Draycott Eternal

by Christina Skye

  So all he did was hold her while snow veiled the glen in an unspoiled blanket of white.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  JAMEE WAS PALE and tense as they walked over the snow to the castle. At the door Ian stopped to pick a piece of silver tinsel from her hair while the bells in the gazebo chimed softly.

  Sadly, Ian thought.

  He touched her cheek. “I’ll be up as soon as I talk with Duncan.”

  “But—”

  “No arguments, remember? I’ll tell you everything Duncan tells me, I promise.”

  They looked up to see their host standing in the hall, framed in a halo of tiny flashing lights. He cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  Ian watched Jamee slowly mount the stairs. At the top she turned, looked at him once. Her smile was shaky.

  “Damn,” he rasped as he fell into step beside Duncan.

  “You’re in love with her.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “What I feel for Jamee is irrelevant.” A muscle flashed at Ian’s jaw. “All that matters is keeping her safe. Tell me what you’ve found.”

  Duncan opened the door to his study and pulled a file from the paperwork on his desk. “Adam Night just faxed me these papers. They’re photos of the brother of the man who planned Jamee’s kidnapping seven years ago.”

  Ian studied the grainy photograph of a bearded teenager staring brashly at the camera from behind mirrored sunglasses. His head was lowered, like a bull ready to charge, and shadows hid his features.

  Ian stiffened as he looked closer.

  There appeared to be a length of knotted rope sticking out of the boy’s back pocket.

  “Something wrong?” Duncan asked.

  “That rope reminds me of the one I found in the kidnappers’ all-terrain vehicle. Did Night find out if there was any Navy connection?”

  “Apparently not. But Night had his people try the merchant marines. The brother was in for six months, then was asked to leave.”

  “Why?”

  “Unstable personality. Paranoia alternating with periods of rage.”

  “So the motive may be more than simple profit.”

  Duncan rubbed his neck. “I’m afraid there’s something else,” he said. “Hidoshi’s assistant, Rob…”

  “What about him?”

  Duncan jammed a hand through his hair. “He looked genuinely upset.”

  “Upset at what?” Ian growled.

  “He said he met an American at a pub in Edinburgh. The man told Rob he was a friend of Jamee’s and wanted to surprise her for her birthday. Rob’s been phoning a number and leaving messages on a machine, giving him updates of where she is and the best times he can meet her by surprise. It was the same number that you found in the kidnappers’ vehicle.”

  Ian’s hands opened and closed. “When did Rob tell you this?”

  “Just a few minutes ago. He said he realized that you and Jamee were—involved. That’s when he began to suspect something was wrong with this American’s story. Obviously, Jamee’s not the sort of woman to have lovers all over the countryside.”

  “All so simple and innocent,” Ian said grimly.

  “That’s what I’ve been thinking,” Duncan said grimly.

  “It’s a very tidy explanation, you must admit. If Rob is involved, he would certainly have been prepared with a good story.”

  “Shall I have the constable hold him for questioning?”

  “Not yet.” Ian squinted, watching the outline of the fire.

  Duncan laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s getting worse?”

  Ian simply nodded.

  “What can I do to help? Name it, and it’s yours.”

  “I’ve got to keep Jamee safe and catch these lunatics fast. I want Rob watched at all times. Meanwhile, he might turn out to be very useful.” He pulled a map from his pocket and unrolled it on the desk. “Here’s what I think we should do.”

  THE NEXT MORNING Kara came down Dunraven’s front steps holding her husband’s hand while Jamee walked next to Ian. Rob came running out at the last minute. His face was flushed as he piled into Duncan’s Land Rover after the others.

  Snow fell around them, silent and pure as Duncan maneuvered over the glen toward the village.

  The night had been long and busy, and the five faces were grim as they drove over the hill and down toward the quiet cove. When the peaks of the houses grew closer, Duncan looked back at Ian. “Almost there.”

  Ian took Jamee’s hand. “Smile. You look as if the world’s ending, mo cridhe.”

  Jamee straightened her shoulders and gave a tentative smile.

