With a sigh, Mikah leaned against the wall, then sprang back and tested its strength before she leaned against it once more. The wall had been repaired, of course. No sign of Camron Kennedy’s duplicity remained, but that wasn’t enough to circumvent the worst memory she had of Cuilean. Remembering those final moments, Mikah morbidly wondered if the bodies had ever been recovered. If that glorious tomb held nothing but memories.
“You hanging in there?” Kris asked.
Mikah winced at the words that coincided so closely to the memory, and told him about those final moments. Kris winced as well. “Ouch, sorry about that. So this is it, then?” he asked, looking over the edge as he pulled his wool coat tightly around him. “Aren’t you cold?”
She shrugged. “They loved it out here.”
“What were you like?”
“It wasn’t me, remember? It was her.” Her new mantra.
“Six of these and a half dozen of the other,” he countered. “Was she as sassy as you are?”
“No,” Mikah said decisively. But they were alike in so many ways, Mikah knew. Humor. Interests. Their love of art and family. Mikah looked over the edge of the wall warily. At least now she knew where her fear of falling had come from. She laughed reluctantly. “Maybe she had the potential to be, but she was a lady to the bone. Very well mannered.”
“Maybe it was all a dream.”
Mikah rocked into him playfully but couldn’t summon up a smile. Turning, she sat in the nook of the wall, unconsciously propping her elbow on the top in a familiar pose. “Why don’t you go flirt with that auctioneer’s good-looking assistant? I know you want to. I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t want to leave you out here alone,” Kris said doubtfully. “They do have great accents over here, though, don’t they?”
“Yes, they …” Mikah stopped suddenly as a shiver of awareness prickled her skin.
“Mikes, what is it?”
She turned her head to look back down the ramparts, and Kris’s eyes followed.
Everything she did was so recognizable to Jace. The way she moved, the way she held herself. The way her head fell back when she laughed. Any of it might have been pure coincidence. Mere imagination. But somehow with the way Mikah dropped down into that niche so casually, Jace simply knew. Even if she did not. “Hero,” he whispered with painful longing.
He saw her entire body stiffen, as if she could hear his words even from this distance, but Jace knew that would be impossible. Then she looked up and her wide eyes met his down the length of the ramparts. For a split second he read the anguish in her eyes …
Before she leapt up and ran down the ramparts, her footsteps echoing between the walls. Not toward him, as Jace might have hoped. She ran in the opposite direction.
Away from him.
Jace started to follow but her companion held up a hand with a shake of his head and then he, too, was gone. “Mikes! Stop!”
With his injured leg and need for a cane, Jace had no choice but to stay. The cold winds ruffled his hair and bit at his cheeks but Jace ignored it all, focusing on just one thought.
She had recognized him.
Somewhere within that woman, his Hero still lived.
Chapter Forty-Three
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
December 31, 2012
Nietzsche’s philosophy had fallen in Jace’s estimation over the last couple of weeks. It wasn’t madness. Plato had been right after all. It was a disease. A torment. One to which he had no cure.
When he had found out that Mikah Bauer had fled Cuilean that night on the ramparts, Jace had determined to let her go. He had driven away from Cuilean determined to put the past behind him and move forward with his life as well. To heal completely from his injuries and return to his duties in the army, though his mother was begging him to remain in Scotland and resume his duties as earl and as the head of their family’s investment firm.
Clearly Mikah had run from him because she feared the damage he could do to her life. How he might upset the relationship with her young man, as Smith had said. Jace shook his head. The man hadn’t seemed puzzled by his identity at all. Obviously, he knew what had happened and had accepted it.
If she did not want him in her life, who was he to say otherwise?
Who was he to force unwanted memories on her?
So he had returned to his own estate at Ballantrae, and all the items he had won at the auction, including the portrait of Hero, had been put into the attics. But it had only taken a pair of days for his resolve to waver, and the next day the portrait was hanging in his rooms. His determination to date other women quickly was discarded in favor of familiar nights in contemplation of Hero’s fair features.
