Jamie had gone very quiet, choosing to stand beside the fireplace, one arm resting atop the mantel, his gaze steady on her. His voice was unusually quiet. “And he betrayed your trust.”
She swallowed and nodded. “He promised that we would start a family as soon as we were settled into our dream house. But he couldn’t seem to settle. Nothing ever suited his taste. We tried New York, London, Paris. Soon, he would say. Soon. But not yet.”
She drew in a breath. “He was out of town. Business in Palm Springs, I’d been told. I was in a cramped little apartment in San Francisco. We talked every day.” She winced as she touched a hand to the cell phone in her pocket. What had Jamie said when she’d first arrived? Did she really believe that a brief phone conversation was the same as intimacy?
She let go of her phone and clenched her hands together tightly, barely holding on to the rising tide of anger. “He told me how much he missed me. How eager he was to get back to me. Just hours after we spoke, I was awakened from sleep by a call from the authorities. Barclay had been in a fatal accident on a highway heading out of Las Vegas. He’d died instantly.” She swallowed before going on. “He wasn’t alone. A young woman had been killed along with him. An autopsy found that she was”—Bree sucked in a breath—“she was carrying his child. Her friends claimed that he’d promised to marry her, but that he would first have to take care of a little business.” Anger blazed, white-hot, and she welcomed it rather than the tears that threatened. “I guess I was that ‘little business’ he needed to take care of.”
Jamie watched the way her eyes narrowed. Her fury was palpable, like a dark cloud gathering overhead, filling the little room with an amazing, fiery energy.
“The news just kept getting darker and more horrifying. I started getting phone calls from creditors. It turned out that Barclay had squandered all our money. No wonder he’d refused to give me a home. All that I’d saved from my years in the hotel business, and all his inheritance, had gone for his gambling debts and his lavish lifestyle. When I learned that before his death he’d contacted an investor about selling this estate, I decided to see it for myself. And on the flight here, it occurred to me that Ravenswood might be my salvation. I need to work, and what better way than by doing what I’ve been trained to do?”
“Have you no other means of supporting yourself?”
She shook her head. “I’ve run out of options. Barclay left enormous debts, and his creditors are demanding payment. Unless I can find a way to keep them at bay, they could be tempted to try to gain control of this property to satisfy that debt.”
Jamie could see that she was dangerously close to tears.
“Aren’t we a pair of fools?” He crossed the room, caught her hands in his and helped her to her feet before drawing her into the circle of his arms.
Even in the warmth of his embrace, Bree held herself stiffly. They stayed that way for the longest time while Bree struggled to control her raging emotions. Despite her will to resist, the strong arms holding her, Jamie’s quiet, steady heartbeat, his calm demeanor in the eye of such a storm, were like a soothing balm to her ravaged system. Gradually he felt her relax against him.
Finally he stepped back and caught her hand.
She arched a brow. “What are you . . . ?”
“Shhh.” He put a finger to her lips to still any questions.
Still holding her hand, he led her toward the bedroom.
Once there he gathered her close and kissed her with a reverence that had her sighing, as, for the moment, the last of her anger slipped away.
Without a word they offered each other comfort in the only way they could.
EIGHT
From her position in bed, Bree watched as Jamie walked to the window of the bedroom to stare out at the vista of Highlands and heather. Since their lovemaking, he’d fallen into a pensive mood.
She was in a strange mood herself. She was beginning to question her sanity. How was it possible that she trusted the spirit of a long-dead Highland warrior more than she could bring herself to place her trust in any flesh-and-blood man?
But there it was. The truth of the matter was that she would probably never trust another man. Whatever hope she’d had of finding true and lasting love had died in the fiery wreckage of Barclay’s car.
At least she would have her work to fill her days, and a ghostly lover to fill her nights.
She glanced at her watch and realized that it was time to get back to the manor house.
After a quick shower, she dressed and ran a brush through her hair.
Jamie tore himself away from the window to walk with her to the door of the cottage.
She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “You’re in a strange mood.”
“ Aye.”
“If you’d like some company, you could walk with me to the manor house.”
He shook his head. “I’ve some heavy thinking to do.”
“About what?”
He stared down into her eyes, and once again she had the feeling that he could see into her soul.
“About the meaning of life.”
She touched a hand to his cheek. Just a touch, but she felt a sudden chill. “Jamie . . .”
He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Go. You’ve your work to see to, and I have mine.”
She turned away. When she glanced back, he was gone.
When she arrived at the manor house, she was startled to see Jamie standing in the parlor, staring at his own portrait.
She walked up beside him. “When I left here, that was hanging in the upper gallery. Are you playing games with me?”
“I wish it were a game, love.”
At the seriousness of his tone, her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
“Something is happening. For all the time I’ve been here, except for those times when I tried to walk away, my energy has always been supernaturally high. Now I can feel it beginning to fail me. It took all my strength to will the portrait here where it belongs.”
While he spoke she saw the way his image faded in and out. She touched a hand to his shoulder, then drew it back when she encountered a rush of damp coolness. “You’re growing cold.”
