Countdown

by Iris Johansen

  “Did he give it to you?” she murmured.

  Cira stared back at her, bold and unflinching.

  “Maybe . . .” She carefully lifted the bust and set it on the floor.

  A few sheets of folded paper lay on the pedestal.

  “Yes!” She took the sheets of paper, replaced the statue, and dropped down in the easy chair. Her hands were shaking as she unfolded Mario’s translation.

  My dear Pia,

  I may die tonight.

  Julius is behaving strangely and he may have found that the gold is missing. Though the guards I persuaded to do my will are still serving Julius, he may be trying to disarm me until he can find where I sent the gold. I will not send this to you unless I think it safe. Take no chances. You must not die. You must live long and enjoy every minute of it. All the velvet nights and silver mornings. All the songs and laughter. If I don’t survive remember me with love and not bitterness. I know I should have found you sooner, but time flies by and you can never get it back. But enough of this gloominess. It is staying with Julius that is making me think of death. I need to talk to you of life, our life. I will not lie. I cannot promise you that it will be either—

  22

  Where are you going?” Bartlett asked Jane as she tore down the stairs. “Is everything okay?”

  “Fine. Tell Trevor I’ll be back soon. I have to see MacDuff. . . .” She trailed off as she ran out the door and down the front steps. No, not MacDuff. Not yet. She flew across the courtyard and into the stable. A moment later she was lifting the trapdoor, grabbing a flashlight, and starting down the steps that led to the sea.

  Cold. Wet. Slippery.

  Angus’s place, Jock had called it. And later also Angus’s room. She had thought it odd when there was no room. . . .

  Not where she was.

  She had reached the narrow passage that doubled back to lead to the hills instead of the cliffs. She started down the passage.

  Darkness. Suffocating narrowness. Slick stones underfoot.

  And an oak door about a hundred yards down the corridor.

  Locked?

  No, it swung open on oiled hinges.

  She stood in the doorway, the beam of her flashlight shining into the darkness.

  “Why are you hesitating?” MacDuff asked dryly from behind her. “Why not one more trespass? One more invasion of privacy?”

  She stiffened and turned to face him. “You’re not going to make me feel guilty. Hell, I may be entitled to know why Jock said you spent so much time here.”

  He didn’t change expressions. “Trevor isn’t leasing this part of the estate. You have no right to be here.”

  “Trevor’s invested a lot in trying to find Cira’s gold.”

  “You think it’s here?”

  “I think there’s a chance.”

  His brows lifted. “I’m supposed to have found Cira’s gold on one of my trips to Herculaneum and hidden it here?”

  “Possibly.” She shook her head. “But that’s not my guess.”

  He smiled faintly. “I’ll be fascinated to hear your speculations.” He gestured. “Let’s go into Angus’s room and you can tell me all about it.” His smile widened as he saw her expression. “Do you think I’m going to indulge in foul play? I might. Cira’s gold is a great instigator.”

  “You’re not a fool. Trevor would tear this place apart if I disappeared.” She turned and went into the room. “And I came here to see what was in this room, and now I have an invitation.”

  MacDuff laughed. “A reluctant invitation. Let me light the lanterns so that you can have a good look.” He moved across the room to a table against the wall and lit two lanterns, illuminating the room. It was a small room that contained a desk with an open laptop computer, a chair, a cot, and a number of cloth-draped objects leaning against the far wall. “No chest overflowing with Cira’s gold.” He leaned lazily against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “But you don’t really care about the gold, do you?”

  “I care about everything connected with Cira. I want to know.”

  “And you think I can help you?”

  “You were very eager to grab Reilly’s Herculaneum files. You didn’t like it at all when I wouldn’t let you have them.”

  “True. Naturally, I was concerned that they might give a clue to where the gold was.”

  She shook her head. “You were concerned that there was a ship’s log written by a merchant captain Demonidas among those documents.”

  His gaze narrowed on her face. “Was I? Now, why?”

