the key. Seek the selkie’s secret behind its stony face.”

  “The first thing we have to do is find the Sentinel of the Selkies.” Ann pushed her glasses on top of her head, sweeping her hair back from her brow. “Do you have any idea where to start?”

  “I think we should start with dinner, tonight. There is a pub in the village that has wonderful food, music, and dancing. Have you ever danced a Scottish reel?”

  5

  A nn stared at him, appalled at the swift flood of excitement rushing through her. She glanced down at the journal, hiding the expression in her eyes, afraid he might see too much. Yet she could feel the heat tingling her cheeks. Confound it, she really had to learn to control her blush. “I take my work seriously.”

  “I can see that you do. But I have to say in all honesty, even with the journal and these clues, finding the jewels will be next to impossible. Dunmarin has changed many times since Adair walked these grounds.”

  Her stomach clenched at that very real possibility. She had nine weeks before she had to be back home. Nine weeks to chase a dream that had haunted her all of her life. She was not about to give up without giving it her all. She certainly would not allow a charming rogue to distract her. “I have to find the jewels.”

  He leaned back, allowing her a small degree of space. Yet she suspected it would take the span of an ocean to help ease this horrible turmoil he ignited within her. The man was definitely the most dangerous man she had ever met. “My grandmother told me you are hoping to find the missing half of a Celtic cross with the jewels.”

  “Yes.” Ann removed half of an ancient cross from the green velvet bag. No matter how infuriating the man might be, she realized there was a better chance of finding the jewels with Iain’s help. He knew the castle. If she could convince him to concentrate on business, they just might be able to solve a mystery. “It is the missing half of this cross. My great-grandfather Owen believed it was hidden along with the Matheson jewels. You can see there are symbols carved into the back of it. Owen believed that when the pieces of the cross were joined, the symbols would form a map that would lead to the lost city of Edaín. Have you heard of it?”

  Iain studied her a moment, as though he were mildly amused by the question. “Edaín is a city in ancient myth believed to have been inhabited by the sidhe, or the Tuatha De Danann, the magical ruling class of the Celts. Through the years they have been called fairies, or sorcerers, or witches. Supposedly Edaín existed beneath Dunmarin.”

  She stared at him, wondering what other surprises the man held. “Apparently you do know a little about Celtic myths and legends.”

  “It is another thing we have in common, in case you didn’t notice.” He winked at her. “And you believe Edaín is more than a myth?”

  “I think it is possible. This was Owen’s last journal. I found it along with the journal of Adair Matheson and the cross in my grandmother’s attic.” She picked up the burgundy book, then glanced around the desk, searching for her glasses. She lifted the photocopies of the letters, then looked under the bag that had held the cross. “Where the devil are they?”

  “What are you looking for?”

  She glanced up at him. “My glasses.”

  “These glasses?” He leaned forward and slid the glasses from her head to her nose.

  “Thank you.” She pushed the wire rim against the bridge of her nose, embarrassed by how easily he could turn her brain to mush. She glanced through a few pages of the journal, checking her facts before she continued. “When he was a student at Oxford, my great-grandfather became fascinated by the work of Cameron Macleod, who was searching for Edaín in 1816. Owen believed Macleod found the city and etched the map to it on the back of this cross. He gave half of the cross to his cousin Adair Matheson to keep for him while he made a second journey to the city. Owen doesn’t say how he ended up with the other half of the cross.”

  “Macleod never returned from the expedition to reclaim the cross. It is believed to have been hidden along with the Matheson jewels by Adair when he took a notion that he would be robbed. Apparently Adair was a wee bit of an eccentric. Unfortunately he died without ever telling anyone his hiding place.”

  “You know about Macleod?”

  “It is part of the history of Dunmarin. And history has always been a passion of mine.”

  Ann stared at him, astonished by his knowledge. He leaned forward and tapped her chin. “Careful, professor, you’ll catch a fly if you keep your mouth open.”

  She snapped her mouth closed, heat flooding her cheeks. “I was just surprised to hear that you enjoy history.”

  “Growing up in a place such as Dunmarin provided a wonderful chance to experience history.”

  She directed her attention back to the journal, trying to focus her thoughts. “Like Cameron Macleod, my great-grandfather also never returned from an expedition to find the lost city of Edaín.”

  “And now you are looking for the city.”

  “Yes.” Ann tapped her fingertip against a page of the journal. “After all this time, we may actually find a way to prove that my great-grandfather Owen was very close to making a significant archaeological discovery.”

  “It is very important to you.”

