In the Country of Shadows (Exit Unicorns Series Book 4)

by Cindy Brandner

  His gaze was intent, the gentian eyes mild but, she had no doubt, taking in every bit of her face, every telltale emotion or thought that crossed it.

  “Perhaps, one day, I’ll need somethin’ that you can provide. Until then, consider yerself paid up in full,” he said.

  He stood and then gave her a hand up, and they walked back to his truck in silence. She had the oddest feeling that a deal had been struck, only she wasn’t aware just what the terms might be, nor who would bear the greater cost.

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  A Kirkpatrick Christmas

  December 1977

  SINCE CASEY’S DISAPPEARANCE Pamela had found, to put it mildly, that Christmas was a time to grit her teeth and get through from one side to the other. She had made certain there were the things the children expected—stockings, good food, presents and decorations, but for her the season had been a blur each year. The first year, Casey had been gone only a month at Christmas and she could not remember the time at all now. Deirdre had made certain there was a meal and wrapped gifts and a stocking for both Conor and Isabelle, though only Conor had been old enough to take any sort of note.

  This year, Jamie had invited everyone to his home for the day. Pat and Kate, Gert, Owen, and Lewis, Tomas, and Finola and of course, her and the children. When they arrived the house glowed with well-polished floors and furniture and lit fires and candles and Christmas lights. The scents of ham and turkey and chestnuts and plum pudding filtered out fragrant and festive. Maggie was away spending Christmas with her sister and so Pamela had come up the day before to help Jamie with some of the preparations. Finola had been here since early morning helping him with the rest of the cooking.

  Coats and boots and scarves and mittens were removed and everyone gathered in the great room which was lit with hundreds of fairy lights and had a huge tree in one corner. The children scampered in delight to the lights and tree and gaily-wrapped gifts which lay beneath spreading pine boughs. Patrick and Kate had already arrived and Kate was flushed and lovely in a periwinkle dress and Pat looked terribly grown up to Pamela suddenly. He had come into his own in these last few years and wasn’t the boy she’d met one day in a university class. Gert, Owen and Lewis arrived shortly after—Gert with a platter holding her famous krustenbraten along with red cabbage and dumplings.

  Tomas came in smelling of snow and whiskey. He kissed Pamela on both cheeks and then gave her a searching glance. “Ye look well, girl. It’s nice to see.” He then ruined the sentiment by casting a significant glance in Jamie’s direction.

  “Tomas, give over,” Pat said, coming up and giving her a hug. “Merry Christmas, Pamela. And he’s right, ye do look well.”

  Patrick knew it was the first Christmas she had felt like celebrating, and he of all people understood that it also came with a grain of bitter sweetness at its core, because it was yet another change in this long road she was traveling.

  Jamie, with his understanding of children, told them to unwrap their gifts first and they would have dinner afterward. There was a beautiful shearling coat for Conor which was a miniature copy of one Jamie had that Conor loved, and a dollhouse for Isabelle as well as skates for both children. Kolya had a new train set which had whistles and bells and a small town for it to chug around. Vanya, whose feet were always cold, was the recipient of a plethora of socks and many novels. Patrick, a beautiful leather lawyer’s bag. Kate, a set of French baking dishes. Tomas, a gentleman’s walking stick made from blackthorn. Owen and Lewis each got a bottle of the special reserve single malt from the distillery, Gert, a Hummel angel to add to her collection and Finola, a leather-bound herbal with which she was clearly very pleased.

  “This is for you,” Jamie said and handed Pamela a small packet, wrapped in thick cloth.

  She unwrapped it carefully, a fine tremor running through her fingers, as if they sensed what lay inside that soft cloth wrapping before she did. It was an old book, well worn, covered in fine leather, the papers rough cut and a soft grey. She opened the cover carefully and gasped.

  “Jamie!”

  He smiled, clearly delighted with the effect the book had on her.

  “What is it, moy podrooga?” Vanya asked, leaning over her shoulder in interest.

