To the Rescue

by Jean Barrett

  Rigid with apprehension, she listened to the sound of Patrick relocking his door. If it was going to happen, it would happen now. But the startled challenge she anticipated never occurred. All she heard was the sound of his footsteps retreating down the corridor. Safe. They were safe.

  The clouds must have closed behind them. The alcove was plunged into gloom again.

  There was nothing but silence now from the far end of the passage. The threat was gone. They could emerge from the alcove. But for some reason she would never understand, or perhaps she did understand it and refused to admit it, they lingered there.

  A long moment passed, and then she turned slowly to face Leo. And met his breath-robbing gaze.

  Struggling for air, she managed a weak “He didn’t see us.”

  “No,” he rasped.

  “We can leave now.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We should leave before someone else comes along.”

  “Right.”

  But neither of them stirred. They went on standing there, scant inches apart while his dark gaze continued to search her face. And then even those few inches closed into nothing as she swayed toward him, helpless against the force that pulled her into his waiting arms.

  His mouth sought her own without hesitation. She would have sworn that the sun had managed to burst through the heavy clouds again. But it wasn’t the sun that blinded her. It was his kiss, as strong and primal as anything the elements could deliver. And as molten as the kiss they had shared in the chapel. With a not-so-small difference. This time, upright as they were and with Leo clasping her body tightly against his solid length, she could feel the hard ridge of his arousal strained against her groin.

  What had she tried to tell herself earlier? About Leo not being all that special? She’d been wrong. He was that special.

  He took his slow, sweet time plundering her mouth, his tongue savoring hers. Which should have left her satisfied, not disappointed when he finally released her.

  “You ready to go back?” he said gruffly.

  Just like that. No aftermath of endearments or caresses. She could have smacked him, whatever wisdom he might be exercising in a situation that, admittedly, was potentially treacherous.

  “Yes,” she agreed.

  She was still in such a mindless state from that kiss she didn’t remember going back to their rooms. It just seemed that they were suddenly there, standing in the passage outside her door.

  “Are we going down for tea with them?” Jennifer asked him.

  He looked puzzled.

  “This is England,” she reminded him. “Whatever happens, no one misses afternoon tea. The others will be gathering before long in the dining parlor.”

  Leo shook his head. “I don’t think it would be smart of me to show up there that soon when I’m supposed to be feeling rotten again.”

  “You’re probably right. And since they believe I’m up here taking care of you, I’d better not turn up there either. Well…”

  Jennifer opened her door, waiting for him to indicate he would join her in her room. That they would sit down and talk both about what they had learned and hadn’t learned in their search. But he was plainly not interested in doing that.

  “I’ll see you when it’s time for dinner,” he said. “I ought to be able to risk an appearance by then.”

  She could see that he wanted her to go into her room and close her door, that he was only lingering here long enough to make sure she was safe inside. He left her no other choice but to oblige him. She went into her room and shut the door.

  For a long moment she stood there with her back against the door, wondering what had just happened, unable to deny her hurt over his abrupt parting from her. Did he regret that scene in the alcove?

  It was cold in the room. She left the door and crossed to the hearth. There were just enough embers in the grate to revive the fire with the chunks of peat she scooped out of the basket. Reasonable or not, she was angry with Leo, angry with herself as she fed the flames.

  What on earth was the matter with her?

  It wasn’t until she had a good blaze going and was benefiting from its warmth, that Jennifer was able to acknowledge exactly what was wrong with her. Not anger, no. It was fear. A fear that she was falling in love with Leo McKenzie.

  Couldn’t be. All right, she had fallen in lust with him. She would admit that much. But not love. Love took time to develop. It didn’t happen this soon, and it required a lot more than just sexual attraction to make it genuine. Things that to her they didn’t seem to share, like the same basic values, common interests, the capacity to fully enjoy each other’s company.

