Out of Sight

by Rebecca Duval

  “I havenae been in there for years, and as far as I know neither has anyone else.” He frowned. “I’ll ask Ryder to have a look around the place tomorrow.”

  “Could it be poachers?” Isla clasped her hands around her mug for warmth.

  Ethan’s head jerked sharply in her direction. “What makes you say that?”

  “Well someone obviously put them there, and if it wasn’t you or Ryder…” Isla trailed off.

  “Aye, could be I suppose, but then why leave their kills behind?” Ethan echoed Isla’s own thoughts from earlier.

  “I don’t know, maybe they didn’t catch what they hoped to…” Isla repressed a shudder.

  Ethan stood up, suddenly pensive.

  “It must be hard for you, living here alone,” Isla blurted.

  “Because I’m blind?” Ethan prodded the fire, before setting the poker back in the stand, with some difficulty.

  “Well, yes, but also...don't you get scared?”

  Ethan settled back into the armchair across from her. “Of what?”

  Isla tried to imagine sitting here alone night after night, the wind howling through cracked window panes, and under closed doors, moaning down the dark corridors...she shuddered involuntarily. “I don’t know.”

  Ethan made a noise that she couldn’t interpret, and took a deep swig of his drink.

  “You don’t believe it, then? The Douglas legend?”

  Ethan cocked his head. “That the ghost of a troubled young man haunts the tower and curses all who live here? No.”

  “You’re a sceptic?”

  “You could say that, aye.”

  “Ryder told me that no one has lived here happily in over a century.”

  Ethan grunted. “He told me the same thing.”

  “That doesn’t bother you?”

  Ethan spoke his answer into his glass. “I lost my chance at happiness a long time ago, and I cannae blame a ghost for it.” He knocked back the rest of his drink and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

  Isla fell silent. Part of her wanted to ask what he meant, but another part of her remembered the misery etched in Ethan’s features the last time she’d forced him to relive his past to satisfy her curiosity. She didn’t want to be responsible for his pain, no matter how much she longed to know what kept him shut away here at Rosehill.

  “What about you?” Ethan turned Isla’s question back on her. “Do you believe that Rosehill is cursed?”

  Did she? Just yesterday she’d scoffed at Ryder for the very suggestion, but sitting here in the firelight with Ethan, as a storm raged over the castle, it somehow seemed less absurd.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “And yet you came back.” He made it sound like a challenge.

  Isla lifted her chin. “I have a job to do.”

  “Aye,” he murmured.

  A brief silence fell between them, then Ethan rose from his chair. “Another drink?”

  Isla looked down at the mug she was cradling in her hands, and to her surprise saw it was empty. That had gone down easily...too easily. She frowned. Maybe another wasn’t such a great idea.

  A moan of wind carried down the chimney breast, and the flames jumped. But did she really want to go out there?

  The promise of a migraine still lurked behind her eye socket, dampened by the rain and easing pressure, but she knew it could reignite without warning. She looked over at Ethan, standing by the drinks cabinet, with a bottle of whisky in one hand, waiting.

  “Just a small one, then.”

  Isla watched with fascination as Ethan poured the drinks, hooking his finger over the edge of each glass to measure. He made everything look so easy, but she didn’t believe for one moment that it was. She couldn’t imagine what an adjustment it must have been for him losing his sight, or how difficult living somewhere this size, alone must be.

  Ethan held out one of the crystal tumblers. It was a more generous measure than Isla would have poured for herself, but not nearly so generous as his own.

  “Thanks.”

  Ethan settled back into the armchair opposite her. “What about your family? What do they think of you spending your days in an allegedly haunted castle?”

  “Are you mocking me?”

  “Not at all. But they must have an opinion, surely? It’s an unusual career choice.”

  “My mum hates it. She can’t understand why I don’t want a nice, clean career.”

  Was that a smile she saw Ethan fight off?

  “And your dad?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never met him.”

  Ethan’s shock was clear, although to his credit he did his best to hide it. He swilled the scotch around his glass thoughtfully. “Do you know who he is?” He raised his glass to his lips.