  “It’s a first edition of Shelley—it has his handwriting inside.” Her fingers trembled as she touched the old writing, the loops and lines of the long dead poet’s hand. The ink was faded, but the words were still legible.

  “Where on earth did you find this, Jamie?”

  “From a dealer I know. I asked him to look out for such a thing some time back,” he said casually.

  “Thank you, thank you so much,” she said, blinking back tears. He could not have found a gift that would have touched her more, and she was quite certain he knew it.

  She gave him his gift then. She had made him a sweater in deep blue because it was the color she liked best on him. He put it on right away, despite the fact that he’d been impeccably dressed in a beautifully tailored pale green shirt.

  “When did you find time to do this?” he asked.

  “At night when the children were sleeping.”

  He smiled, but it was an expression of understanding because he knew how often she was awake into the wee hours, unable to find the simple comfort of unconsciousness.

  Dinner was served in the formal dining room. The long table was lit with tapers on a background of rich red and gold. The good china, which had been in the Kirkpatrick family for more than a hundred years, had been brought out and washed and now gleamed beside holly and silver and the sparkle of Waterford wine glasses.

  There was talk and laughter and ambrosial food and wine poured without stint. By dinner’s end Pamela felt slightly tipsy and very relaxed. She caught Jamie looking at her more than once, his eyes warm but also with a question somewhere in their depths.

  After dinner, Jamie had a surprise for them. Two sleighs pulled up outside the front door, bells jingling merrily. Danu and Naseem, both sporting festive red blankets, were harnessed and snorting with impatience. Filled with good cheer and with the adults well-fortified with alcohol everyone tumbled into their respective sleds. Pamela, Conor, Isabelle, Kolya, Tomas and Lewis all with Jamie, and Kate, Gert, Owen, Finola and Vanya with Patrick as driver of the second sleigh.

  Pamela sat up front with Jamie who was driving the first sleigh, with Kolya, looking like a proper little Cossack in a blue wool coat, tucked between them. Isabelle, pink-cheeked, hair tumbling riotously from her red wool hat, candy cane held aloft in one sticky hand, was seated upon Jamie’s knee, the only place, in her opinion, for her to sit in the sleigh. Jamie had one protective arm about her, and Conor was standing, leaning over the lip of the sleigh, fascinated by the sight of Danu and her harness bedecked with bells and holly. Her children looked happy; her children were happy and she realized, so was she.

  They drove off under a quarter slice of moon, as twilight stole over the land, the sun going down in thick amber, scented with cold oak bark. Jamie took them along the trail toward Finola’s cottage, as it was a long stretch and utterly picturesque. The boughs formed a snowy canopy over their heads and the runners of the sled whisked with a frothy hiss over the snow. She leaned over to kiss the top of Conor’s head, feeling the excitement thrum through his small body as they skimmed over the silver snow.

  Her eyes met Jamie’s over the top of Kolya’s shimmering red head. Jamie was still wearing his crown from the Christmas crackers they’d popped after dinner. He grinned at her. She smiled back feeling that rush of euphoria in her veins that she often felt around him, like her blood had been replaced with champagne.

  They came in from the chill to find cocoa for the children and mulled wine for the adults. They played games and Tomas surprised everyone by playing the piano with great vigor and producing from his chest a lovely baritone voice that led everyone in singing. There were roasted chestnuts after that and popcorn for the children and whiskey for the men, and a lovely golden Saute
rne which Jamie knew she loved, for the women.

  It was Conor’s idea to play Blind Man’s Bluff. It was a mad scamper around the bottom floor, with the big people assisting the small to elude the Blind Man, at which the adults took turns. There was much laughter and stubbed toes and the delighted shrieks of the children. She stopped for a moment and looked around as the hubbub proceeded about her. Tomas was currently the Blind Man and was chasing Isabelle, his hands making clapper-claw motions and Isabelle was squealing with glee. Kolya was creeping up behind him and Conor was hiding behind his Uncle Pat. Lewis was sitting, sipping parsimoniously at a tumbler of whiskey. He had never fully recovered from the shooting and had told her the week before that he would be selling his farm come spring. The smell of gingerbread wafting from the kitchen told her where Kate and Gert had disappeared to.

