by L. A. Fiore
“You should stay away from me,” he warned before he walked out of the room.
He was probably right and yet I found myself intrigued. From all accounts, Brochan McIntyre was a loner and yet I was standing in his castle, invited, however reluctantly, by the werewolf himself. Yes, I was definitely intrigued.
I returned to the white room to find a nightgown resting on the bed along with a new toothbrush. I changed, brushed my teeth, then pulled back the heavy comforter and climbed in. The bed was comfortable and warm. I fell asleep instantly.
I didn’t know what woke me, but the navy sky was turning purple and red as the sun started to rise. I dressed and went in search of Fenella. She was in the kitchen, the heavenly scent of something wafting toward me.
“Morning, lass.” She turned then frowned. “Are you feeling okay?”
I wasn’t. My throat hurt and I felt a little lightheaded. I was coming down with something. “I’m okay. Thank you so much for letting me spend the night. I’m going to head back.”
“I’ll let the laird know. He can give you a ride.”
Despite my feelings from last night, reality returned with the sun. I was a stranger in the man’s home, one that was fed and given a room. I still couldn’t believe how kind they had been about it. I didn’t think the same hospitality would be extended in the States, but maybe I was wrong. Either way, I was a little embarrassed to be here and I definitely wanted to be gone before the laird stirred. Not to mention, I had the sense he thought I was my mother’s daughter and that pissed me off.
“No, that’s okay.”
“It’s a long walk.”
“I like walking.” And I did. It helped me think and it brought inspiration.
“Will you have some breakfast first?”
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.” I glanced around the modern kitchen of a medieval castle and couldn’t help the smile. “It really is a wonderful place.”
“Maybe you’ll come back.”
“I’d like that.”
She wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m sorry for your loss, lass.”
“You knew Brianna?”
“Aye, she was a good woman.”
“Brianna knew Brochan, didn’t she?”
“Aye, one of a very few that did.”
There was a part of me charmed that the stoic Brochan hadn’t been able to resist Aunt Brianna’s charismatic personality, but there was another part of me irritated because he knew Aunt Brianna, so why did he assume I was like my mother and not her? Whatever. Curious though I asked, “Did you know my mother?”
“Aye.”
It was how she said it, yep she definitely knew Norah. “The expression the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, that doesn’t apply to Brianna and Norah.”
“Nor you and your ma from what I can tell.”
The smile lit up my face. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
She laughed; she thought I was joking. I wasn’t.
“I’ll show you out.” She gestured to the door. “There is more to him than meets the eye.”
I suspected that was a huge understatement. “I have no doubt.”
We reached the door and she held it open for me. “Enjoy your walk.”
“Thank you.” I crossed the threshold but glanced back at her. “I’d love to paint this castle. Maybe your laird would consider it. I’d gift the painting to him. I have a website, some of my portfolio is on there. He can also Google me.”
“Why would you do that?”
I glanced out at the woods that hugged the property and the juxtaposition of the tamed and tended gardens that butted up against that wild beauty. “Because when I walked down that lane yesterday it quite literally took my breath away.”
“I will pass on the offer.”
“Bye, Fenella.”
“See you soon, Lizzie.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
BROCHAN
My hands fisted in the pockets of my trousers as I watched Lizzie Danton walking down the drive. Fuck. Damn that fucking conscience. I didn’t need it, didn’t fucking want it. I wanted to turn my back, but I could hear Brianna and Fenella, even Finnegan, in my head. “Fucking hell.”
Fenella was just entering the library as I was leaving it. She was giving me her stink eye, that frosty look that condemned without her needing to speak a word. What the hell did she want? I let the woman sleep here, fed her, and clothed her. It was the clothes, or lack of them, that stirred something left well enough alone. “Our guest is walking home.”
“I saw.”
“I think she’s coming down with a cold.”
“Fucking walking in the rain will do that.”
“Not her fault the car broke down.” She narrowed her eyes at me before she added, “And it’s not her fault she’s kin to Norah Calhoun. Remember, she’s kin to Brianna too.”
I didn’t pay my staff to lecture me. They weren’t staff; they were family, but I ignored that. I was halfway down the hall when Fenella called after me, “She wants to paint your home.”
That stopped me, my head swiveling to her. “She said that?”
“Yes. Said you could Google her to see her portfolio and that she would gift you the painting.”
I didn’t need to Google her. I was familiar with her work. But after my interrogation last night, why the hell would she offer that? “Why?”
“Because the sight of the castle from the lane took her breath away, her words.”
It was the view from the lane that sold me on this place; more specifically the feeling of peace it evoked, a foreign, but not unpleasant feeling. Fucking hell.
There were a few broken branches blocking the drive. By the time I got the Range Rover out of the garage, it had been about an hour since Miss Danton left. Halfway back to the village, I saw the body on the boulder. My chest grew tight thinking harm had come to her; the unwanted sensation annoyed the hell out of me. Pulling over, I climbed out to hear Lizzie Danton talking to herself. She had a bizarre habit of talking to things, like those cows and Brianna’s ghost. Her words that day had lingered because despite the shit she’d seen, she still had it in her to paint fucking sprites…to try for happy. I couldn’t decide if she was the most well adjusted person of my acquaintance or the craziest. I wondered if she’d spent any time in a mental facility.
