Draycott Eternal

by Christina Skye

Gray glared back at him. “No, I have a much better idea! You stay out of my way! My work will keep me quite busy enough as it is. Believe me, the very last thing I need is an ill-mannered, supercilious junior gardener with delusions of grandeur and an advanced case of paranoia poking around while I’m trying to concentrate!”

  Without waiting for an answer, Gray wrenched at the gearshift and sent the car plunging forward. Gravel hissed and spun beneath the flying wheels and a moment later, the forest bled away in a blur of green.

  But with every second, Gray felt her neck prickle, felt her cheeks flush. Somehow she knew the unblinking slate-gray eyes were following her still.

  And she couldn’t help but wonder at her nagging certainty that she’d seen those strange, implacable eyes somewhere before.

  HE WATCHED, MOTIONLESS as her car sped down the drive and disappeared over the hill.

  Damn and blast, he hadn’t meant to frighten her! In fact, he hadn’t meant to say most of the things he had. He’d only meant to warn her of the danger he felt and then try to find out if she could explain its source.

  He certainly hadn’t meant to touch the woman.

  But he hadn’t been thinking straight at the time.

  After all, he hadn’t expected to be knocked speechless by the vision of a wary beauty with a mane of auburn hair and azure eyes. He hadn’t expected to see full crimson lips that trembled slightly at some private fear.

  He certainly hadn’t expected to feel this fierce compulsion to protect her. From everything and everyone.

  Even from yourself?

  Cursing roundly, Adrian turned away from the road. He raised one hand before him, then the other.

  Slowly, almost hesitantly, he ran his fingers over his tense forearms, feeling soft wool and hard, bunching muscle beneath.

  Frowning, he dragged his booted toe through the rich dark earth, then stared fixedly at the small furrow raised in its wake. “So I really am here. And I haven’t the slightest memory, the slightest clue as to how it came about.”

  Grim-faced, he raised his head and stared at the spot where the noisy green car had just disappeared. “One minute I’m caught up in dreams and the next I’m thrust down without a hint of warning into dirt and noise and a body I can barely remember how to maneuver. The whole thing is bloody impossible!”

  But there were the powerful forearms, the booted legs to prove him wrong. He scowled down at his outstretched palms. “Muscle. Blood. How strange it all feels. How…heavy. And how vast a responsibility…”

  A butterfly with azure wings skimmed past, looped around his fingers, then settled onto his calloused palm.

  For a moment Adrian Draycott’s face darkened. He stood unmoving, mesmerized by the sight of those frail wings fluttering upon his long, calloused fingers.

  Just like her eyes, he thought.

  Azure with flecks of gold. Like sunrise on a warm summer sea.

  He shook his head abruptly, forcing away that particular memory, feeling a half-forgotten heat rush through his legs and move inexorably upward in a way that was distinctly disconcerting.

  And all too human.

  But Adrian Draycott was not about to be deterred from his ancient obligations. Not by anyone or anything.

  And before the night was over, he was bloody well going to know just what in the blazes was going on here at his abbey!

  CHAPTER TWO

  BY THE TIME GRAY LEFT the woods and circled up the drive to the gatehouse, her heart had stopped pounding. But her cheeks were still flushed.

  Damn the man! Who did he think he was?

  Then even he was swept from Gray’s mind as Draycott Abbey’s massive granite walls burst into view before her.

  Her first thought as she looked upon the ancient structure was that she was glad she wasn’t psychic. Within such a place there must be many ghosts. Even she, who’d never felt a hint of special intuition, sensed an off prickle at her spine as she stared up at the crenellated roof and mullioned windows.

  The granite walls gleamed back at her, bathed with light in the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. Beneath the sheer stone faces, white swans skimmed across a lily-studded moat.

  Gray’s breath caught. There was a sense of timelessness to the place, a sense of utter peace that invaded one’s very soul. It was almost as if past and present merged here, then formed a boundless, eternal present.

  Oh, right, Mackenzie! Next you’ll be seeing mounted knights jousting for their ladies’ honor!