  All of these people had closed ranks around her after Casey’s disappearance, and sheltered her in what ways they could. No one, of course, had the power to take the pain from her but they had done their best to help her through it and keep her safe as she had at first stumbled along the pathway and then begun to walk with more confidence. She looked over at Jamie. He was laughing as Isabelle scampered up to him, still shrieking. She jumped, arms outstretched in the perfect trust that Jamie’s arms would catch her. Just as they had from the day he’d returned home from Russia and taken them all under his care. She loved these people in all the various ways of friends and family, but what she felt for Jamie was something apart and with a depth to it that sometimes frightened her.

  She realized then that Pat was watching her, his dark eyes both thoughtful and a little sad. He smiled at her, but she understood the look in his eyes. Regret for what was lost and could not be again and understanding for the fact that she was moving on without his brother.

  It was Jamie’s turn then to be the Blind Man. Pamela scooped up Isabelle and ran off toward the kitchen, her little girl wiggling in her arms. She tiptoed down the back hall which ran behind the kitchen and they crouched at the bottom of the stairs there, Isabelle’s eyes alight with unfettered joy in the day. It made her throat a little tight, realizing how uncommon these sorts of times were in her children’s lives. While she tried hard to hide her fear and stress at home, she was certain the children felt it on some level, nevertheless. Certainly Conor did.

  Jamie came into the hall then and Isabelle said in a whisper loud enough to wake the dead, “Mama, is Jamezie!” and then buried her head in Pamela’s shoulder.

  Jamie came down the hall making growling noises that turned Isabelle into a live eel in Pamela’s arms. He came within touching distance and then said, “Fee fi fo fit, I smell a little one named Isa-bit.”

  “Dat’s me!” Isabelle said and popped down out of her mother’s arms to wrap herself around Jamie’s leg, almost sending him tumbling over onto the flagstones. As it was he landed on the stairs beside Pamela, knocking his head against the wall on his way down.

  “Isabelle!” Pamela admonished. Isabelle’s lip began to quiver immediately. Jamie, sensing this sea-change in Isabelle’s mood, took off the blindfold and gave her a hug.

  “I think Gert has some gingerbread men in the kitchen for you, Isa-bit. Why don’t you go see?”

  Isabelle scarpered for the kitchen, hurt feelings forgotten with the balm of promised treats.

  “Are you all right?” Pamela asked, checking the side of his head where it had glanced against the wall.

  “I’m fine, don’t worry about it. She’s just in high spirits. I think they’ve had fun, though I imagine they’ll all drop soon.”

  “It has been a perfect day, Jamie. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. She was suddenly aware of how closely they were sitting. They hadn’t touched since that night in Maine. He was looking down at her, his face shadowed in the dim light of the hall.

  She met and held his gaze which was the gaze of the man who had re-awakened her body months ago by the sea. She had missed his touch. Just how much became clear as he leaned down and kissed her. His mouth was warm and sweet against hers and she felt herself swaying toward him and uttering a small prayer that all the children would stay where they were for at least a minute or two.

  She touched her hand to the side of his neck, the skin smooth as water beneath her palm. She could feel his pulse leap to her touch and felt her own speed up in response. He put his hand to her face, drawing her forward without needing to exert the slightest pressure. She put her face to the crook of his neck, breathing in deeply. He smelled of lime and sandalwood, of horses and leather and snow. It brought tears to prickle at the back of her eyes and flooded her entire body with desire at the same time. She put her hands flat against his chest, feeling his heart and just breathing him in and out.

  “Stay,” he said softly, his hands covering hers. “You and the children. Stay for the night.”

  She nodded, wordless, her entire body lit from within by the white heat of desire.

  “Pamela.” A voice from the end of the hallway interrupted their reverie. It was Finola. “There’s someone askin’ for ye on the telephone.”

  She took a breath to steady herself, and then released Jamie’s hands with regret. She hadn’t even heard the phone ring.

  The light in the kitchen seemed terribly bright after the dark of the hall. “Hello?”

