“Stop that,” she’d muttered at one point.
The housekeeper paused to glance over at her. “I beg your pardon? Did you say, ‘Top hat’?”
Bree flushed and pointed, grateful for the chance to cover that little slip of the tongue. “There in the closet.”
“Oh. That.” The older woman smiled. “Her ladyship insisted upon formal attire for her garden parties. That belonged to Master Barclay.”
“Did he attend many garden parties?”
“One or two during his university days.” As Gwynn was closing the closet door, Bree saw Jamie smash the top hat between his hands before glowering at her.
Fortunately, the housekeeper saw none of it.
Bree was sorry that the things she was planning on doing to Jamie’s ancestral home would cause him pain, but she didn’t see that she had any choice. She needed to move ahead, or she would surely be beaten down by the shambles of her life. The creditors were snapping at her heels. Creditors she hadn’t even known about until she’d been left alone to deal with them.
Jamie’s presence had come very close to ruining her day. Despite his disapproval of her plans, he had no right to torment her this way, showing up when she least expected it, throwing her off stride when she was trying so hard to get on with her future.
Bree was determined to put aside her concerns about Jamie. Instead, she allowed her mind to work overtime, considering how much she could possibly earn by selling off some of the crystal and silver, since it would be more practical to have less expensive tableware in an inn. She just might have an appraiser look at some of the other pieces as well, to see if they might bring in additional revenue to cover the start-up costs. Surely there were vases, lamps, and furniture that was too old, too fragile to be used by the public, yet would fetch a good price from collectors. It was sad to consider letting priceless family treasures go to strangers. But desperate times called for desperate measures. She’d been left with no alternative.
She wouldn’t think about that now. She would concentrate, instead, on the future. It had to be brighter than her recent past.
She was attempting a smile as she opened the door to the cottage.
Her smile faded at the sight of Jamie standing by the window, arms crossed over his chest, his usual scowl darkening all his features.
She pulled the door shut and dropped her camera and computer on a nearby table. “How can you be miserable on such a lovely day as this?”
“What’s lovely about it? As far as I can see, ’tis just another day spent trapped in this hellish place. And now you actually plan on bringing strangers here. Tradesmen, village wenches. Busybodies. And all of them crowding my space.”
“They’re necessary to help with the work. If you’re worried about feeling crowded, there are plenty of places you can go to escape. There’s always a walk in the hills, or a swim in the lake.”
“If only I could. Alas, I’m confined to these four walls and that”—he pointed toward the manor house—“hellish site of my betrayal.”
Betrayal. The word brought her up short. Perhaps someday he would tell her how he’d been betrayed, and by whom.
For now, she pushed aside the thought, hoping to distract him and his famous temper.
“What would happen if you tried to hike the hills or swim in the lake?”
“Do you think I haven’t tried? Each time, I’ve come up against an impenetrable wall. The few times I was desperate enough to try bullying my way through, I was so weak I had to take to my bed with utter exhaustion that went on for years.”
“Years?”
“Well, ’tis true that I have no concept of time anymore. Years are like minutes, really. And minutes like years. At any rate, I’ve no desire to pit my will against the wall again. It completely drained me. And so I’m here. Just here, until such time as I’ve earned my freedom.”
Though she hadn’t expected to, Bree felt a wave of sympathy for this being. What would it be like, she wondered, to spend eternity trapped between two worlds, unable to move forward or back?
She walked to the bedroom and hung her jacket in the closet. When she turned, she realized that Jamie had followed her.
“You spent a great deal of time up there.” His tone was accusing.
She arched a brow and tried for a light touch. “Did you miss me?”
His scowl deepened. “Now, why should I miss an annoying intruder?”
“Why indeed? Especially since I saw you there, hovering, eavesdropping everywhere.”
“And why not? ’Tis my home you’re about to rearrange to suit your whims.”
“I’m sorry for that, but I have no choice.”
“We all have choices.”
“Mine have narrowed considerably.” She studied him carefully. “How is it that I could see you, and Gwynn and Duncan couldn’t?”
He shot her a wicked grin. “ ’Tis a trick I’ve learned through the ages. I can appear and disappear at will, allowing some to see me while remaining invisible to others.”
“That little trick would come in handy if I wanted to spy on someone who was bent on deceiving me.”
His smile fled. “Aye. ’Twould’ve served me well in life. Alas, I’ve only mastered it in the past hundred years or so.”
She walked to the kitchen and set the kettle on the stove before removing the foil from a dish that Gwynn had sent.
Jamie peered over her shoulder. “Is that a potpie?”
Bree nodded. “Chicken. Gwynn made it while Duncan and I toured the house, and insisted that I bring it home for my supper.”
He closed his eyes and breathed in the wonderful aroma.
Bree took her time setting out a place mat, arranging her dishes and flatware, before cutting into the pastry and filling her plate. While she ate, Jamie’s eyes took on a wolfish look as he stared at her from across the table.