  And, most important of all, trust. Trust was missing from their relationship. Because she knew that Leo had yet to decide for certain that she hadn’t killed his half brother. On that level anyway he was still her enemy.

  He had been right to leave her at her door before both of them lost their heads again. She silently thanked him for that.

  WHAT THE HELL was the matter with him? Leo asked himself, raking a hand through his hair as he prowled restlessly around his room. He couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her.

  Good thing he hadn’t gone into her room with her. He’d had that much sense anyway. Because if he had gone into that room, he wouldn’t have been able to trust himself. He would have lost his last shreds of restraint.

  This was nuts. Okay, so he wanted her. He was even willing to admit that it was more than just a physical need. He liked being with her, admired her courage, the way she was ready to stand up to him. Everything that could mean something more was going on between them than just sex. Everything except—

  Yeah, there was the possibility she could have killed Guy. Slim now though that possibility was, it still gnawed at him. And as long as it was there, a shadow divided them.

  Chapter Eight

  Jennifer didn’t know how many more of these meals she could take. They weren’t pleasant affairs, and dinner was no exception. There was the same nervous climate in the dining parlor as there had been at both breakfast and lunch.

  To be fair about it, however, she couldn’t blame the company for her mood. Not entirely. Not tonight. It was because of Leo. Although he had been nothing but agreeable with her all the way down to the dining parlor, there was a difference in his manner.

  She was aware of it as they filled their plates from the buffet and joined the others at the table. He might be at her side, physically close, but emotionally he was keeping his distance. As if he had promised himself that, yes, he was going to be there for her if she needed him. And, yes, he’d be friendly about it. But no more intimacies.

  Well, everything considered, he was probably right. It was better for them to resist any further romantic involvement. Just like she’d told herself earlier.

  Then why on earth was she so unhappy about it?

  “Can’t complain about the food, what?” Harry Ireland said, tucking cheerfully into a slice of roast beef.

  “Brother Gabriel does well by us,” Geoffrey informed the table. “He was a chef in a cordon bleu restaurant in Manchester before he joined the order.”

  “Smashing.”

  They weren’t going to discuss the memorial service, Jennifer thought. Or the reason for it. Nor were they firing accusations at one another tonight either. But the tension was still there, just waiting to erupt all over again.

  Fiona Brasher couldn’t have considered the weather a topic to be avoided. She attacked it peevishly. “I have no argument with the food. It’s that snow out there. Filthy stuff never lets up. I call it a bad omen when for two days one can’t catch even a glimpse of the sun.”

  “Fiona’s a bit superstitious,” Alfred mumbled, excusing his wife.

  Sybil Harding put up a carefully manicured hand to fluff her ash-blond hair. “It’s Britain, dear, where the sun is always shy, especially in a blizzard. You ought to make your peace with it, as I’ve done.”

  Fiona glared at her.
r />   Sybil laughed. “Such fun to be trapped here like this, when one is willing to look at it that way. Like a party really.”

  Her tone of sweet cynicism was more artificial than usual. She’s been drinking, Jennifer thought, remembering the gin bottle in the Hardings’ wardrobe.

  “The snow will quit,” Roger said. “We just have to be patient about it.”

  “We don’t know that, dear heart, now do we? It’s much more jolly to party.”

  Pushing her plate aside, she reached for her bag and brought out a flask. Uncapping it, she poured a generous measure of gin into her empty coffee cup.

  “You really shouldn’t, Mrs. Harding,” Geoffrey tried to caution her. “This is a monastery, after all, and alcohol—”

  “Medicinal, dear boy. Purely medicinal.”

  Roger squirmed in an agony of embarrassment. “Sybil, please, not here.”

  Eyes narrowed, she turned on her husband with a soft, savage “If you want to preach, then why don’t you just put on your robe and go off to the other side of the castle with your precious brothers? It’s where you want to be, isn’t it?”

  The woman was some piece of work all right, Jennifer thought in disgust. She didn’t know how her husband could put up with her. On the other hand, she supposed that if you loved a person enough, even someone like Sybil, you could endure just about anything.