  “Pamela, it’s Noah. I’m sorry to disturb yer Christmas but I need to meet with ye as soon as possible.”

  “Why?”

  “Ye know I’m not goin’ to say much over the phone. I wouldn’t ask on this night if it wasn’t important.”

  “All right,” she said, uneasy. He wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency.

  “It’s to do with our original discussion, the very first one we had. D’ye understand?”

  Her heart started to thump so hard it hurt. “Yes, I understand.”

  “Do ye have a pen and paper? Ye’ll need to write down the directions. An’ Pamela, ye can’t breathe a word of this to anyone, d’ye understand?”

  “Yes,” she said. He gave her the directions then, and she scribbled furiously, her heart in her throat.

  Jamie was standing behind her when she got off the phone and judging by the look on his face he had a good notion of what she was about to say.

  “I…I have to go,” she said, a furious rush of color flooding through her skin.

  “That was Noah Murray on the telephone, wasn’t it?” he asked, his voice deceptively amiable. She knew better than to be fooled. That particular tone meant he was in a cold fury.

  “Yes,” she said. It was like having cold water thrown in her face to go from the moment in the hallway to this. She had to go, even though she feared leaving just now was going to cost her dearly with Jamie. She couldn’t blame him either.

  “What’s so important that he needs you to leave and run to him on Christmas Day?” Jamie’s arms were crossed over his chest and the green eyes were narrowed with anger.

  “I can’t explain that just now,” she said.

  “You can’t tell me why you’re leaving?”

  “No, I can’t,” she said miserably.

  “I see,” he said, and she shrank a little from the chill in the two simple words. “Well, you’re a grown woman and I can’t prevent you from doing as you please but I’m damned if I’m letting you take the children to go to a meeting with that man.”

  “I’m not taking them. I’ll ask Pat and Kate to bring them home when they leave here.” She sounded conciliatory, she knew, and hated herself a little for it. It had been a perfect day and now it lay about her in ruins. It was no one’s fault but her own.

  “Well, then go. Please don’t let me detain you any longer,” he said.

  She left after speaking with Pat, who looked little more pleased than Jamie concerning her departure. She was shaking and it took three attempts to get the keys in the ignition of the old Citroën. Her mind had been wiped blank with anxiety after Noah’s call, but she could still feel th
e touch of Jamie’s lips on her own and the heat of his hands on her skin. She looked in the rearview mirror and her heart felt heavy in her chest. The house looked suddenly insubstantial as if the joy of the day had merely been a temporary illusion, like a candle set inside a paper house that had suddenly gone out.

  She sighed, put the car into gear and drove away.

  It wasn’t an easy task to find the place where Noah had instructed her to meet him. The cold though had produced a clear night and visibility was good. It was a bit of a drive for the location was out beyond Newry and then down a series of old country roads, some of which appeared to have been unused for years. The last road he’d instructed her to take was little more than a track which petered out into a field long abandoned; judging by the shrubs growing in profusion across what had once been tilled land. There was a stone byre, narrow and high, at one end of the field. She got out of the car and walked toward it. She recognized one of Noah’s men. He nodded at her and said, “He’s waitin’ in the byre for ye.”

  She nodded in return and walked into the old stone building. Three lanterns hung from the beams, and the space was lit for the purpose it had been put to. It was bright enough to see the man in the chair, arms tied to the chair back, ankles bound to the chair legs. His face was swollen on one side and his lips were bloody. She had been prepared for this, but it was still a bit of a shock to see him. It was the man who’d tried to recruit her as an informer—Mr. Davison. A flood of adrenaline rushed out through her blood in jets and she regretted the wine she’d drunk earlier in the day.

  She looked at Noah. He stood beside the man, his hands gloved and his face impassive above a dark sweater. “Can I have a word with you outside?” she asked.

  “Aye,” he said, and walked out with her, heading over to a low stone wall to the left of the byre. The old rock was thick with frost-gilded ivy. “What is it?” he asked. There was no impatience in his voice, just a removed calm which was chilling to hear.