  She glanced up at him, his features blurred by her reading lenses. “Edaín would be one of the most significant archaeological finds ever. Who knows what secrets would be revealed in that ancient city? Can you imagine what it would mean, finding a city that existed more than eight thousand years ago?”

  “Aye, I can.” He studied her a moment, as though she were glass and he could look straight through her. “Yet it isn’t truly the discovery of Edaín that drives you, is it? It’s your great-grandfather.”

  Ann glanced away from those perceptive eyes. “He never had a chance to prove his theories.”

  “Is that why you became an archaeologist? To finish what your great-grandfather had started?”

  “I suppose it…” She hesitated, uneasy with sharing a part of her pa
st. Yet she had a feeling he would probe until she had revealed everything about herself. “From the time I can remember, my grandma Evie would tell me stories about her father, Owen Grierson. He really had such fascinating theories and wonderful adventures. Unlike me, he actually practiced his profession in the field.”

  “And so you wanted to be like him?”

  “It always seemed to me as though he had so many dreams that had never been fulfilled. I suppose I wanted to find the answers to the questions he left behind. I want people to know he was a brilliant man, not some fool who went chasing after a moonbeam and got himself killed.”

  Iain groaned. “I am sorry if it sounded as though I took your work lightly. I truly do not. I simply believe there isn’t much chance in finding that cross.”

  “I have to try. In a way it feels as though all of my life I have been following a path that would lead me here.” An odd feeling gripped her. Although she could not explain why, she knew with the same certainty that the sun would rise that she spoke the truth. She had been destined to follow a path that would lead her to Dunmarin.

  “That is because we were destined to meet,” he said, his voice soft and so very compelling.

  Ann pushed her glasses to the top of her head to bring his face into focus. Since he could not truly believe such nonsense, she expected to see humor in his eyes. Yet the look in his eyes made her wish she had remained hidden behind the lenses. He was looking at her with such depth of feeling she completely forgot to breathe. He looked at her as though she were the only woman he had ever considered in terms of happily ever after. She tore her gaze from his, struggling to force her wits to function properly. She stared at her great-grandfather’s journal, ashamed of how easily Iain had swayed her from her course. “The first step is to find the Sentinel of the Selkies. Do you have any idea where it might be?”

  “Aye.” Iain stood and offered her his hand. “Come with me, lass. Let’s see if we can catch this moonbeam.”

  Ann stood without his assistance and faced him the way she might confront an annoying student. “I certainly would appreciate any assistance you may wish to give me. After all, if we find the jewels, your family will benefit.”

  “Aye, they will.”

  “I think we can work together, as long as it is clear our relationship is purely in the interest of science. I assure you I am completely prepared for any of your annoying attempts at seduction.”

  “Then you have nothing at all to worry about when you are in my company. You are immune to my dubious charm.”

  Oh, dear, she didn’t like the look in his eyes. She had the uncomfortable feeling she had just dropped a gauntlet at his feet. “Completely immune, I assure you,” she replied, raising her chin.

  “So if I should decide to try to seduce you, I would fail miserably.”

  “It is pointless to try.”

  He leaned toward her, so close his breath brushed her lips when he said, “Are you certain you aren’t a wee bit afraid of me and my terrible charm?”

  “Not at all.” She was terrified!

  He ran his hand down her arm. “And if I were to take you into my arms and kiss you again, you would just stand there like a sack of flour?”

  The heat of his palm penetrated her sweater, bathing her skin. “Completely unmoved,” she said, her voice sounding breathy to her own ears.

  Iain stepped back from her. “Then I can tell there is no sense in trying.”

  “None at all,” she said, astonished by the disappointment rushing through her.

  “At least not yet.” He cupped her cheek in his large hand. “One of the things I have learned is that anything worth having is worth fighting for.”

  She stood captive to his gaze, stunned by the look in his eyes. Promises dwelled deep in those eyes, promises that couldn’t possibly be true.

  “Let’s see what we can find, Professor. But first, let me show you the rest of the treasure that we are after.”

  Iain took her arm and ushered her toward the door. He led her through a maze of corridors and stairs until he reached a gallery in the south wing. He paused beneath a portrait of a woman sitting on a stone bench in a rose garden. The brass plate affixed to the ornately carved frame identified the woman as Lady Catherine, countess of Dunmarin.

  Her dark hair was piled upon her head in the Grecian style favored during the early Regency period. The pale green of her high-waisted gown emphasized the darker stones in the necklace adorning her slender neck, three strands of emeralds and diamonds interconnected by a lacy pattern of gold. The smallest stones looked to be at least a karat, the largest four times that size. Catherine held her hands overlapped upon her thigh, as though careful to display the matching bracelet upon her white-gloved wrist and a ring that boasted a huge square-cut emerald surrounded by diamonds.