I couldn’t make out what she was saying, didn’t really care. My goal was to get her ass back to the cottage. That would ease the nagging from my fucking conscience. I stepped closer, to peer down at her, her eyes went wide then she screamed. She jumped off the boulder like it was on fire.
“What the hell! Didn’t you ever learn not to sneak up on someone resting on a rock?”
I ignored that ridiculous question. She was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. “You don’t look so good.”
“Nice. Scare the shit out of me and then insult me. Seriously, charm school was completely lost on you.”
She had the oddest way of communicating. More surprising was the urge to grin at her nonsense. “I’ll give you a ride to the cottage.”
“No, thank you. I wouldn’t want you thinking I was after your car, or your house and heaven forbid, you. I’ll walk.” She started walking away but stopped and turned back. “And why assume I was like my mother? You knew Aunt Brianna, but you interrogated me like I was after something. Never mind. I don’t care what you think.”
She did care. I saw how deeply it cut her to be compared to her mother. Another unfamiliar sensation curled in my gut. Guilt. I shook it off. “You can barely stand.”
Temper burned behind her eyes, but she acquiesced. “Fine.”
She didn’t wait for me and walked to the car in much the way a child in temper might do. She yanked open the door and dropped into the seat. I climbed in, felt her eyes on me, but when I looked over her focus was out the window.
“How many cars do you have?”
“Eight.”
“Why?”
; “Why not?”
She muttered something then asked, “Why are the villagers freaked out by you?” She turned in her seat to face me. “They think you’re a werewolf.”
I’d heard that rumor. Was actually rather fond of that one. “Maybe I am.”
I glanced over at her and she was contemplating the real possibility that I was a werewolf. Damn, if I didn’t want to grin.
“I don’t think so, but I’ll be sure to stay inside on the full moon. Can I ask you something else?”
“You can ask.” The implication that I probably wouldn’t answer was clear.
“Why don’t you tear down the castle on the other end of town?”
The only sign I showed that I’d heard her was the slight tightening of my hands on the steering wheel. “How do you know it’s mine to tear down?”
“The town librarian. She’s very free with information on you, even when she’s making it up. She was the one to inform me of your werewolf tendencies.”
“It’s a memorial.” That was the reason the town came up with. I let them believe it because the truth was harder to hear and would only confirm I was the monster they already believed me to be. I liked seeing my father’s legacy burned to the ground. I liked knowing there was nothing left of him or his ancestors. I was responsible for the extinction of a clan…my clan.
“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t the apology for my loss that stirred something in me; it was how she offered it, like a person who had known true loss. The only one in her life worthy of that kind of emotion was Brianna. A woman she never knew and yet she felt her loss as poignantly as I did. If I had a heart, it would break at the evidence of just how lonely Miss Danton was. Rejected, abused, abandoned for the curse of being born. I knew how that felt all too well.
I pulled up in front of the cottage. The car hadn’t even come to a complete stop and she was out of it. She was halfway to the door when she called from over her shoulder, “Thanks for the ride.”
She had just unlocked the door when I called back. “You can paint my house.”
Her head twisted and I didn’t miss the joy in her expression before she wiped it. “Thank you. I won’t get in your way. I’ll work on the lane. If the lighting is good, I’ll start tomorrow.” Then she disappeared into her cottage.
The knife didn’t hit dead center. I blamed the lack of aim on Miss Danton. Reaching for another blade, I emptied my head of everything but the target and the cold steel between my fingers. The second when the blade took flight, the soft hiss as the knife displaced the air and the decided sound of it hitting its mark was a kind of music. Dead center. I reached for my Auto Mag and spent the next hour hitting the same hole on the cardboard cutout, but I was distracted. It had been three days and Miss Danton had not returned. I cleaned my gun and stored it away then went in search of Fenella. She was in the kitchen making lunch.
“Have you heard from Miss Danton?”
“No. I was going to ask Finnegan to check on her. She was coming down with something. The idea that she is alone in that cottage fighting a cold breaks my heart. The poor dear.”
“I’ll go.” Her smile had my hands curling. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“I didn’t say a thing.”
“You’re thinking it loudly enough.” I grabbed my keys. Fucking women.
The cottage was quiet when I arrived. I parked and climbed from the car, taking a moment to look around. Memories tried to surface, I pushed them down. I knocked. No answer.
I knocked harder. Nothing.
Something was wrong. I picked the lock. It was subtle, but I recognized the scent of sickness. The cottage had stunk of it at the end with Brianna.
“Miss Danton,” I called as I moved through the living room to the bedroom, where the smell was the strongest. For a second, it wasn’t Miss Danton but Brianna that last day. I shook it off. She was breathing, I could hear her from the door, but it was labored. Closing the distance, she was pale, yet her cheeks were flushed with fever. I brushed my fingers over her forehead; she was burning up.