  “Bigger,” Ian said.

  She forced the smile wider.

  The narrow streets of the village opened before them, hemmed in by three dozen slate cottages. Beyond lay the ocean.

  “It looks as if we have an audience,” Duncan called from the front seat. He looked at Kara. “All set?”

  She nodded. Her face was pale, but determined.

  “Duncan, I can’t thank you enough,” Ian began. “You don’t have to—”

  His friend said something low and hard in Gaelic and then the car bucked to a halt.

  Noisy and very visible, they made their way through Dunraven Village. Their laughter spilled between the narrow whitewashed cottages and drifted down to the single dock beside the sea. They passed the bright-red village telephone booth and continued toward the tiny pub, where a weathered shop sign creaked back and forth in the wind.

  After ten minutes, everyone in the village was aware that Lord Dunraven and his guests had come to visit. After careful instructions, Rob had placed his calls.

  Which was exactly what Ian had planned.

  The others moved ahead and Ian turned to Jamee, frowning at her pallor. He tucked her scarf into her collar and pulled out her hair, which drifted about her shoulders in a silken cloud.

  “So they will be absolutely certain it’s me?”

  A muscle played at Ian’s jaw. He nodded. “It’s the only way, Jamee.”

  “I know it is and I’m so frightened I’m about to heave up my breakfast.”

  Their fingers locked. “It’s not far to the dock. Beyond that is the beach. Can you still manage this?”

  After a moment, Jamee nodded. “I have to, don’t I? Otherwise it will go on and on.”

  Duncan and Kara walked in front of them, shoulders brushing as they spoke quietly. The wind tossed bits of dried heather and gravel over the cobblestones like the hiss of angry voices. Jamee watched a line of breakers explode into foam, then spill away to nothing on the deserted beach. “How much farther?”

  Ian’s face was hard. “Less than a mile, I expect.” High up in the glen a row of clouds dappled the purple hills.

  “Ian, what if—”

  Ian gripped Jamee’s hand. “No what-ifs. That’s my job, remember. Do you still trust me?”

  Jamee smiled crookedly. “I’ve trusted you since I first wrestled you to the ground on the cliff. There was never a question of trusting you, Ian.” Her fingers tightened on his. She faced the beach, almost as if afraid for him to read her face. “If something should happen—if this goes wrong, I want you to know that I…” She swallowed. “I’ve seen things differently, been touched and changed by knowing you. No matter what you say, I’ll never lose those memories and I’ll never want to.” She spoke defiantly, her face to the cold sea.

  Ian wished they were alone so that he could kiss the pulse that raced at her throat and let his fingers spill through her long hair.

  A line of color shifted through his eyes and made his temples throb.

  So little time.

  “Nothing is going to happen, Jamee. It all ends here.” His eyes hardened as they moved to the door of the pub. Duncan stood, knob in hand, waiting for Ian, his face tense with expectation.

  Ian nodded faintly.

  It had begun.

  THE VILLAGERS watched with avid curiosity as the Laird of Dunraven and his vibrant American wife finish
ed some last-minute holiday shopping with their friends. It was late in the morning now, and the sun slanted golden over the glen as Lady Dunraven’s red-haired visitor excused herself from the hubbub and made her way alone to the pub’s side door that led out to the beach.

  She stood for a moment, shivering in the wind that gusted up off the sea. Tugging her scarf closer about her head, she started down the beach.

  It was said she was a weaver from America. It was said she was a millionaire.

  It was said she was a strange, free-spirited creature who liked to be alone.

  Gossip traveled fast in an isolated Highland village, especially when the well-loved laird was concerned. Not a few eyes watched Jamee move over the hard-packed sand, though all were too polite to be obvious about it.

  She moved on toward the headland that jutted like a brown arm out into the sea, and as she moved out of sight, interest faded. Conversation turned to the latest scandal in Edinburgh and what would happen when the North Sea oil finally ran out.

  Only one pair of eyes watched Jamee then.