  Defying the objections, Sybil raised her cup in a toast. “Good health, everyone. Hoping, that is, one of us isn’t next.”

  Her allusion to Brother Anthony’s murder couldn’t be plainer. Or more brazen. Fiona gasped. The others merely sat there in a stunned silence and watched Sybil toss back the gin in her cup.

  It was Patrick who ended the silence with a quiet “It did, you know.”

  Geoffrey frowned at him. “What did what?”

  “The sun. It did come out for a moment.”

  Jennifer’s nerves tightened on her. Leo beside her must have sensed her alarm. His hand reached down under the table and closed over her knee. His light squeeze was meant either to steady her or as a request to keep still. Either way, she said nothing.

  “When was this?” Alfred Brasher wanted to know.

  “This afternoon when I left the service long enough to get my sinus medicine from my room. I think it might have been the smoke from all the votive candles in the chapel that was bothering me.”

  “Have to get used to that if you’re going to join the order,” Geoffrey said.

  “Anyway, that’s when I saw it, the sun streaming through a window out in the hall as I came away from my room.”

  Patrick avoided looking at her and Leo, but Jennifer was sure he was letting them know he hadn’t missed their shadows on the floor, that he’d been aware all along of their presence in the alcove. Would he tell the others?

  Sybil gave him no chance. She leaned toward Fiona with one of her spiteful smiles. “There, that lovely glimpse from heaven you’ve been wanting, and you had to miss it. Such a pity.”

  There was another uncomfortable silence. A taut Jennifer expected Patrick to fill it, but he said nothing. It was Harry Ireland who, clearing his throat, spoke up with a change of subject, maybe to forestall a further dose of Sybil’s brand of acid.

  “So, old man,” he addressed Leo, “feeling more like yourself again, are you?”

  “A lot better, thanks.”

  Jennifer relaxed. The bad moment seemed to have passed. Whatever his reason, it appeared that Patrick wasn’t going to betray them. She and Leo were safe. For now at least.

  “Looks like that nasty bump you were sporting on the old noggin has—what do you Americans say? Called it quits?”

  “Yep, swelling’s down to almost nothing.”

  “I expect that long rest you had in your room this afternoon did the trick, hey.”

  “But he wasn’t in his room resting,” Patrick said matter-of-factly. “He and Ms. Rowan were in the other guest wing of the castle. Our wing.”

  This time he did train those mild brown eyes on Leo and her. And Jennifer realized just how premature her relief had been. She ought to have known Patrick would never have mentioned sighting the sun if he hadn’t meant to expose them.

  He must have been waiting all along for this opportunity. Or maybe he had just needed to find sufficient courage to challenge them. If so, that courage deserted him when he met Leo’s steely gaze head-on. Flushing, the young man looked away.

  Again there was an uneasy silence. Harry Ireland ended it with a snort of laughter. “Those pills you took. More than just sinus medicine, are they?”

  “I don’t do drugs, and I wasn’t seeing things,” Patrick muttered stubbornly. “The two of them were there hiding in the window alcove. I saw their shadows on the hall floor.”

  “Ah, then you didn’t actually see them. You saw only a pair of shadows that—”

  “It was them. It couldn’t have been anyone else when all the rest of the castle was in the chapel.”

  “Lurking in an alcove? A bit hard to swallow, old man.”

  Leo spoke up then with a forceful “Okay, let’s stop giving the kid a hard time. He’s right. Jennifer and I were there.”

  Fiona was bewildered. “In our wing? Outside our rooms?”

  “Not just outside, Mrs. Brasher. Inside, too. All of them, including yours, Patrick. Had the loan of a master key for that one.”

  Her husband was outraged. “What bloody cheek!”

  He wasn’t alone in his censure. Reproachful eyes from every side of the table locked on Leo like lasers. All but Sybil’s. The gin had finally deflated her. She sat there slouched in her chair, immune now to the agitation around her.