“Miss Danton.” She stirred, her eyes opened.
“Why are you here?” A little fire, a good sign.
“I’m taking you back to the castle.”
She brushed my hand away. “I’m fine. I just need sleep.”
“I’m not asking.”
“You don’t want me there anymore than I want to be there.”
“You’re sick. Fenella is an experienced healer.” I didn’t wait for a reply as I lifted her from the bed and carried her to the car.
LIZZIE
I woke in the middle of the night shivering. My throat was on fire and I ached everywhere. I didn’t even have the strength to climb from bed. I curled deeper in the warmth and hoped in the morning I felt better.
I woke when voices entered my room. Why were there people in my room? My eyes were open and yet I had trouble focusing. I was so cold I couldn’t stop shaking. I tried to talk, but no words would come out.
“Hush now, dear. She’s burning up with fever.” That sounded like Fenella. Why was she at the cottage?
A deep voice said, “Get the doctor.” Finnegan? He was here too? A warm hand touched my cheek. It felt so good, I moved into it and fell back to sleep.
The weight of my suitcases caused my arms to ache. I didn’t even like her and yet my heart was breaking. She was leaving me; I was unlovable. No one would ever love me. Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone. I can try to be lovable.
“Lizzie, sleep.” I felt heat on my cheek; a soothing stroke that lured me back to sleep.
I woke again. That same deep voice said, “You need to drink water.” A strong hand wrapped around my chin. “Take a little.”
It was cold and felt so good sliding down my throat. “Not too much.”
“I’m thirsty.”
“Sleep.”
It was dark outside when I woke again. I was disoriented and so weak. I tried to climb from bed. “You aren’t ready for that.”
My head jerked, which brought on a wave of dizziness. Brochan sat in a chair across the room. I wasn’t at the cottage. I pinched myself hard. He was still there.
“How am I here?”
“You never showed to paint. I went to the cottage to find you burning up with fever.”
“You went to the cottage. Why?” He didn’t answer. “You were quite determined to see the last of me. Did you heal me so I was of sound mind and body for when you toss me from the window?”
“I’ve spent the last three days keeping you alive, so tossing you out the window is counterproductive.”
The deep voice, that soothing voice was Brochan? What the hell had I said to him in my delirium? “Wait, three days?”
“We didn’t want to give you antibiotics because we weren’t sure if you were allergic, so you had to fight it off.”
I didn’t understand why he was the one caring for me, but he was. “Thank you.”
He studied me for a few seconds before he added, “You remind me of Brianna.”
Was he making amends? Putting us back on even ground? That didn’t seem to fit with the man everyone believed him to be.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“A little.” He stood and stretched. “I’ll have some soup brought up.”
“Why are you helping me?”
“Because Brianna would want me to.”
“Who was she to you?”
“My conscience.” He walked out before I could ask him to clarify that odd comment.
Fenella brought me the soup. I didn’t eat much before I fell back to sleep. When I woke in the morning, I was still weak but I felt much better. She settled next to me on the bed and handed me a cup of tea. “You look better.”
“I feel better.”
“I Googled you. Your work is beautiful, but haunting.”
“A little piece of me is in my work.”
“I think I’m sorry to hear that.”
I sipped on the tea. “Brochan
cared for me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I think you remind him of Brianna.”
He had said that. Then it dawned. “Brianna died in the cottage, didn’t she?”
“Aye. Brochan was there.”
“He loved her.”
“He did, but he would never admit it. He believes emotions are a weakness. He doesn’t like having weaknesses.”
“Where is he?”
“He postponed a job to care for you. He left a little bit ago. I don’t expect him back for a few days.”
“What does he do?”
She grew oddly quiet. “I don’t rightly know.”
She knew, or suspected, but she wouldn’t share. That was interesting. It definitely wasn’t a nine to five job. I was curious.
“He said I could paint.”
“Yes. He had your supplies brought over. They’re in the garage, in a cart attached to a tractor to make it easy to get to and from.”
That was unexpectedly thoughtful.
“He offered you this room while you’re working.”
“I’m going to take him up on that. The mood strikes at odd times, it will be nice to be here to work when it does.”
She took the cup from me. “You look like you could use more sleep.”
“I’ve been sleeping for days, but I am tired.”
“The flu can do that. Rest, lass.”
I settled back under the covers as my eyes grew heavy. “Thank you.”
“Sweet dreams.”
My bare feet made no sound on the stone floors as I ran, my heart pounding behind my ribs. I glanced back feeling him growing closer even as I pushed myself to move faster. Fear trapped the scream in my throat. I ran, but I went nowhere. There was no escape. I was going to die. He made no sound, but the hair at my nape stirred. He had found me. I turned to face him, to force him to look me in the eyes. He was clenching a knife so tightly in his hand the knuckles were white. Blood was smeared across his cheek, soaked into his sweater. He moved with slow but determined strides as he closed the distance between us. Those pale eyes were lifeless when he lifted the knife.