Men of Midnight Complete Collection

by Emilie Richards

“Aye. Do that.”

  He waited in front of her desk, arms folded and eyes wide open. The door to the inner sanctum creaked, and a sweating Martin walked through it, arm extended. “Iain, my good man, what brings you here?”

  “The need for a discussion.”

  Martin clapped him on the back. “I’m always ready to have a discussion with you, Iain. Any time of the day or evening.”

  “Delighted to hear it.” Iain allowed himself to be ushered into Martin’s office. He refused tea, brandy and port, but he took a corner wing chair flanked by two overfed ferns, and Martin pulled up another chair to join him. The room was unbearably stuffy.

  “So tell me, what are we discussing?”

  Iain leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers against the wooden arm. “How badly do you want my property, Martin?”

  Martin was in his fifties, at least fifty pounds overweight and fifty points higher on the intelligence scale than any casual observer might suppose. “Badly enough to crawl.”

  “Describe crawling for me, would you?”

  “What do you want, Iain? Tell me where to start, and I’ll describe anything.” He leaned back, too. “Anything within reason.”

  “Then why don’t you tell me what I have that you want most.”

  “Truthfully?” Martin began to sweat more profusely. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “Fearnshader. The castle. The moor and all the property extending on each side of it. Your holdings in the village—”

  “All of them? I own a great part of it, you know.” Iain was sure that Martin could tell him exactly what he owned, right down to the millimeter. “And some of what I have, a lot, really, would be difficult to sell to you, because like most historic properties, there are so many legal restrictions on my estate.”

  “We have some of the finest lawyers in the world on our staff.”

  Iain nodded. “I imagine your staff is extensive.”

  “We have the finest of the finest. But I’m certain that by now you’re familiar with every aspect of what we do.”

  “Particularly familiar with some of it.”

  For the first time Martin looked confused. “I apologize, but I’m afraid I’ve lost the train of thought here.”

  “You mentioned the moor. I presume you meant Cumhann Moor?”

  “The moor nearest your house, yes.”

  “Cumhann Moor.” Iain leaned forward. “The moor that nearly burned to the ground just yesterday.”

  “No…” Martin looked genuinely distressed. “But how?”

  “A question I also find interesting. The answer, of course, is arson. Attempted murder, too, for that matter, since I was caught there while it was burning, as was a friend of mine.”

  “You’re all right? You weren’t injured?”

  “I’m sitting here with you, Martin.”

  The room grew stuffier. Martin wiped his forehead again. “Well, Iain, now I’m beginning to wonder why.”

  “Nothing I have will ever belong to you. Nothing. Not a dust mote, not a drop of water, not a molecule of air. My ancestors were not the only ones capable of entailing property. I can and have done the same. If anything should happen to me, you will never be able to touch a thing that belonged to me. Is that clear enough?”

  “Have you lost your mind? Are you implying that I had something to do with the fire yesterday?”

  “Of course not. I just believe it’s time to show my hand. And here it is. I will fight you and Nigel with every breath left in my body. I’ll use every bit of influence I have in Druidheachd and the surrounding villages to be certain that no one sells so much as a blade of grass to you. I’ll use my influence in Parliament and with every politician in Great Britain.” He stood. “I’ll use every scrap of the considerable information I’ve been able to glean about your holdings internationally and the deceitful means by which you acquired them. And if all that fails, Martin, and you come after what’s precious to me, I’ll come after you in the dead of night. You will never be safe again.”

  Sweat ran like a river from Martin’s forehead. “What have I done to deserve this from you, Iain? I thought we had become friends.”

  “Then you thought I was a fool.” Iain started for the door.

  “What have I done?”

  Iain turned in the doorway. “You’ve coveted Paradise, Martin. But I’m afraid it can never be yours.”

  * * *

  Jeremy Fletcher was gone. There was nothing left at his residence on the edge of the village except a sign in the window advertising it for rent. Constable Terrill assured Billie that no one had seen Jeremy near Druidheachd in weeks; in fact, the rumor was that he had left Britain entirely.

  “Iain believes someone else started the fire,” Billie told Mara, as they walked toward the Sinclair Hotel from the policeman’s office, “but I think Jeremy was behind it. Iain’s bested him in every encounter, and I think Jeremy’s a man with a real need to get even.”

  “Suppose you’re right. What do you think he’ll do now?”

  Billie considered. “I think if Jeremy set the fire or hired someone else to do it, it might be his last stand. He would see the outcome as a draw, which might be good enough. No one died, but the moor will be a reminder to Iain for a long time that not everything is in his control.”

  “And the brakes?”

  “Now that’s exactly the sort of thing he would do. Wreak havoc, then walk away.” They were nearly at the hotel before Billie spoke again. “All right. I’m prepared. Tell me what you see.”

  “Nowt. The people I love most are the one’s I can no’ help. But I’m afraid.”

  “I know. You think that something else will happen.”

  “Have you spoken to Iain?”

  “No.” A week had passed since Billie had awakened in Iain’s bed; seven days since he had disappeared off the face of the earth. Her ankle still throbbed occasionally, but as each day had passed without hearing from him, her heart throbbed more painfully.