  She didn’t answer. “I didn’t realize myself how important that log might be until I read Mario’s translation of Cira’s last letter.”

  “You found it?”

  She nodded and reached into her pocket. “Would you like to read it?”

  “Very much.” He straightened away from the wall and held out his hand. “You know I would.”

  She watched him unfold the pages, and she tried to decipher his expression as he read the words that were engraved in her memory.

  I need to talk to you of life. Our life. I cannot promise that it will be either easy or safe, but we will be free and answer to no one. That I can promise you. No man crushing us beneath his heel. Achavid is a wild land, but the gold will make it tamer. Gold always soothes and comforts.

  Demonidas still has not agreed to take us past Gaul, but I will persuade him. I don’t wish to waste time finding another ship to take us farther. Julius will be on our heels and he will never stop.

  Let him look. Let him venture into those rough hills and confront those wild men that the emperor calls savages. He’s not a man who can survive without his fine wines and soft life. He’s not like us. We’ll live and thrive and thumb our noses at Julius.

  And if I’m not there to help you, then you must do it yourself. Be bold with Demonidas. He’s greedy and you must never let him know that we’ve hidden the gold among the boxes that we’re taking with us.

  By the Gods, I’m telling you how to handle him, yet I hope with all my heart that I’m there to do it for you.

  But if I’m not, you will do it. We are one blood. Anything I can do, you will be able to do. I trust in you, my sister.

  All my love,

  Cira

  MacDuff folded the letter and handed it back to her. “So Cira did manage to get the gold out of the tunnel.”

  “And put it on a ship captained by Demonidas sailing to Gaul.”

  “Perhaps. Often plans go awry, and she wasn’t sure she’d even live through the night.”

  “I believe she did. I think she wrote that letter the night the volcano erupted.”

  “And your proof?”

  “I don’t have proof.” She reached into her pocket. “But I have Reilly’s translation of Demonidas’s log. He refers to a Lady Pia who paid him well to transport her, her child, Leo, and her servants to Gaul and then to southeastern Britannia. They left on the night of the eruption, and he brags about his bravery in the face of calamity. They wanted him to take them on to what he called Caledonia, the place we call Scotland, but he refused. The Roman army was warring with the Caledonian tribes, and Agricola, the Roman governor, was launching ships to attack the northeast coast. Demonidas wanted no part of it. He left Pia and company in Kent and returned to Herculaneum. Or what was left of Herculaneum.”

  “Interesting. But it refers to this Lady Pia, not Cira.”

  “As you read, Pia must have been Cira’s sister. They were probably separated as children and Cira was too busy surviving to search for her. And when she did find her, she didn’t want to involve her in her battle with Julius and put her in danger.”

  “And then Cira died and Pia sailed away with the gold.”

  “Or Pia died in the city and Cira took her name and identity to escape Julius. It was the kind of thing she would do.”

  “Any mention of the names of the servants who accompanied her?”

  “Dominic . . . and Antonio. Cira had a servant, Domi
nic, a lover, Antonio, and she’d adopted a child, Leo.”

  “But wouldn’t her sister have taken care of Cira’s family if Pia was the one who survived?”

  “Yes. But, dammit, Cira didn’t die.”

  He smiled. “Because you don’t want it to have happened that way.”

  “Antonio was Cira’s lover. He wouldn’t have left her and gone sailing off.”

  “My, how certain you are. Men leave women. Women leave men. It’s the way life is.” He paused. “And why did you run over here after reading those documents and break into Angus’s room?”

  “I didn’t break—well, not technically. But I was prepared to do it.”

  He chuckled. “I do love that honesty. From the moment I met you, I knew that I—”

  “Then be honest with me. Stop playing word games.” She drew a deep breath and then went for it. “You knew what Demonidas had written in that log.”

  “How could I know that?”