  “Catherine was Adair’s wife. I cannot imagine what she thought of him when she realized he had died without telling her how to find her jewels.”

  Ann moistened her suddenly dry lips. Until now she hadn’t truly thought about the jewels as being anything but a companion to the cross. “Let’s hope we can find them.”

  Sheltered beneath a large golf umbrella Iain held, Ann walked beside him along a path that wound through the south gardens and the woods beyond. She soon regretted the fact they had taken only one umbrella. An unsettling warmth teased her skin each time his arm brushed hers. Although it was subtle, she could smell the tangy scent of his cologne, the scent tempting her to draw closer. After they had walked for nearly half an hour, she began to suspect he had something other than finding the Sentinel in mind. “You wouldn’t just be leading me on a wild-goose hunt, would you?”

  Iain lifted his brows, assuming a look of mock surprise. “How little faith you have in me, Professor.”

  “I suppose you think it’s romantic, wandering about the countryside, huddled under this big umbrella as though no one else existed in the world.”

  “Romantic?” A smile slid slowly along his lips. “And here I thought you didn’t believe in romance.”

  “I never said I didn’t believe in romance. I simply don’t believe in indulging in romance with a man who has made it a sporting event.”

  “Careful, Professor, your flattery will have my poor head in a spin.”

  She suppressed the smile that threatened her stern look. “Do you really have an idea of where to look, or is this just a lark?”

  “Be patient.”

  The woodland path led gradually upward. When they left the woods, they were on the brow of a hill overlooking the sea. A short distance away, perched near the edge of the cliffs, stood a small stone building that looked as though it had stood in this place for centuries.

  Iain led her to the oak door and smiled at her. “This is where I thought we might start our search.”

  Ann’s heart pounded with the possibilities hiding in this ancient building. “It looks like a tomb.”

  “It is a tomb.” Rusty hinges groaned as Iain pulled open the door, releasing the scent of dust into the rain. “Be careful, there are steps just inside the door.”

  Ann hesitated at the threshold, a shiver rippling through her when she noticed the large cobweb that covered one corner of the doorway. “You want to explore a tomb?”

  He grinned at her. “You aren’t afraid of ghosts, are you?”

  “No. But I’m not overly fond of crawly things.”

  “An archaeologist who is afraid of spiders?”

  “Not afraid, exactly. Cautious.” She walked past him, careful to avoid the cobweb, her head barely clearing the low doorway. Narrow windows just below the eaves cast a faint glow against the stone walls, illuminating a flight of stone steps leading down beneath the ground.

  After leaving the umbrella near the door, Iain joined her at the top of the stairs, bending to accommodate his height. He pulled a flashlight from the pocket of his jacket and directed the beam down the narrow stone stairway. “I haven’t been here in years.”

  “It l
ooks as though no one has.” Ann rubbed her arms, wondering what hid in the shadows. “What makes you think the Sentinel is here?”

  “Because of the legend.”

  She stared at him. “The legend?”

  “Aye.” Iain took her arm and started down the stairs. “In 1435, the Matheson laird was succeeded by his only child, a daughter named Eleanor. Although many tried to coax her into marriage, no one succeeded until one day a stranger came to Dunmarin. No one knew from whence he came. No one knew his name, except that he called himself Dugald. Eleanor fell deeply in love. They married within days of meeting, and he assumed the name Matheson.” When they reached the base of the stairs, Iain leaned toward her and lowered his voice as though he were divulging a secret. “It is said Dugald was not a mortal man, but a selkie who had left the sea to be with his one and only love.”

  Ann stared at him, trying to decide if he were teasing her. “And so one of your ancestors is actually a selkie?”

  “If you are to believe in the legend.” A smoldering scent of citrus and spices mingled with a scent that was his alone, the aroma enveloping her. “Do you know about the selkies?”

  “Yes. They are enchanted beings, akin to fairies. They live in the sea, wearing a second skin that makes them appear as seals, or sea lions, I’m not quite sure which one. When they choose, they can shed their skin and appear to be human.”

  “Upon each evening’s low tide, a selkie male will hide his sealskin near the shore and go in search of a beautiful woman, with seduction on his mind. Handsome in face and form, charming in his manner—no maiden is safe,” he said, his dark voice pouring over her. “One look in his eyes, and she will be his, body and soul.”

  Iain was the type of man who would consume a woman, body and soul. The type of man who would leave her grieving long after he had left her. “And after he has had his fill of the poor lass, he dons his sealskin and swims out to sea, leaving her heart broken.”