  “Duncan has.”

  Billie stopped and touched Mara’s arm. “And you’ve waited until now to tell me?”

  “Iain’s coming home today. He may be there already.”

  “I see.”

  “I dinna think you do. He asked Duncan no’ to tell you.”

  “And so Duncan told you?”

  “Aye. And I had promised Iain nowt.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Your love must be strong.”

  “I’m beginning to think that’s my mantra. Give me a candle and I’ll chant it until I’m enlightened.”

  “I’ve learned that you joke when you feel something most deeply.”

  “I should be joking all the time, then.”

  “Go to him.”

  The advice was good, but Billie found her heart slam-dancing with her ribs. She was afraid to see Iain again. He didn’t even want her to know that he had come back. He had made a decision about them, and he hadn’t consulted her.

  “I don’t know….”

  “He loves you.”

  Billie’s worst fear surfaced. Her voice dropped. “If he doesn’t, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve made a mistake.”

  “You mentioned once that there was another man. Did you love him as much?”

  “No.” Billie was surprised at herself. The word escaped with such force she couldn’t have held it back. “It wasn’t the same thing at all.”

  “And why was it different?”

  Because Iain was her heart. Billie didn’t believe in soul mates, in predestination, reincarnation or any other nation that wasn’t solid, inhabited land. She didn’t, couldn’t, believe in any of those things.

  But she believed that Iain was her heart.

  “Because my love is strong.” She touched Mara’s arm. “Strong enough, I hope, to see this through.”

  Mara fished in her pocket and held up a familiar car key. “I will no’ be needing it all day or night.”

  “I hardly know you, yet you�
�ve become such a good friend. The best one I’ve ever had.”

  Mara clasped her hand. “Walk with care, Billie. Watch everything and everyone. Take no advice that does no’ ring true in your heart. And listen for the things that are no’ said, as well as those screamed in anger.”

  Billie was transfixed by the way Mara’s eyes seemed to grow paler as she spoke. “Yes. All right.”

  Mara nodded; then she pulled her green cape around her and started down the hotel walkway. Billie stood and watched. At the stairs that led inside, Mara stepped into a pool of cloud-filtered sunlight. For a moment she didn’t look like Mara at all. She was radiant, unearthly somehow, as if she were no longer made of flesh.

  Then she turned and waved just before she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

  * * *

  Billie found Iain in the conservatory. He wasn’t pruning today. He was lounging on a stone bench, staring through the glass at the drab winter afternoon. He stood when she approached, but he didn’t speak.

  She did. “Mara told me you’d come back. Next time you’ll have to swear her to secrecy, too.”

  “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

  Iain looked composed, with just the correct hint of regret in his eyes. She wondered how many times he had played out this farewell scene, because obviously he had mastered it. But she was different from the other women he’d known. He had not chosen her because she would be easy to leave.

  She folded her arms. “How difficult does it have to be?”

  “Difficult enough. But I’ve never lied to you. I’ve told you, right from the beginning, that I intend to spend my life alone.”

  “We’ve had some good times, but now they’re over?” She raised a brow. “Or let’s see what other clich;aaes come to mind. How about ‘you’re too warm and wonderful a woman, Billie, to waste yourself on a man like me’? Or ‘you’ll always have a special place in my heart’?”

  “There’s no point in ending this with sarcasm.”

  “There’s no point in ending this. You love me. I love you. We can work out our problems.”

  “Problems?” Something flared behind his stern control. “That doesn’t begin to cover it.”

  “What does cover it?”

  “Basic incompatibility. We’re from two different worlds, and you don’t understand mine. You don’t understand my life, and you refuse to understand what I’ve been telling you all along.”

  “Maybe I’ll understand this time. Go ahead and say it again.”

  “I don’t want a relationship.”

  “Maybe I’ll understand if you’re specific, Iain. Be specific this time. Be very specific, and say it like you mean it.”

  “Why are you torturing us both?”

  “Am I torturing you?”

  He realized his mistake. She could see it in his eyes. Something clicked shut in them, but not before she had seen it. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

  “Nice retraction. But I’m waiting for you to tell me that you don’t want a relationship with me. With me specifically. Tell me that you don’t love me. And if you can say it so that I believe it, then I’ll go.”

  “I know I told you I loved you on the moor, and I’m sorry. But I confused my feelings of protectiveness and concern for love.”

  “Did you?”

  He took a step toward her. “Why do you insist on this?”

  “Because I come from a different world, remember? And in my world we like to dissect every little feeling. And we also like to know exactly where we stand. So, where do I stand?”

  “You can’t stand beside me.”

  “You mean you won’t let me.”

  “I mean I don’t want you to. You are a warm and wonderful woman. I regret that’s a clich;aae, but it’s true. And we have had good times together. But now they’re over.”

  “You still haven’t told me that you don’t love me.”

  “I’m trying not to hurt you!”

  She let her arms fall to her sides. “You’re not succeeding.”