  “I don’t know. But Reilly said that you’d almost stolen a document from him. It had to be this document. Because Reilly tracked and took Jock for a reason. You told me that Reilly probably thought you’d discovered something about the gold on one of your trips to Herculaneum. That Jock was in and out of your castle and that he might know something more.”

  “Isn’t that reasonable?”

  “Absolutely. That’s why I didn’t question it. Until I read Cira’s letter and Demonidas’s log. Until Reilly told me that after reading the document he’d come to new and different conclusions regarding Cira.”

  MacDuff looked at her inquiringly.

  “Don’t play with me. You knew that Reilly had that log.”

  “How could I?”

  “You went after Demonidas’s log at the same time Reilly did. But Reilly got his hands on it first. And after Reilly had it translated, he remembered that you had wanted it too. Very badly. He became curious. But Jock wasn’t able to tell him anything, so he put you temporarily on the back burner. He was busy trying to get hold of Cira’s scrolls and manipulating Grozak.”

  “Not quite on the back burner,” MacDuff said. “He had me followed and once sent one of his trolls to try to knock me on the head and kidnap me.”

  She stiffened. “You admit it?”

  “To you. Not to Trevor or Venable or anyone else.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because this is between the two of us. I’m still going to get that gold and I don’t want interference.”

  “You don’t have it yet?”

  He shook his head. “But it’s there and I’ll find it.”

  “How do you know it’s there?”

  He smiled. “You tell me. I can see you’re working your way through it.”

  She was silent a moment. “Cira and Antonio left Kent and came here to Scotland. It was a warring, savage country and she was still on the run from Julius. They decided to go inland, deep into the Highlands. They could lose themselves there and bide their time until they could become more visible and set themselves up in the style Cira had always wanted.”

  “And did she?”

  “I’m sure she did. But she had to be careful, and a little gold would have gone a long way in such a primitive place. It wouldn’t have taken much of her store of gold to set herself and Antonio up quite comfortably, even luxuriously by the standards of those wild Scots. Isn’t that right, MacDuff?”

  His brows lifted. “It sounds reasonable. I’d think you were right.”

  “Don’t you know?”

  He didn’t speak for a moment and then he slowly nodded and smiled. “It would have taken only a mere pittance, and Cira was very, very canny.”

  “Yes, she was.” She smiled back at him. “And she stayed there and prospered and she and Antonio changed their names and raised their family. Their descendants must have liked it there, because they never moved to the coast even when it was safe. Until Angus decided to build this castle in 1350. Why did he do that, MacDuff?”

  “He was always a wild man. He wanted to strike out on his own and carve his own niche. I can understand that, can’t you?”

  “Yes. When did you find out about Cira’s background? Was that another old family secret?”

  “No. Cira must have turned her back on Herculaneum when she settled in the Highlands. There are no tales of Roman revelry. No stories of Italy passed down from father to son. It was as if they sprang from the ground there and made it their own. Angus and Torra were wild and free and, on occasion, as savage as the people surrounding them.”

  “Torra?”

  “It means from the castle. A good name for Cira to choose, and it exactly mirrored her intentions.”

  “And Angus?”

  “He was the first Angus. It’s not too far from Antonio.”

  “If there weren’t any family stories, then how did you know about Cira?”

  “You told me.”

  “What?”

  “You and Eve Duncan and Trevor. I read the story in the newspaper.”

  She gazed at him incredulously.

  He chuckled. “You don’t believe me? It’s true. Shall I prove it?” He grabbed one of the lanterns and moved across the room toward the draped objects leaning against the far wall. “Life is strange. But this was a little too strange.” He pulled the drapery off to reveal a painting—no, a portrait, she saw, as he turned the painting to face her. “Fiona.”

  “My God.”

  He nodded. “It’s a mirror image.”

  He stepped back and held the lantern high.

  The woman in the portrait was young, in her early twenties, and dressed in a low-necked green gown. She wasn’t smiling but gazing out of the portrait with impatience. But there was a vitality and beauty that was unmistakable. “Cira.”