With each bite, his gaze narrowed, and she could swear he was actually tasting the food, chewing, swallowing, right along with her. Though it was unnerving, it was also extremely intimate, and she found herself chewing slower, taking the time to really savor the delicate flavor of the chicken and vegetables swimming in broth.
“Is it as good as it smells?”
“It is.” She nodded, before a sudden thought struck. “If you can smell, why can’t you taste?”
“I believe I can. I think I can actually taste it, or else I have a memory of the way potpie tastes.”
“Would you like to try a bite?”
He shook his head. “I’m beyond human pleasures.”
“Now, why do you say that?”
He shrugged. “It is the way of it.”
“If that’s so, how do you explain your anger? Isn’t that a purely human emotion?”
“What an odd question.” He arched a brow, as though he’d experienced a sudden epiphany. “Are you saying that, though I’m a spirit, I’m also still human?”
“Are you sure you aren’t? If you can smell, you ought to be able to taste.” She pinned him with a look. “If you can feel anger, then surely you can feel joy.”
“ ’Tis true. I can feel.” He spoke the words with a sense of awe.
“It would seem so.”
They both fell silent, remembering the almost unbearable arousal they’d shared under cover of darkness. The feelings, at least for Bree, had been deeply intense. From the look on Jamie’s face, she had an idea that he’d experienced something similar.
He stood and began to pace, hands linked behind his back, deep in thought, wearing the familiar scowl.
Uncomfortable with the silence, Bree felt the need to say something. “After your reaction to my plans for an inn, I wasn’t looking forward to sharing them with Gwynn and Duncan.” She sat back, sipping her tea. “But they couldn’t have been more excited.”
He stopped his pacing to stare at her. “Aye. I saw how eager they are to be of help to you. You must be very persuasive to bring those two old harpies around.”
“They’re g
ood people. They’ve missed this place since moving to the village. They spent the night in their old apartments, in case . . .” She paused, realizing what she’d been about to say, and amended quickly, “In case I needed them.”
“You mean, in case the evil spirit of the cottage drove you away screaming into the night.”
Bree smiled. “I told them that you and I had met, and had come to an understanding.”
“And what would that be?” His scowl deepened.
“Since neither of us is willing to turn this place over to the other, we’ll simply have to find a way to coexist here.”
“Coexist.” He spat out the word.
“Tolerate, then. I’m afraid you’ll have to tolerate my presence here, since I have no intention of leaving.”
“Not even when the inn is ready for guests?”
She shook her head. “Now that I have their word that Gwynn and Duncan are eager to be a part of this, I’d prefer to live here and let them take over their old apartment in the inn.” She looked around, as though assessing her surroundings. “Once the contractors are finished in the manor house, maybe I’ll have them make a few improvements here as well.”
“I should have known.” He threw up his hands and stormed out of the room. Over his shoulder he shouted, “Leave it to a female to think of a score of ways to add to my torment and make my life as miserable as possible. Workmen,” he shouted. “Here. Underfoot all the day. Woman, I’ll not be lulled into . . . coexisting with the likes of you.”
Bree sat very still, listening to the sound of doors being slammed while the lights flickered on and off. She could hear the breaking of glass as he took out his anger on the few remaining vases left in the bedroom.
Instead of fear, she felt only disgust. He was going to have to learn to curb that nasty temper, or he’d feel the sting of hers.
As she set about clearing the table and washing her dishes, she realized that even Jamie’s latest temper tantrum couldn’t completely dampen her spirits. After a day with Gwynn and Duncan, she was feeling more positive than she had in months.
Opening an inn here was no longer just a sweet dream. Though it would mean a great deal of hard work and sacrifice on her part, now more than ever she was convinced that she could make it happen. And not just because she was alone and desperate, without any other choices, but also because she could see the potential here to succeed.
Ravenswood was set in spectacular rolling hills, surrounded by clear, sparkling lakes. Once restored, the gardens could become world-class. The village below was a lovely little jewel, with shops that would appeal to tourists. A successful inn would mean that the villagers would see their lives improved as well.
She wasn’t about to permit Jamie’s negative attitude to color her decision to move forward on this. She dried her hands on a towel and bit her lip. But she couldn’t help wishing that she could change his mind. Not just for the sake of a little peace here in the cottage, but also because they were running out of vases.
Gwynn had called him violent. A monster.
Bree had certainly seen that side of him. She could only hope that he was never inclined to direct that same violence against her personally.
If she should find herself in the fight of her life against a raging spirit, how much strength could she hope to summon?
She prayed she never needed to find the answer to that. In the meantime, she would remain vigilant. And fully prepared for anything.
FIVE
Bree stoked the fire before pulling the chair close to its warmth. A steaming cup of tea rested on the little table beside her.
After Jamie’s latest tirade, the silence that settled over the cottage was a welcome relief. Considering the day she’d put in, she ought to be ready for bed. But in fact she was reluctant to go into the bedroom and face the carnage. At least that was the reason she gave for remaining by the fire. It was not, she told herself firmly, because of that little scene in bed the previous night. Whatever had happened between them had been completely unintentional. She’d been simply caught up in a dream. Now she would see to it that it never happened again. Even if it meant sleeping here in the chair for the foreseeable future.