  “I know he was married. To someone else.”

  Ethan spluttered and thumped his chest. He felt for the low table between the chairs and placed his glass down with a heavy thud.

  There was a long awkward pause, as there always was when the subject came up. Isla was used to it. People never knew what to say, and usually settled for some platitude or another. She wondered which, if any, Ethan MacRae would choose.

  “Is that all you know about him?” he asked finally.

  That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say at all. Isla frowned. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “Aye,” he said softly. “I suppose it is.”

  “I do wonder about him sometimes,” Isla murmured. “About what kind of man he was...or is. About what kind of dad he would have been.”

  Why was she telling him this? The alcohol was loosening her tongue, that was the only explanation. The whole evening had taken on a dream-like quality. The rain thrumming insistently against the window, the fire crackling, and Ethan sitting across from her, refilling his glass. None of it seemed real. And if it wasn’t real, then what harm was there in her telling him?

  “I wonder if we’d have been close. I love my mum, very much, but there’s always been this barrier between us. How could there not be? My existence ruined her life.”

  Ethan’s glass thudded heavily against the table. “She said that?”

  “Of course not!” Isla said. “She’s not a monster. But it’s there in everything she says, and does. In the way she raised me, determined I wouldn’t suffer the same fate she did, and fall for the first unsuitable man that came across my path-” Isla cut off suddenly.

  There was a curious expression on Ethan’s face, and something hung in the air between them.

  Isla lifted her tumbler to her lips, but realised it was empty, and lowered it again. The wind howled around the castle.

  When Ethan spoke, his voice was low, and there was an edge to it. “So, she blames you?”

  “No, she blames him.” Isla corrected. She couldn’t - wouldn’t - give a man she’d never even met, a title he didn’t deserve.

  “What about you?” Ethan looked over at her, and it really did feel as though he was looking at her. No, not at her- through her. His sightless, amber eyes boring into her soul. “What do you think?”

  Isla put her empty glass on the table, and her blanket slid from her shoulders. “I think love makes people stupid. Makes them take risks they wouldn’t otherwise. Risks that seem worth it at the time, but later turn out not to be.”

  Was it her imagination or did Ethan look paler?

  “Aye,” he muttered.

  Once again silence fell between them, and Isla settled back into the chair, wondering how it was possible that she’d just bared her soul to Ethan, a stranger, telling him things she’d never told anyone. The whisky. That must be it. What other explanation could there be?

  Between the drink, and the fire Isla’s eyelids felt heavy. She let them fall closed. Just for a few minutes, she told herself. Ethan wouldn’t even notice.

  *

  She was asleep.

  Ethan hadn’t been sure at first, but the longer the silence had gone on, the more certain he was. He
r breathing had deepened, and Ethan had found himself content to listen to it, which was perhaps the most alarming of several unnerving things to have happened that day.

  All week he’d been avoiding her, spending as much time in the grounds as the weather would allow, but still, he’d heard her dragging furniture around, and the soft lilt of her voice, murmuring up through the floorboards in response to Ryder’s, the occasional bang of a door, and then her car engine every evening, puttering away down the drive. After years of near-silence, it was disorienting to hear Rosehill alive with sound, but Ethan had tolerated it because he had to.

  But then she’d sought him out, sending Ryder after him like he was an errant child who’d wandered too far. And when he’d given in, and gone to her, in the musty unused parlour, she’d touched him. Not even the light, hesitant touch of a stranger, she’d grabbed his hand without qualm, sandwiching it between hers and some dusty old desk, in what was somehow the most erotic thing that had happened to him, in a very long time. It was ridiculous.

  “Can you feel it?” she’d asked.

  Ethan had felt something, but he was fairly sure it didn’t have anything to do with nineteenth-century craftmanship. And then, when he’d gone deliberately out of his way to avoid her, striding out into a storm just to wash the scent of her from his mind, she’d come careering into him, breathless, and smelling of roses.