That was when Jace knew he truly had descended into madness. Nights such as those might have conjured Hero to him once before, but it wasn’t going to happen again. He was nothing but a fool for refusing to put the past behind him and move on.
If love truly was a disease, he didn’t want a cure. He wanted the fever to rage.
He knew that was the reason he hadn’t given in. Because the possibility of more was still there. It lingered in his mind, gnawing persistently.
Taking her business card, Jace had looked Mikah up on the website for the Milwaukee Art Museum, smiling at the thought of her working in that field when Hero had loved it so well. On the staff page, he found her picture, saw her smiling face. His own smile faded when he saw that she had recently made a donation to the museum of Mongin’s Vue de Marly.
Her rejection of their past was at odds with Jace’s burgeoning need to learn more about her, to win her back to him. Recalling Smith saying that Mikah had gone to the cemetery while she was there, Jace had visited it as well, curious to see what she had seen. Finding the small crypt beneath the trees, he had read the words over the door and entered to find the wide crypt. Laying a hand over Hero’s name, he had remembered the fleeting but intense romance that would forever hold his heart. Why would the fates have given so much, only to sweep it away?
Then Jace remembered that fate had a certain way of crushing ones hopes. It had done it once before. It would do it again. He’d been about to walk away when he saw the short epitaph below the names. A wish set in stone that their souls might meet again, and for a moment’s breath he had considered the possibility that fate had more in store for them.
Whether Mikah Bauer liked it or not.
Jace took a deep breath and knocked firmly on the door to Mikah’s flat. He waited but received no answer. Determinedly, he pounded again, and this time a door opened down the hall and a woman of about fifty years poked her head out. She eyed him cautiously up and down, lingering in the safety of the doorway. “If you’re looking for Mikah, she’s not home.”
“Can you tell me where I might find her?” he asked courteously, seeing the instant relaxation in the woman’s frame when he spoke in his deep brogue.
“She’s probably out with Kris somewhere.” The woman’s eyes softened perceptively when she noticed the cane he was leaning on, relaxing her guard even more, though Jace was a stranger. “It is New Year’s Eve, you know? They probably won’t be back until late, I bet.”
“Ahh, my mistake then.” Jace sighed and stepped back from the door. Mikah Bauer’s flat was what the Americans referred to as a loft, a space in a converted warehouse that now housed almost a dozen separate dwellings. The hall where he stood was inside, leaving the residents sheltered from the cold winds that swept in off the lake that was so close to the downtown location. One side of the long hall was interspersed with numbered doors, while large windows that overlooked the street and parking lot where Jace had parked his rental car after a long series of flights and connections dominated the opposite side.
In the daytime, the hall would be bright and cheerful. At nine in the evening, the hall was lit neither brightly nor dimly, but it was enough to allow Jace to easily see the thoughts working through the neighbor’s mind as she assessed him from head to toe. “I guess I�
�ll just come back then.”
“You’re welcome to wait, if you like,” came the invitation.
“No, thank you. I could not impose,” he said politely. “I will come again to see Miss Bauer.”
“You’re not a friend of hers?” Wariness had returned to the woman’s voice with the knowledge that Jace truly was a stranger. He was glad to feel the emotional space increase between them.
“In a manner of speaking,” Jace said after a moment. “We … knew each other years ago.”
“Oh, I thought you might just be that guy she met in …” The woman stopped suddenly, her eyes shifting out the window and she stepped forward, pointing. “Well, there she comes now. How odd.”
“Odd?” Jace echoed, moving to the window as well to look down.
“Well, it is just nine on New Year’s,” she said with a shrug.