  “And you.” He began stripping the draperies off the other paintings. “There’s no other similarity as close as Fiona’s but there are hints, traces of resemblance.” He pointed at a young man dressed in Tudor clothing. “His mouth is shaped like Cira’s.” He gestured to an older woman with a lorgnette, and hair in a bun. “And those cheekbones were passed down in almost every generation. Cira definitely left her stamp on her descendants.” He grimaced. “I had to take down every portrait and hide them here when I knew I was leasing the place to Trevor.”

  “That’s why there were so many tapestries on the walls,” she murmured. “But you don’t bear any resemblance to her at all.”

  “Perhaps I take after her Antonio.”

  “Maybe.” Her gaze was moving from portrait to portrait. “Amazing . . .”

  “That’s what I thought. I was only curious at first. I began to probe a little and did start to do a little intensive research into family history.”

  “And what did you find out?”

  “Nothing concrete. Cira and Antonio covered their tracks very well. Except for one old, tattered letter I found buried with some papers Angus had brought from the Highlands. Actually, it was a scroll in a brass container.”

  “From Cira?”

  “No, from Demonidas.”

  “No way.”

  “It was a very interesting letter. You’ll be glad to know it was addressed to Cira, not Pia. It was couched in flowery terms but it was basically a blackmail letter. Evidently when Demonidas returned to Herculaneum he heard about Julius’s search for Cira and decided that he’d see if he could get more money from her than he could from Julius for telling him where she was. He was agreeing to meet with Cira and Antonio to receive his pound of flesh.” He smiled. “Big mistake. Nothing was heard from Demonidas again.”

  “Except the ship’s log.”

  “That was written three years before he tried to feather his nest. He must have left it at his home in Naples. But when I heard it existed, I knew I had to try to get hold of it. I didn’t know what was in it, but I didn’t want to risk it connecting Cira with my family.”

  “Why?”

  “The gold. It’s mine and it’s going to stay mine. I couldn’t l
et anyone know that it might not be in Herculaneum. If they knew there was even a chance that it was here, they’d find a way to tear this place apart.”

  “And would they find it?”

  “Maybe. I haven’t yet.”

  “How do you know that it wasn’t found by one of Cira’s descendants and spent?”

  “I can’t know for sure. But there have always been tales of a lost treasure in the family. It was vague, more fairy tale than anything else, and I never paid any attention to it. I was too busy coping with the real world.”

  “Like Grozak and Reilly.” She gazed at the portrait of Fiona. MacDuff’s kinswoman might have had her share of trials and tribulations, but Jane doubted she’d had to deal with monsters who cared nothing for human life or dignity.

  “You’re shivering,” MacDuff said roughly. “It’s cold in here. If you intended to breach Angus’s stronghold, why the devil didn’t you grab a jacket?”

  “I didn’t think. I just went for it.”

  “What you always do.” He went over to the desk and opened a drawer. “But I can take care of it this time.” He took out a bottle of brandy and poured a small amount in two shot glasses. “I’ve been known to need a wee drop myself when I’ve been working through the night.”

  “I’m surprised you admit it.”

  “I always admit my faults.” He grinned as he handed her the shot glass. “That way I don’t intimidate anyone by the sheer volume of my talents and accomplishments.”

  “And your incredible modesty.” She drank the brandy and made a face as the liquid burned through her. But in a moment she did feel warmer, steadier. “Thank you.”

  “More?”

  She shook her head. She didn’t know why she’d accepted the liquor to begin with. She wasn’t sure she trusted him, and he’d already told her that he wanted no one to know that his family had any connection with Cira. He was a tough, ruthless bastard, and that might mean she was in danger of violence. Yet here she was sharing brandy with him and feeling very comfortable about it. “It wasn’t really about the cold.”

  “I know.” He tossed off his brandy in one swallow. “It’s been a hard time for you. But brandy is a cure-all for more than the chill.” He took her glass and carried it back to the chest. “And it will make you more mellow toward me.”