  Leo ignored the angry gazes and looked at Jennifer. She understood what he was silently telling her. They’ll have to find out sometime. It might as well be now. She nodded her agreement.

  The salesman expressed his disappointment in them. “I say, that’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

  “A bit much?” Alfred raged. “It’s a violation of our rights, is what it is! What are you? A pair of hotel thieves?”

  “We didn’t take, Brasher. We looked.”

  The storm came from every direction, all of them demanding explanations at the same time. It was Roger Harding who, lifting a hand, finally silenced them.

  “Please,” he said calmly, “let’s give them a chance to tell us what they were looking for.”

  “Evidence,” Leo said.

  “Of what, Mr. McKenzie?”

  He smiled at them. “Come on, you know what. One of the brothers was murdered. And, uh, like most of you were saying yourselves at lunch, someone in this room must be responsible for his death. Right?”

  No one answered him. The company avoided looking at one another. Worried, Jennifer thought. They had to be worried about what we might have turned up in our search. All those things that, while not incriminating in themselves, they wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see. She felt guilty all over again for having invaded their privacy.

  Alfred Brasher was the first to recover. “And why should you be the one to take on the role of a police officer?” he asked snidely.

  “Experience, Alf. See, it comes from being a private investigator. Don’t believe that’s what I am? Ask Father Stephen. He authorized me to try to solve the murder and for Ms. Rowan to work with me. Any more questions?”

  “Yes,” Brasher said, still fuming. “Why Ms. Rowan?”

  “I imagine,” Geoffrey said, “it’s because she saw the killer.”

  The attention that had been focused on Leo shifted. Jennifer felt their shocked gazes now riveted on her.

  “Is this true?” Roger asked her in disbelief.

  “If it were, Mr. Harding, we wouldn’t have had a reason to search your rooms.”

  “Then what is Geoffrey talking about?” Fiona demanded.

  “Why don’t you ask Geoffrey?” Jennifer suggested. Because I’d like to hear myself just how the novice came to learn what only Leo and Father Stephen were me
ant to know.

  “It is true,” Geoffrey insisted. “I overheard Father Stephen tell the prior as much.”

  “That’s a little unlikely, isn’t it?” Leo said dryly. “That the abbot would leak a piece of information like that?”

  “Father Stephen has to share everything that happens in the monastery with the prior. It’s a rule of the order.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if anything should happen to the abbot, then the prior assumes his duties.”

  “Okay, so the prior has to know what’s going on. But you weren’t meant to listen in on whatever it was Father Stephen told him, were you, Geoffrey? And if you couldn’t help overhearing it, you sure as hell have no business broadcasting it. Especially if it’s only conjecture.”

  Backed into a corner, the novice eyed the others, looking for support. “If they’re all suspects,” he mumbled, “then they have a right to know.”

  Jennifer realized that Leo was trying to discredit Geoffrey’s assertion in an effort to prevent the murderer from being alarmed. But it was too late for that. She put a restraining hand on Leo’s arm.

  “Geoffrey’s right,” she said. “All of you do deserve to know what I saw.” She went on to explain what she had observed from the window overlooking the courtyard, ending her account with an earnest “And that’s all it was, nothing but a fast glimpse of a figure that might have been a man or a woman. Certainly no one I could identify, not through all that snow.”

  Eyes wide, fingers plucking at her napkin, Fiona tried to tell her she was mistaken. “But surely it was Brother Anthony himself that you saw.”

  “No.”

  “How could you know it wasn’t?” Alfred scoffed.

  “Just a feeling.”

  But it was more than just a feeling, Jennifer remembered. It was—

  And then all at once she did know what it was that had made her so certain it wasn’t Brother Anthony. That little something she’d been unable to name but which had been nagging at her ever since she had told Leo and the abbot that she must have seen the killer. She could name it now.

  They were all watching her, waiting for her to go on.