The couple crossing the street was linked arm in arm, Jace saw. And both were so bundled in thick winter clothes and hats that Jace was hard pressed to understand how the neighbor had recognized this Mikah so easily. But despite the green stocking cap covering most of her blond hair and the scarf pulled up high around her ears, Jace recognized her as well as they moved beneath the light of the streetlamp. It was not just her partially concealed features; his Hero was visible in the way the woman walked and the way she threw back her head as she laughed up at the tall man at her side.
“She looks lovely. Very happy,” he whispered, unaware that he had spoken aloud until the neighbor harrumphed loudly.
“Men! You should know that things aren’t always as they seem!” She crossed her arms with a frown in defense of her gender.
“Why is that?”
“You look at her and see a happy girl? Well, it’s none of my business, but well, we meet in the hall a lot and the walls aren’t as thick as they should be,” she shrugged. “She’s bright on the surface but sometimes, when she doesn’t think anybody notices, a look comes about her. So sad, like somebody died. All the time.” Her brow creased as she studied him, and Jace wondered if she was seeing that same look on his face.
Jace stood by the window watching Mikah as she entered the door below. A moment later, the hum of the lift’s workings filtered down the hall and Jace tensed as he realized that in just a few seconds, she would be coming down the hall.
“Ha!” the woman laughed. “You look like you want to bolt. Sure you don’t want to come inside and hide?”
Shooting her a frown, Jace braced himself against his cane and stared down the hall, waiting for the lift doors to open.
Chapter Forty-Four
They did, and the pair stepped out of the lift. Much like that moment on the ramparts a couple of weeks before, Mikah froze with awareness before she even looked up.
Then she did, catching sight of him. Her hand went to her throat, her eyes wide.
And, as before, she tensed like a deer in the woods, ready to run away from whatever danger she perceived. Her companion must have sensed her intentions as well, because he clasped his hand tightly around her wrist and tugged her forward.
Her obvious reluctance to greet him would have been amusing if it hadn’t torn at Jace’s heart so. Why was she avoiding him? What was she afraid of?
As she was virtually dragged down the hall, Mikah hid behind her companion watching Jace with eyes so wide that she might have seen a ghost. Not the warm love Jace had come to know. Not the tenderness. But wariness and uncertainty.
And recognition.
There was no doubt that she knew who he was.
She stayed behind the man as they approached down the hall, and Jace shifted his gaze to her companion. Stopping a few feet in front of him, the man held his silence for a long while before he spoke. He pulled a hand from his pocket and stuck it out at Jace. “Kris Waters.”
“Jason MacAuliffe.” They shook hands, weighing their grip.
“Mikes said you were a marquis.”
“An earl,” Jace reluctantly admitted, casting a glance to where Mikah still hid behind Waters when she bit back a despairing squeak.
“Nice,” Kris said ambiguously, withdrawing his hand, and Jace turned next to Mikah, but she just pivoted around Waters’s back. She pulled a key from her pocket and opened the door without a word to either of them. Mikah disappeared inside, leaving them standing in the hall.
“This is beyond fascinating.”
Jace and Waters both turned to the neighbor, taking in her wide-eyed stare. “So glad you approve, Marci,” Waters said good-naturedly and turned back to Mikah’s door.
At least the door was ajar, Jace thought. She might could have locked them both out. Waters seemed to think the same thing, given the grin he flashed as he pushed the door open and waved Jace inside. Jace entered but waited at the door as Waters turned on the lights. The loft space was very open but empty of the woman he sought. The kitchen, dining area, and living room all were within easy sight from the door. There were only three other doors. One next to him that Jace presumed was a closet, another open with a bathroom beyond. And one tightly closed at the far end of the room.
The avenue of Mikah’s escape. “Shouldn’t you …?” he nodded toward the door.
“She’ll be fine,” Waters shrugged. “Just give her a minute. I think you scared the shit out of her back there … just like you did in Scotland.”
It was a hint, a blatant invitation for Jace to say something. There were many things he wanted to say, but Jace had no idea what this man, his rival, was thinking. He had to wonder at his welcome. Was this Kris Waters so sure of Mikah’s affections that he didn’t fear losing her?