“Sorry.” Jamie appeared, holding a wastebasket brimming with shards of iridescent glass.
“Oh no. Not that lovely bowl on the side table.” Bree eyed the pieces as he dumped them unceremoniously into the kitchen trash bin.
“I’ll have you know that it gave me a great deal of satisfaction to smash it to bits. I never liked that bowl, or the female who bought it.”
“Your wife?”
“A great-great-granddaughter. A self-centered wench, like those who spawned her.”
“So much anger.”
“You think I’m angry now?” He gave a dry laugh. “You should have seen me in my prime.”
He dropped to the footstool and stared into the flames. “I spent the first hundred years or so after my death in a blaze of fury.”
“You mean you’re capable of more fury than I’ve witnessed?”
He shrugged. “You’ve only seen a few broken vases. I did that to get your attention. If I were truly angry, I’d have destroyed windows, doors, furniture. Once I even set fire to the cottage. Unfortunately, a rainstorm put it out before it could do damage. Old Duncan summoned the authorities, who told him it had probably been ignited by lightning.”
“I’m sure that only annoyed you more. You were probably hoping to add to your reputation as a fierce, angry spirit.”
He surprised her by throwing back his head and roaring with laughter. “ Aye. That I was. But there were plenty of other times I managed to create enough havoc to have the villagers whispering and the authorities cowering in their boots. To this day they refuse to come out here to the gatekeeper’s cottage alone, and especially after dark.”
“And that makes you happy?”
“Why not? What’s the harm? There’s little enough to amuse me here.” He went silent for so long, she thought he might be ready to pull one of his disappearing acts. But then he surprised her by drifting from the ottoman to settle into an overstuffed, high-backed chair, his feet reclining on a footstool, his arms folded imperiously over his chest, looking for all the world like the lord of the manor. “Time moves as though in a dream. At times quick as the blink of an eye. At other times so slowly it feels as though ’twill never end. At first I found it so confusing. Was I dead or alive? Awake or dreaming? How could this be happening to me? That’s when I began slamming about, breaking things. It helped pass the time, and proved to me that I wasn’t dreaming. This . . . this existence is real, and I must endure it even though I loathe it.” He crossed his legs and leaned back, warming to his subject. “The first hundred years were the worst. After that the hard edge of fury seemed to dull a bit, and I spent another hundred years or so just frightening visitors away so I could have some peace.”
“Did you find it?”
He shook his head. “Peace eludes me. There’s something . . . something just out of reach that I can’t seem to grasp. I’ve begun to sense that it’s something I need to do, or something I need to know. Whatever it is, there is some impossible task that binds me to this place. When I discover it, I’ll have the key to leaving this earth forever.”
“Maybe it has something to do with how you died.” She hesitated, wondering if she were overstepping her bounds. “Is that a subject you’re willing to talk about?”
He waved a hand. “Ah, but you see, I haven’t died. Not completely. But to put your mind at ease, I died by the sword. For a Highland warrior, ’tis the only honorable way to go.”
“You were in a battle?”
“Of sorts. Our history is rife with them. Barbarians determined to take what we have.” His brows drew together in a fierce frown, and she could see that he’d gone somewhere in his mind. Somewhere she couldn’t follow.
He turned to peer into the flames of the fire. In profile, Bree thought he could have been chiseled from stone.
The proud, high brow. The strong jaw. The shock of dark hair falling rakishly over his forehead. He was a handsome devil. The thought caused her to shiver as she was reminded again about her sudden, stunning arousal while in that dreamlike state.
“I should”—she got to her feet—“get some sleep.”
He turned toward her and arched a brow. His smile was quick and disarming. “Aye. I’ve a mind to do the same.”
She hesitated, alert to the teasing tone of his voice. “If you’d like the bed, I’ll sleep here in the chair.”
He got to his feet and faced her. “I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your comfort.”
“Look.” She sighed, weary of his badgering. “Only one of us can sleep in there.” She nodded toward the bedroom. “Since you were here first, I’m willing to concede it to you.”
“Not at all.” He swept a hand in a courtly gesture. “I’ll not be outdone in generosity. The bed is yours.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “You’re sure?”
“I am.”
“All right. If you insist.”
“I do.”
“You promise you won’t sneak in there after I’m asleep?”
“I make you no promises.” He paused dramatically. “But so long as you wish it, I’ll not intrude. If, however, you have need of me, I’ll be more than happy to comply.”
She studied his face, but could see no trace of his usual sly humor.
“Thank you. Good night then, Jamie.”
“Good night.” He shimmered and began to fade before disappearing completely.
Alone, she made her way to the bedroom. A short time later she fell thankfully into bed and was asleep almost at once.
Bree heard the ringing of a phone and felt a sudden sense of dread that had all her muscles clenching. Phone calls in the night were never a good thing. She picked up the receiver and listened to the voice at the other end.
“No!” She wanted to silence the words but they continued on, recounting something so hurtful, she couldn’t bear to listen. “No. Please. Stop.”
The Unquiet Page 29