  Somewhere over the hills came the sound of bells and the faint bleating of sheep. The engine died with a cough. Suddenly Gray was enveloped in a vast, luminous silence.

  It was then that the house began to sing to her.

  So long…so long since she had known such peace.

  Her azure eyes rose to the granite parapets. For a moment, she thought she saw a hint of movement in a corner tower. But that was unlikely, of course, since Lord Draycott and his new bride were almost certainly in Paris by now, enjoying their honeymoon.

  And Gray knew just how much Kacey and Nicholas deserved that happiness after escaping death at the hands of a pair of cold-blooded murderers searching for secrets Nicholas didn’t possess.

  Kacey had said little about the ordeal and Gray had known enough not to press her. In the meantime, Gray was delighted when Kacey had phoned with a commission to do a detailed rendering of the abbey. She was determined to give her friend the very best work she had ever done.

  Already her practiced eye was at work, scanning the abbey for balance points, shadow values and angles of perspective. For these things were Gray’s life now, the source of her few pleasures.

  And in the last year, she had finally begun to make her mark. Offers poured in and she had actually had to turn down commissions. But a house had to sing to her, to give of itself freely before she agreed to take on an assignment, no matter how impressive the fee.

  And Gray invariably left her clients delighted. As any one of them would have agreed, to own one of Gray Mackenzie’s sketches was to own the heart of a house, its very soul.

  But, oh, this house—this proud, magnificent abbey sang to Gray already and in many voices. Of heroic days, of bards and warriors girded in leather and mail. Of dark seasons when brother turned against brother and father against son.

  As she sat silent, listening to a lark trill out a gay tune, Gray lost her heart. Somewhere behind her a fat trout jumped from the sparkling moat.

  Already she knew that the sketches she did here would be her very finest work.

  She was still sitting wide-eyed, fingers taut on the wheel, when the crunch of gravel roused her. She turned her head to see a man in a black jacket and incongruous red running shoes striding toward her, a careful smile on his ruddy face.

  “Miss Mackenzie? Welcome to Draycott Abbey. I am Marston.”

  As Gray stepped from the car, she remembered Kacey’s last, hasty note, which had reached her barely a week before.

  Marston, Nicholas’s butler, is a dear, but I’m sure the man will be overjoyed to see the last of us. He claims he can’t concentrate on his work with the two of us forever mooning about. He swears it’s making him dangerously matrimonial.

  Gray smiled to herself at the thought of this sober, correct gentleman’s gentleman feeling “dangerously matrimonial.”

  The man looked about as emotional as a mackerel.

  “Shall I take your bags up, Miss Mackenzie?”

  Gray nodded, still enthralled by the massive walls hung with climbing roses. Quickly she dug into her satchel and tugged out a spiral sketchbook. Without another word, she settled herself against the hood of her rental car and began to work. Already her mind was humming with ways to capture the elegant angles of the ancient stone edifice.

  Yes, the lovely centifolia roses would curl and climb just so, and the swans would glide just a little left of center…

  Footfalls crunched softly over gravel. Gray heard them only dimly, already lost in balance points and texture sou
rces.

  In the only thing that had saved her life five years before.

  THE SUN HUNG GOLDEN atop the trees when Gray finally looked up. Beside her lay her first three renderings of the abbey.

  Slowly, she sat back and massaged her aching neck.

  And then she saw the letter, cream vellum stock with an embossed coronet surrounded with double dragons. Vaguely Gray recalled Marston saying something about a letter—a letter from the viscountess, was it?

  A smile flitted about the corners of her mouth. Gray wondered if she would ever get used to the idea of sweet, forthright Kacey Mallory being a viscountess.

  Her smile grew as she tore open the envelope and read her friend’s scrawled note, dated only two days earlier.

  Sorry, Gray, not to be there to meet you, but our flight has been changed yet again. Marston will take care of anything you need though. The man is truly a wonder!