Even if the other man did not, Jace did. He had thought to stay away to allow Mikah her happiness, but there had also been a part of him that feared Mikah would not choose a man from what had been little more than a fantastic delusion over a man with whom she already had a relationship.
“How did you hurt your leg?”
Jace threw him a curious glance. “Afghanistan.”
“Recently?”
“Aye.”
Shifting uncomfortably, Jace let his eyes wander around the flat, trying to place his Hero in it. The place was modern and sparse but earthy. Most of the décor had elements of nature; dark, rough woods, finishes of worn metals, and all the furnishings had long, low silhouettes. It was simple and clean. There was Hero in that, at least.
By a large bank of windows stood a Christmas tree, which was sadly decorated.
Following his eyes, Kris told him as he took off his coat and hung it on a stand near the door, “Mikes wasn’t even going to put one up. I practically had to force her. Take off your coat and have a seat if you like. Would you like some wine?”
“Thank you,” Jace said as he shed his outer coat and after a moment’s hesitation, propped his cane against the wall. Wincing at the pain but determined not to show weakness, Jace moved farther into the loft. Hero was evident in the art pieces that dominated the few wall spaces available. But no landscapes here. The pieces were abstract but whimsical. One or two were decidedly dark in nature. Jace turned around the room, taking it all in.
Despite all the furnishings, the room felt odd to Jace. It reeked of neglect, perhaps.
Or loneliness.
As sad as it was, the latter brought him a tiny ray of hope.
A hope that wouldn’t hold if Mikah chose not to make an appearance.
The silence grew heavy and Jace felt compelled to make some conversation. “Your neighbor—Marci?—said she didn’t think you’d be back until much later. I had forgotten it is New Year’s Eve and was about to leave.”
“Mikah didn’t want to stay at the party. I knew that before we even left, but thought it was worth a shot.” The words were informative, but they also left Jace wondering. Combined with what the neighbor had said and that sorry little tree, a picture was being painted of an unhappy life that was at odds with what little information Smith had provided of a happy couple.
“Sit if you like.”
&nb
sp; “I’ll stand.”
Waters spoke again from the kitchen area as he poured two glasses of wine and recorked the bottle. “You don’t seem surprised to find me here.”
“Nor did you seem surprised to see me. Mikah did however,” Jace returned quietly as Waters handed him a glass of wine. If he expected a response to that, he was to be disappointed. Before the silence became uncomfortable, he added, “But, you are correct, Smith told me about you.”
“Yeah? What did he say?” Waters asked, raising his own glass to his lips.
“He said that you were Mikah Bauer’s young man.”
That young man choked on his wine and set the glass down with a laugh, catching a drop of wine from his chin with the back of his hand. “Is that what he said?”
“Aye,” Jace said seriously as the man’s eyes danced. “Are ye?”
“Kris.” The men turned to see Mikah at the bedroom door. She kept her eyes on Kris, refusing to look at Jace even while his eyes devoured her. He hadn’t seen Hero so closely in the flesh in more than 150 years. She had shed her hat and coat, her blond hair creating a wavy halo as it hung loose about her shoulders. Jace could see every curve of the slim body he knew so well pressing against the clingy black dress she wore. She looked the same as he remembered, yet different, though he couldn’t put his finger on the reason why. Younger than Hero, fitter, but that wasn’t it. Either way, the sight of her set his blood boiling just as it always had, and already his fingers were itching to touch her. She did not appear nearly as eager to do the same.
“Yes, my love,” Waters said with laughter in his voice, but Mikah must have been familiar with his humor because she only rolled her eyes. That ease between them tore at Jace’s heart. This is what he had been afraid of. How could he compete against that? Kris Waters’s unwavering good humor and acceptance of Jace under the circumstances spoke clearly of his confidence in the stability of their relationship, and sent Jace’s optimism into a decline.
My Heart's in the Highlands Page 29