“ Aye.” Jamie took her hands and held them tightly. “There are things I must tell you now, before I fade away forever.”
“Forever? Jamie, you can’t . . .”
“Hush, love. Listen. For what I have to say is of utmost importance.” He caught a breath. “When I heard your story, and felt the depth of your pain, I realized for the first time that I was trapped here, between heaven and earth, by my own selfish choices, and that you were becoming trapped as well. You vowed to never open your heart again, because of your betrayal.”
“Why should I open my heart to more pain?”
“Because in order to love, we must first trust. Once that trust has been destroyed, it becomes more difficult to trust again. I was consumed with anger for those who had wronged me. It’s what kept me here. And I sensed that same anger in you. Like a poison infecting every facet of our lives. But here’s the amazing truth. I realized after telling you of my betrayal, and hearing about yours, that I’d suddenly been filled with a strange sense of peace. Did you feel it, too?”
Bree wanted to deny it, but she found herself nodding.
“You see? I believe it’s a signal that the time for me to leave this world is at hand.”
“No. Please, Jamie. I don’t want you to go. I’ve only just found someone I can trust. Someone who shares my most intimate secrets. Don’t you see? You’re the only one who really knows how I feel, because you suffered the same pain and humiliation.”
“Aye, love. ’Twas the same for me when I told you of my life and my betrayal. But for me, it was the final step in my healing, while for you, ’twas the first step.”
When she opened her mouth to protest, he touched a finger to her lips. “I’ve had hundreds of years to ponder. Now, suddenly, it’s all clear. This, then, is what I know to be true. Some peop
le are weak. They make unwise choices. Cruel choices. Choices that hurt others, even those whom they truly love. I now realize that my Flora did love me in her own way, even though she carelessly gave her heart to my best friend as well. That was her failure. And mine was in refusing, for all these many years, to recognize that weakness in her and to forgive.”
Bree was shaking her head in denial. “If you’re suggesting that I should forgive Barclay for what he did, you ask too much of me. I’ll never forgive him.”
“You must, Brianna. You must accept that he was a flawed man, who loved you in his own way, but he wasn’t capable of exclusive love.”
“Don’t you understand? My pain is too deep. How can you ask me to forgive him?” Her voice shook with passion. “I simply can’t.”
“Hush now, love. I speak the truth. Those of us who are harmed by such selfish actions must be stronger, better, kinder. The world is what it is. Good and evil. Harsh and kind. And in order to spend eternity in peace, we must learn to forgive. Others. Ourselves. Their weaknesses and our own. This was the lesson I needed to learn. And only now, finding you, my soul mate, have I been able to forgive the wife and friend who betrayed me in this life. And it must be the same for you, Brianna my love. Do you not see? You deserve to love and be loved. Not by one who selfishly asks you to choose between career and love, but by one who understands that true love is a partnership. A real sharing and blending of two lives. But only when you forgive the one who was weak and selfish will you be open to all the love that can be yours in this world and the next.”
“What about our love? Yours and mine? Was this just a passing . . . lesson?” She spoke the word with a harshness that revealed the depth of her pain.
He lifted his big hands to frame her face and stare deeply into her eyes. “The love we share is deep and real and everlasting. Our love will never die.”
She shivered from the coolness of his touch. “And in the same breath you tell me you’re leaving me.”
“I have no choice in this, Brianna. But you must believe me when I tell you that I shall love you not just now, but for all time.”
Tears filled her eyes. “What good is your love if you can’t be with me?”
“I will always be with you, my love. Now, today, tomorrow. Forever. This I vow.”
Even as he spoke the words, she could see him fading.
While she watched, his image began to shimmer and dance, until it resembled the sunbeams that flitted across the wall.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Jamie, please don’t leave. I swear I will never love anyone the way I love you.”
For a moment the portrait was bathed in light, and Bree saw the warrior’s gaze bearing a mischievous light as it fixed on her, his lips curved into a teasing smile.
She blinked away her tears. When she looked again, the portrait was as it had been before. There was no smile. The look of him was once again stern and unseeing.
She dropped into a chair in front of the fire and buried her face in her hands, allowing the tears to fall. Harder and harder they fell, her body wracked with shuddering sobs, until there were no tears left.
Jamie’s last words were etched into her soul. Forgiveness. Was it possible? Until this very moment, she would have scoffed at the idea. She had not only endured the pain of her betrayal, she had nurtured it, allowing it to fester and grow in her heart and soul.
Now she felt a new, uneasy feeling stirring within. Perhaps it was the beginning of forgiveness. Perhaps it was sheer exhaustion.
Drained, her head dropped back against the cushions of the chair and she fell into a deep sleep.
“Mrs. Kerr.”
At the sound of the housekeeper’s voice, Bree woke with a start. For long minutes she stared around, trying to get her bearings.
She was in the parlor of Ravenswood. There was no sign of the village lasses, or the work they’d done. The furnishings, which had earlier been removed by workmen, now stood once again covered in their faded dust cloths. The dust of accumulated years layered everything.
Had it all been a dream?
A log burned on the hearth.