  Thanks again for coming on such short notice. I wanted the very best person for these renderings, and you were it. By the way, I’d like to keep these a secret from Nicholas until his birthday. Only Marston is to know about them for now.

  But I absolutely forbid you to bury yourself in your work the way you usually do. As your employer I hereby order you to borrow the car. Take a walk around the downs. The Sussex countryside is lovely in high summer. And you, my girl, were looking far too pale the last time I saw you.

  Gray’s eyes crinkled as she recalled the last time they’d met. Their lunch had consisted of soft pretzels loaded with mustard, which they’d gulped down on a crowded Philadelphia street corner between jobs. Had it been only two months ago?

  Gray’s eyes returned to her friend’s letter.

  By the way, if you should happen to hear thirteen bells, don’t be upset. The locals say it has to do with an old abbey legend. You see, along with a moat and a priceless art collection, the abbey also has a resident ghost. And then the bells ring thirteen times—

  Here the letter ended in a jagged scrawl, then picked up a line lower, with the scrawl even more pronounced.

  Sorry, but Nicholas is growing impatient (as usual) and I really must go. I believe I have a way to put a smile back on his face, however. The limousine taking us to Heathrow has curtained windows and a smoked glass divider. The mind positively boggles at the possibilities…

  Love you.

  K.C.

  Gray found herself chuckling. No doubt Kacey would find a way to coax a smile from her husband. A certifiable beauty, she was also something even rarer: a kind and generous person. Only she seemed unaware of her beauty, and perhaps that was part of her charm.

  Now she was a different matter entirely, Gray thought ruefully. Tall, auburn-haired, she had always been a little too tall, a little too shy, a little too bony. Most men felt uncomfortable just looking at her.

  Or looking up at her, since she neared six feet without shoes.

  For years, she had never seemed to fit into any mold and that had bothered her keenly. Then she had begun making her own mold.

  That had worked well for a time. And then she’d met Matt…

  Gray’s fingers stiffened. Frowning, she brushed back a wild strand of wine-dark hair.

  No, she refused to think about him. Her ex-husband belonged to that other life, to that dark time she was not supposed to think about anymore. The only way her change would be complete was if she made it inside, or so the counselors had warned her.

  But it had been hard, far harder than she’d thought. She hadn’t dreamed there would be so many cues, so many tiny details that bound a person to a specific place, a specific time, a specific identity.

  But your identity became a threat, she reminded herself grimly. Because of that it had to be changed, and the truth buried forever.

  Beyond the moat a curlew exploded from the woods and hurtled through the air, gray wings outlined as it cut through a cloudless turquoise sky.

  Do you really think that will stop him? a cold voice whispered. Do you think anything can stop a man like that?

  And now he’s free. The first thing he’ll do is come looking for you. And when he finds you, he’s going to—

  Gray bit her lip, feeling the old, familiar fear gnaw at her stomach. But I’m safe here! she told herself, watching the sun melt like warm honey over the forested hills above the moat.

  He can never trace me here.

  Yes, here at Draycott Abbey she would be safe.

  Wouldn’t she?

  MARSTON WAS EVERY BIT as efficient as Kacey had promised. After an elegant dinner of marinated white asparagus, feather-light salmon mousse and an unforgettable crème brûlée, he’d led Gray out to the flower-hung gatehouse flanking the moat.

  The taciturn butler had first offered her a room in the main house, but the gatehouse’s floor-to-ceiling French doors overlooking the moat had instantly captured Gray’s imagination.

  And there she had stayed.

  Now, after sketching for several hours, Gray still found herself no closer to sleep.

  She glanced down at her watch. 3:00 a.m. Jet lag for sure.

  Not that she could have slept anyway. There was something too rich about the air in this ancient, history-haunted place.

  Yes, she could well believe that phantoms walked the parapets of Draycott Abbey. Hadn’t Kacey mentioned something about a legendary family ghost?

  A shiver played down her spine. She realized the night was growing cool. Pulling a wool throw over her shoulders, Gray curled up on an armchair before the opened doors, watching moonlight play over the shifting silver water.