  It would all have been too much, even without her drowsy revelations about her past. Not that she could have known, or would ever know, how close she’d come to voicing his own fears.

  Ethan couldn’t disagree with her claim that love made people stupid, but for him, it was more than that. Love made people dangerous. He knew how easily two people could destroy each other, and everyone around them, in the name of it.

  Ethan got to his feet. Isla gave a low murmur as he moved past her chair. He felt something soft at his feet and stooped to pick it up. Her blanket. Ethan stood, with the blanket balled up in his hands.

  There was no danger here. She would be gone in a matter of weeks, and his life, what mockery of it was left, would resume. An unending void of silence and darkness.

  He felt for the arm of her chair and draped the blanket across her. Isla shifted, her long hair brushing across the back of his hand. Ethan snatched his hand away, before he did something really dangerous, like notice how soft it was, or how it smelled of fresh apples warming in the sun.

  Nine

  Where was she?

  Isla blinked a few times, trying to make sense of her surroundings. A fire flickering in a grate, a low mahogany table with two empty glasses...and in the chair opposite, a striking figure dressed all in black…

  Isla bolted upright. “Oh my god. How long was I asleep?”

  Ethan placed the empty tumbler he’d been nursing on the table. “Not long. An hour, maybe two.”

  Two hours! Had he been sitting there the whole time? “I should go.” Isla stood up, and the blanket covering her slid down to the floor. She picked it up and draped it over the back of the chair.

  Ethan stood too. “Ryder can take you home.”

  “No, no. I’m perfectly alright to drive, I was just tired.”

  A cloud fell over Ethan’s face. “You’ve had two very generous measures of whisky. You arenae driving anywhere.”

  “There’s no way I’m over the limit.” Just how irresponsible did he think she was?

  “You dinnae have to be over the limit to do some damage.” Ethan’s voice was low, but his hands were in fists at his sides.

  “I know that, but honestly, I’m fine.”

  “You. Are. Not. Driving.” Ethan enunciated each word carefully for emphasis.

  “I think you’ll find it’s not up to you,” Isla bit back.

  She could see a tic working in Ethan’s jaw.

  “Fine,” he huffed eventually. “Suit yourself. But dinnae bother coming back.”

  “Excuse me?” Isla narrowed her eyes. Surely he didn’t mean?...

  “You heard me.”

  From the corner of her eye, Isla caught sight of Ryder in the doorway. How long had he been standing there?

  “Can I help?” Ryder stepped out of the shadows.

  “Aye. You can take Miss Belmont home when you leave.” Ethan’s tone was venomous.

  “Of course. Are you ready now?” He looked to Isla.

  She glanced towards Ethan, but he’d turned his back on her now and was leaning over the fire. She could see the tension in his posture, the white of his knuckles against the mantlepiece.

  What was his problem anyway?

  “Yes,” she huffed, turning back to Ryder. “I am.”

  *

  “Nice car.”

  In truth, all cars seemed nice in comparison to Isla’s beat-up Fiesta, but the Range Rover genuinely was nice. Jet black, and immaculate inside and out. Isla relaxed back against the leather upholstery and felt some of her irritation fall away.

  Ryder kept his eyes on the road, but he smiled. “Thanks, but it’s not mine.” He glanced into his wing mirror. “It’s Ethan’s.”

  “Ethan’s? But he can’t- I mean- why would he?...” Isla trailed off.

  “He bought it for me to drive, but it belongs to him. Not that he spends much time in it.”

  “So, you’re his chauffeur, as well as his butler?”

  Ryder laughed. “Butler?”

  “Come on, you’ve got to admit, stalking about that place in the dark, doing his bidding. Don’t tell me the thought has never crossed your mind?”

  Ryder shook his head. “I can honestly say it hasn’t. But you’re right, in a way. Ethan employed me as his driver, to begin with. But he doesn’t often go out, so I was left twiddling my thumbs most of the time. When he was struggling to find an assistant...well, it just made sense that I’d take on the role.”