Mrs. Logan was standing beside her chair.
“ A gentleman is here to see you. He says you instructed him to meet you at the cottage, but when he went there he found it empty.”
“Thank you, Gwynn.” Bree struggled to her feet, trying to focus. She stared down at herself, surprised that she was dressed as she’d been when she first arrived. “What day is this?”
“What day?” Startled, the housekeeper bit back a smile. “ ’Tis Monday, Mrs. Kerr. Duncan delivered you to the door. We toured the house a bit, and then you had tea and sandwiches and fell asleep. You were just about to head up to the cottage before dark. Unless, of course, I could persuade you to stay the night here.”
“No. I’d prefer the cottage.” Feeling dazed and disoriented, Bree turned to the handsome man in the doorway, dressed in casual denims and a corduroy jacket, his dark hair wind-tossed, his eyes cool and assessing. Though she’d never before met him, there was something oddly familiar about him.
“You’re the architect.”
“I am. James Keith.” He crossed the room and offered a firm handshake.
“Brianna Kerr. I was told that you specialize in reconstructing ancient manor homes into functioning, modern facilities.”
He nodded. “And you told my assistant that you hope to turn this into an inn.”
Out of the corner of her eye Bree saw the housekeeper listening with keen interest, as though she’d had no idea. “That’s right. But what is equally important to me is that we do so while respecting the home’s historic background.” She thought of Jamie’s anger when he’d learned of her plans for the place. “After all, many noble Highlanders shed their blood on this land.”
“I pride myself on honoring that fact, Mrs. Kerr.”
She smiled. “I hope, after you’ve had a chance to study Ravenswood, you’ll come up with some acceptable sketches for me to consider.”
“ As a matter of fact, I’m already familiar with Ravenswood. My grandmother was a Kerr, distantly related, and I spent many happy holidays here when I was a lad.” He indicated the portfolio in his hand.
As he did, Bree caught sight of the birthmark between his thumb and index finger. It was a bloodred image of a half-moon.
She caught her breath as he added, “I’ve brought you some preliminary sketches to look at.” He paused. “Since it’s nearing dusk, why don’t I walk with you to the cottage, and you can study the sketches after you’ve had time to settle in?”
Mrs. Logan indicated a basket of food. “I’ve made a hearty vegetable soup and a chicken potpie. There’s more than enough for two, if you’ve a mind to stay awhile,” she added to the man.
Moments ago Bree’s head had been spinning, her thoughts in turmoil. Whether she’d been dreaming or had actually lived the events that were now vividly etched in her mind, it was of no consequence. Now a strange sense of calm, of perfect peace, stole over her, and she knew, without question, that being here in this place was all part of some grand plan.
With a warm smile she accepted the basket from the old woman’s hands. “Thank you, Gwynn. Would you care to join me, Mr. Keith?”
He gave a nod toward the housekeeper. “I believe I can already taste your excellent soup and potpie, Mrs. Logan.”
When he opened the front door, Bree stepped out into the fading light and moved along beside him.
Up ahead, a dark plume rose from the cottage chimney, filling the air with the wonderful scent of wood smoke.
“Will you be staying here at Ravenswood, Mrs. Kerr?”
The voice beside her was deep and rich with Scottish burr.
She absorbed a delicious shiver of warmth.
“I don’t think I could bear to leave it. I’ve decided that Ravenswood will be my home, Mr. Keith.”
“I’m glad. And please, my friends call me Jamie.”
She wondered that he
r heart didn’t burst clear through her chest. “Jamie, my name is Bree. Short for Brianna.”
“I believe I prefer Brianna. The elegant name suits you.” He steadied a hand beneath her elbow as she made her way along the rough path. Glancing skyward, he added, “It’s begun to rain.”
Bree turned to him with a radiant smile. “I’ve always loved the sound of rain on the roof.”
“So have I.” He gave her a smile that was reminiscent of another’s as he reached around her and opened the door to the cottage. “Welcome to your forever home, Brianna Kerr.”
For the space of a heartbeat she was thunderstruck. And then she knew, without a doubt, that her own dear Jamie was letting her know, in his own way, that he had kept his word to her. His choice of words gave her a sense of utter peace and contentment.
Here was, she realized, all that she’d waited a lifetime to share.
HIS BROTHER’S KEEPER
MARY KAY MCCOMAS
For my brothers:
Bill Perry, Greg Perry, and Jim Perry.
I love you guys!
ONE
“Are you feeling any better, honey?”
“I am. Yes. A little, I think.” A tiny fib to prevent another worry wrinkle in her mother’s face was never a bad thing to Ivy. She and her brother had given her plenty to worry about in the past. She deserved her peace. “The quiet here is nice, but if I listen to the sound of the waves for very long, I get sleepy.”
And jerk alert again, afraid to dream. The same dreams that had been plaguing her for months. Dreams that made her restless . . . even after she woke up. Restless in a way that affected her work—the writing and illustrating of the Patty Ann Pettigrew series of children’s books that were, to her wondrous astonishment, quickly becoming very popular. And rather lucrative.
The Unquiet Page 32