  Somewhere in the distance came the first faint peal of bells.

  What was it Kacey had said about bells?

  Gray frowned, unable to remember. She stifled a yawn as the scent of roses enveloped her, warm and inviting. Nice, she thought. More than nice…

  Not that she’d be able to sleep, of course. She was far too keyed up. But at least she could rest and run through several possible compositions to try out in the morning.

  Moments later, clutching an architecture manual in one hand and a Royal Geological Survey guide in the other, she sank onto the bed. Her eyes fluttered, then closed. Her head slid forward, auburn hair spilling over an embossed leather cover.

  She never even heard the thirteenth chime.

  THE ROSES SWAYED. A cloud ran before the three-quarter moon.

  Mars in Scorpio. Saturn trine Uranus.

  The house seemed to catch its breath—to shudder. Quiet and yet not entirely quiet, the great walls slept on, caught in a restless silence.

  Moonlight touched the edge of the opened French doors and a shadow that was not quite a shadow fell across the threshold.

  Dear God, she was beautiful, he thought.

  Her skin was like finest bisque, her lashes a dark curve against her cheeks.

  And that glorious auburn hair…

  The figure in the doorway moved closer, making no sound in these, the dead hours of night. Just as before, he sensed the danger enveloping her like a sullen black cloud.

  Had she no idea at all?

  At the window the curtains fluttered. A large cat crept through their swaying folds, gray tail all at witch. Leaping to the white coverlet, he stretched out comfortably, his body curved like a dark comma against the apricot damask pillows.

  Moonlight bounced off the moat, poured through the window and gleamed back from a small gilt mirror opposite the French doors. The room seemed to shimmer, ablaze with light, while the air filled with the dense summer scent of honeysuckle and roses.

  On the bed, Gideon stirred. Flicking his tail, he gave a soft meow.

  The man at the threshold frowned. She was nothing like Kacey, Adrian Draycott realized. She was nothing like any woman he’d ever known.

  Or maybe she was…

  A hint of memory pricked at his consciousness. A dim image of sad eyes in a pale and very noble face.

  A flowing gown cut from silk that flashed like hammered gold.

  The b
lack-clad figure stiffened. Where in the blazes had that image come from?

  A dream?

  Or was it something more?

  Faint, so faint, the phantom images danced before him, teasing and elusive, finally fading away into nothingness. Smothering a curse, Adrian Draycott slipped past the drifting curtains, then laughed bitterly at his unnecessary care.

  For no one could hear his curses or his footfalls. Just as no one could see him when he walked his ancient parapets and gazed upon his beloved roses.

  Not until she had come, that is.

  The sense of uneasiness that had dogged Adrian grew sharper. Once more he was being pulled in, and he liked the prospect not at all. Aye, whether the obdurate female was a rare beauty or not!

  After all, he’d succeeded once. After that precarious chase upon the cliffs, during which he’d saved Kacey and his brother from death, Adrian had bloody well earned the right to be left alone for a century or two!

  The newly married couple was probably ensconced in a lovely old auberge outside Paris right now, resting and enjoying the fruits of Adrian’s work at reconciling them.

  The ghost of Draycott Abbey frowned, one brow rising.

  Well, perhaps resting was not precisely the word for what the two would be doing in that great silk-hung bed…

  Adrian tensed, feeling the old bitterness, the gnawing memories of regret and betrayal. Once, long ago, Kacey had been his, but in his arrogance, he had lost her.

  Now it was Nicholas’s chance to know the joy of her love.

  Frowning, Adrian gazed down at the woman asleep on the bed, sensing the black wall around her grow ever more solid.

  At her feet, Gideon stirred and raised his head.

  “Yes, my friend, there is danger here—great danger. Perhaps even more than my brother faced from his old enemies.”

  Adrian sighed. He had a choice, of course. There was always a choice. But he had never before shirked a duty to his abbey, and he didn’t intend to do so now.

  Yet something told him this time there would be other complications. Complications that included all the heated demands of this uncertain physical form he’d been given.