  He darted from the pine trees, his footfalls muffled by the sand. The hard wind carried away his victim’s cry as he bore down upon her. She turned and ran in a swirl of skirts, her scarf awry.

  Her pursuer seized her roughly and jerked the heavy wool from her face. As he looked down, his eyes hardened in shock.

  He pushed free, cursing. His boat was moored just beyond the headland and it would be only a few minutes’ work to escape.

  In a whine of wheels a battered green Land Rover stormed over the hill. Duncan wrenched at the wheel, plowing straight for the beach, cutting off the fleeing figure in black. The car was still moving when Ian shoved open his door and tackled Jamee’s pursuer at a run.

  The fight was savage and silent. Ian lunged and sent the man reeling, but he quickly recovered. They circled in silence, each waiting for the other to strike. Ian closed in.

  Dropping back, the man dug at his outer pocket. He was raising a revolver when Ian’s savage kick knocked him sideways. His arm spun upward and three bullets whined past, zinging harmlessly into the sand.

  Two savage uppercuts laid the man unconscious, crumpled beneath Ian’s panting form. Slowly, Ian rose to his knees.

  Behind them, Duncan reached down to the figure in sandy skirts. “I hope you’re all right.”

  Hidoshi Sato gave a crooked grin and pulled off his red wig. “Most fun I’ve had in months,” he panted, pushing to his feet and wiping the sand off his hands. “I must have been fairly convincing.”

  “It was an amazing likeness. The bastard didn’t realize until he had you in his grip.”

  The pair started down the beach, where Ian stood scowling over the prone figure of Jamee’s would-be kidnapper. There was a loud honk, followed by the whine of a siren. A police car charged toward them.

  Five minutes later, it was done. The man was handcuffed and turned over to the constable and the Security International backup team for interrogation.

  “I’m nearly positive he was one of the men I saw at the cottage,” Ian said. “That means, one down and at least one more to catch.”

  “He’ll talk in custody, don’t worry.” Duncan watched the car pull away, sirens droning.

  Ian frowned. “If not, I’ll have a private visit with him. You can be sure I’ll have names by the time I’m done.”

  “Right now, there’s nothing more you can do, Ian. Meanwhile, that woman of yours must be terrified where she’s hiding in the inn.”

  Ian turned slowly. He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of unpleasant thoughts. “You’re right.”

  But there were still too many loose threads warning Ian that the danger wasn’t over yet.

  “YOU BE CAREFUL with those oak barrels, hear? That’s eight-year-aged malt whiskey you’ve got before you.” Angus McTavish stood with his hands on his hips, overseeing the movement of a dozen huge barrels of whiskey to the van that would carry them from the Dunraven distillery across the bay and then overland to Edinburgh. The workmen sweated and strained under the approving eyes of the villagers, who knew there would be an extra bonus this year for a magnificent product.

  When all the barrels were loaded, Angus shut the doors carefully and locked them, then nodded at Duncan. “I’ll see them safely where they’re bound, never fear.”

  “I know you will, McTavish.” Duncan turned as Kara appeared, closely followed by Ian and Jamee.

  Or what looked like Ian and Jamee. It was hard to see beneath the new tartan hats they both wore.

  Duncan swung open the door of his Land Rover and climbed inside. “Come on, you two.” He joined his wife in the car. They watched Angus climb slowly over the hill, the van heavy beneath the cargo it carried. Only when he disappeared on the road that led east did Duncan start home to Dunraven.

  ANGUS PULLED TO THE SIDE of the road on the mainland. There were no watchful eyes on the bare moor stretching around them. “You two can come out now.”

  As he spoke, wood grated on metal. One of the oak lids popped open and Jamee’s head appeared. “I thought you’d never give the signal,” she said, her face flushed.

  “Never mind then, lass. The bounder’s off in custody now. You did your job beautifully. So did Hidoshi.”

  The adjoining lid pulled free. Ian appeared, his shoulders covered with sawdust. “Everything quiet here?”

  Angus nodded. “Perfectly as planned.”