  “Why couldn’t he find an assistant?”

  Ryder stared straight ahead. “I couldn’t say.”

  “You can’t, or you won’t?” Isla arched an eyebrow.

  Ryder sighed. “Ethan was young, successful, driven, fiercely independent. Anyone in his situation would have struggled with the adjustments he had to make.”

  It was clear from the way Ryder said it, what he really meant- Ethan had been tyrant, and no one would put up with it. No one, except Ryder.

  “I’m sure they would,” Isla murmured. She turned her face to the window and watched the scenery pass by in shades of black and grey.

  “Sorry,” Ryder broke the silence. Isla looked over and saw his hands relax around the steering wheel. “I didn’t mean to sound so defensive. It’s just that I saw how hard it was for him, and it’s not something you forget.”

  “I can imagine,” Isla said. But she couldn’t, not really. She tried to merge the Ethan MacRae she knew with the vision Ryder painted of a young man, wounded and vulnerable, frustrated by his injuries, but the image wouldn’t hold.

  “But you stuck it out,” she said. “Why?”

  Ryder steered the car around a bend, his jaw tight. “I knew what it was like to have people walk away from you at your lowest point, and I wanted to save someone else from that experience. That’s all.”

  His mouth set into a narrow line, and Isla knew the conversation was over, and questions about Ryder’s own past would be unwelcome. She let herself be lulled by the hypnotic swish of the windscreen wipers until she couldn’t hold the question in any longer.

  “How did it happen? The accident…” Isla trailed off.

  Ryder kept his eyes on the road, but she caught the look of surprise on his face.

  “I thought you knew.” He paused as if searching for the right words. Eventually, he seemed to give up. “He was in a car accident.”

  Isla’s stomach dropped so quickly, she thought she might throw up.

  “No.” Her voice was a whisper. “I didn’t know that.” Isla gripped the edge of her seat with her hands.

  Ryder glanced across at her. “Hey, relax. I’m a good driver. That
’s why he hired me.”

  Was it? Isla wondered. Or had Ethan recognised something in Ryder that you didn’t need vision to see? A kindred spirit perhaps. What low had Ryder hit that had left him isolated, and how did it link him to Ethan?

  “Here we are,” Ryder said softly.

  Isla looked up in surprise. She’d been so lost in thought, that she hadn’t realised how close to home she was.

  Ryder pulled the car up at the kerb. Across the street, Parsons & Co stood in darkness, along with every other shop on the row. Len would have closed up hours ago. Isla felt a pang of guilt, knowing he’d have hung on longer just in case she was on her way. Not that she’d ever asked him to, but that was just Len.

  Isla lifted her bag out of the footwell and turned to Ryder. “Thanks for the ride.”

  Ryder gave her a crooked smile. “You don’t have to thank me, Isla. I know you didn’t want it. But for what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t argue with him.”

  “Because it makes your night easier?”

  “No, because it will make his easier,” Ryder said quietly. “Do you want me to pick you up in the morning?”

  Isla was still trying to make sense of his comment. “Erm…” she quickly weighed up her options- Ryder, an expensive taxi ride, or asking Tim for a favour...

  “That would be great,” she said. “Thanks.”

  Isla waved as the Range Rover pulled away, but Ryder was staring ahead. She hurried across the street, dodging puddles as she went.

  Standing in the yellow pool of light from a nearby streetlamp, Isla dug around in her bag for her keys. As her fingers closed around them, realisation hit hard.

  Oh my god. Was that why he’d insisted she not drive tonight, because of his accident? Had the driver been drinking?

  Mortification washed over her as she remembered Ethan’s agitation. Of course it was. It had to be. She groaned, and shoved hard against the shop door, the bell above it rattled her nerves. She was an idiot.

  Inside the shop was pitch black, but Isla had trod a path through the shop too many times not to know her way across to the light switches. For a brief moment, she wondered if this was what it was like for Ethan, but then she scolded herself. She could flick a switch and obliterate the darkness. He couldn’t.