  “I think my feelings are clear, even if you refuse to see them.”

  Her love was strong, but for a moment it faltered. Despite herself, she wondered if she had been wrong about Iain all along. He was a lonely man, even at times a tormented one. Had he reached out to her in his loneliness? And afterward, had he regretted it?

  She had been wrong before.

  He seemed to know the exact moment when her defenses cracked. “I don’t think I have it in me to love anyone,” he said. “I’m sorry that it seemed otherwise.”

  She realized that she couldn’t fight him any longer. She had been battling from the beginning, but she was a victim of forces she didn’t understand and of a man who wanted to protect her from them. She could have fought forever if she had been sure of his love. But she was no longer sure of anything.

  “All right. I guess that’s close enough.” She turned and looked through the greenery for the door. Everything was blurred by the tears that seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

  “I’ll be spending the next months traveling. I won’t see you again. But you’ve nothing to worry about from Martin Carlton-Jones. You’ll be safe now. I’ve seen to it.”

  Billie remembered that Ruaridh had avoided Christina the same way. He had traveled all of Scotland and beyond to keep from seeking her out. But Ruaridh and Iain were not the same man. Clearly Iain would not be back before Billie’s time in Scotland was up.

  She saw the door and started toward it, blinking back tears that she would not let Iain see her cry. She summoned her strength and turned in the doorway to say goodbye.

  She had caught him unprepared. The yearning in his eyes was so naked, so intense, that it almost bridged the distance between them.

  Relief so strong she could taste it coursed through her. “You’re a phony!” She stalked back toward him. “My God, you almost made me believe you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She knew better than to start the conversation again. She would only get more of the same from him. His tongue would not falter, but his eyes had given him away.

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll leave in a moment. But before I do, I want to tell you a story I learned from Flora.”

  “This hardly seems the time.”

  “It’s the perfect time.” Her hands were shaking. She thrust them in the pockets of her jeans.

  “I know the entire legend of Ruaridh and Christina, Billie. And it makes no difference.”

  “This is about wild swans. Do you know their story?”

  He lifted a brow. She could almost see him struggle to stay distant.

  “Do you know that some people here in the north call wild swans the enchanted sons of kings?”

  “I can’t see what this has to do with anything.”

  “Those sad, sad princes are under a spell, Iain. That’s why they’ve been turned into swans. Each day they fly from place to place, anywhere the wind will take them, because seeing new sights, new fields and mountains and trees, is all that’s left to them.”

  He remained silent, but she had expected nothing different. She went on. “Some say that if you watch for the swans on lonely mountain streams or lakes, just as the sun passes over the horizon, you can see them remove their coverings. For that brief moment they struggle to become men again and free themselves from enchantment. But they can’t, not until the spell is lifted.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “The wild swan is mentioned in the MacFarlane curse. Now I think I understand why. You’re like the swan. You fly from place to place because there’s no place you can really call your own, not even this incredible old house. That’s why you’ve never done anything to make it a home. You can’t settle, and you can’t find joy. I think you want to find a way to cast off the spell that binds you, but you can’t, because you don’t know how. I can tell you how, and I’ve tried, but you refuse to listen because you wa
nt so badly to protect me.”

  “I can’t do anything about who I am and what may happen to me.”

  She shook her head. “The real curse isn’t the disease that’s stalked your family. It’s your fear of living. And I’m the very worst threat. Because for the first time in a long time I made you feel alive. I made you want to fight.”

  She hadn’t expected an answer, and she didn’t get one. But he turned away from her. It was answer enough.

  “My love is strong, Iain. But yours has to be strong, too, or the curse will never end.”

  This time she left without looking back. Because nothing she might see on his face now could change what was between them.

  CHAPTER 15

  A lacy veil of snow had fallen in the last hour, and the wreckage of Cumhann Moor was cloaked beneath it. Billie could see the moor from Ceo Castle tower, as well as the silver sheen of the loch and the cloud-tipped mountains. After her encounter with Iain, she had yearned for a last long look at the countryside that had so beguiled her. She had to leave Druidheachd, and Scotland, too. She had mountains of research, enough for a dissertation and possibly, someday, a book. Now she had contacts here who would answer letters and telephone calls, and lists of librarians throughout the country who would respond enthusiastically to questions.

  She had no reason to stay, and more than enough to leave.

  She wondered what the view would look like in the springtime. She had come at the gloomiest time of year, at a time when only the hardiest professed love for their native land. Yet she had come to love this country like her own. There was something in the jagged peaks, the slate gray mists, the wind-roughened waves of Loch Ceo, that called to her and tugged at cords binding her to her family’s past. She had fallen in love with the Highlands when they were most difficult to love.

  She specialized in loving that which she could not keep forever.

  The sky was fast growing darker, and she knew that she should leave. Her ankle had twinged as she climbed, and she knew she needed time, light and courage to get back down. She lingered for one last look and saw a familiar car slowly cruising the loch road. It slowed and turned onto the track leading to the gate where she had parked.

  She wondered what Alasdair Melville was doing at Ceo Castle.