  They settled into the front seat of the van and then the motor rose as Angus threw the vehicle back into gear.

  The old man laughed softly and thumped the steering wheel. “Next stop, Glenlyle Castle.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  BROWN AND GOLD, the hills lay dappled beneath frothy banks of clouds. The grass was low, sheared by generations of sheep who roamed these lonely moors. In summer, wildflowers exploded over the glen and the air was bright with birdsong. But now in the far side of December, life moved more slowly, with an air of age and solemnity that befitted the close of the year.

  Jamee stared from one side of the van to the other as they drove north, fascinated by every detail of the landscape, from the high, tree-covered cliffs to the narrow silver streams that spilled through dark crags.

  Not quite two hours had passed when an arch of stone jutted above the horizon. Then another and another. Jamee sat forward, her breath catching as Glenlyle Castle soared into view, parapets and portcullis climbing across the rugged hillside.

  “Those will be the north towers,” Angus said. “Remember the time when you and Duncan hung out a sheet and tried to climb down?”

  Jamee looked at Ian. He sat very still, his hands clenched. His eyes held something like regret—or terrible anticipation.

  Jamee understood a small part of his torment, aware that he was going home to a place he loved, to people he loved, but unsure how much longer he would be seeing any of it.

  She touched his hand. “It’s still home, Ian,” she whispered. “Nothing can change that.”

  There was a movement at his jaw. “No,” he said softly. “Home. You’re probably right.”

  As they rounded a bend, a massive square tower rose before them. Warm golden stone stretched between four higher towers, each capped with black slate roofs in graceful curves. The setting itself was part of Glenlyle’s beauty, vast acres of dark green hills covered with hardwood and pines that ran down to the very foot of the castle.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Ian spoke softly. Emotion hardened his voice.

  “Very, very beautiful,” Jamee agreed.

  A flag snapped at a high mast on the castle’s roof. “They’re welcoming you home.” Angus raised one hand to point. “Duncan must have called ahead and told them you were coming.”

  Something dark swept through Ian’s eyes. “The fewer people who know we’re here, the better.”

  Angus frowned. “That brute is in custody and has already begun to talk. Between his information and the fingerprints that were finally lifted from
the kidnappers’ vehicle, his cohorts should be rounded up before long.”

  Ian said something low in Gaelic.

  After a moment, Angus nodded.

  “What?” Jamee said tightly. “What are you two talking about?”

  Ian swung an arm behind her and planted a noisy kiss on her mouth. “Only about what the people at Glenlyle are going to say when they see the beautiful woman who will be on my arm.”

  Before Jamee had a chance to be nervous at the thought of a welcoming committee, she was distracted by the raised outline of a circular wall only a few feet from the castle gate. She sat forward, her blood hammering. “Stop here, Angus.”

  Before either man could speak, she opened her door and scrambled up the tangled, overgrown path to the rim of the hill.

  Angus frowned. “My lord, isn’t that—”

  “Yes, it is,” Ian said grimly. He started out after Jamee, slipping over the damp stones that had not known the print of human feet for months. As he scuffled up the hill behind her, a nest of birds broke from cover and exploded through the azure sky.

  Ian tried to tell himself it meant nothing, but the lurch in his pulse told him differently. So did the pain that spiraled through his forehead as light shifted before his eyes.

  Blind Laird’s Rock.

  He found Jamee bent over the broken wall of stone. She stared beyond, to the edge of the rocky cliffs and the sea raging far below.

  Ian hadn’t been here in fifteen years. Or was it twenty? He tried to stop the pressing images at the edges of his mind, an oppressive weight centuries old. “Let’s go back to the car.”

  She didn’t move, staring out to the sea. “What is this place? It pulls me, draws me. I can’t say why.”

  Ian remembered the last time he had been here. Leaden sheets of rain had lashed the water beneath prongs of lightning. The next day, his father had lost his sight.

  “It’s called Blind Laird’s Rock,” he said tensely. “Legend says that a local woman laid a curse on the eldest Glenlyle son, then threw herself off the cliffs down there.”