Return to Clan Sinclair (2 page)

 

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“S
ee? I told you he wouldn't stay in his room. See? I told you,” Fiona said, pointing to the window.

At first Ceana couldn't make out exactly what she was seeing: a corner of a curtain, perhaps, or a bit of laundry falling from the window. Then she realized it was a rope made of some material, perhaps sheets. As she watched, two shoes came into view, then a pair of trousers.

“He's going to the grotto.”

“He's going to kill himself,” Ceana said, standing and estimating the distance to the beach.

Fiona shook her head. “He's done it before.”

Just then Carlton's face came into view. Her nephew grinned at her, an expression reminding her of Virginia's smile, just before he glanced down and his look changed to terror.

“Where's the grotto?” Ceana asked, her voice rough with urgency. She'd heard of Drumvagen's grotto but had never seen it. “Show me, Fiona. Now!”

Her niece slid from the settee, grabbed her hand and pulled her from the parlor, racing down one of Drumvagen's corridors.

They came to a closed door, but Fiona opened it without hesitation, revealing a library that was probably Macrath's domain and forbidden to his children. She would have to make her apologies after she'd saved Carlton.

Fiona ran to the bookshelf.

“There's a latch up there,” she said, pointing to the second shelf from the top. “Can you see it?”

She could.

“Pull it down and then pull the bookshelf out. It leads to a passage to the grotto.”

She turned. “Aren't you coming, Fiona?”

The girl shook her head. “No, it's too dark.”

She wasn't fond of the dark, either, or things lingering there, like bugs and snakes and vermin. But she had Carlton to think of. How horrible would it be for Macrath and Virginia to return from Edinburgh to find she'd been present at the death of their child?

The darkness was nearly absolute, leaving her no choice but to stretch her hands out on either side of her, fingertips brushing against the stone walls. The incline was steep, further necessitating she take her time. Yet at the back of her mind was the last image she had of Carlton, his bright impish grin turning to horror as he glanced down.

The passage abruptly ended in a mushroom-­shaped cavern. This was the grotto she'd heard so much about, with its flue in the middle and its broad, wide window looking out over the beach and the sea. She raced to the window, hopped up on the sill nature had created over thousands of years and leaned out.

A naked man reached up, grabbed Carlton as he fell. After he lowered the boy to the sand, he turned and smiled at her.

C
arlton was racing across the beach, glancing back once or twice to see if he was indeed free. The rope made of sheets was hanging limply from his window.

The naked man was standing there with hands on his hips, staring at her in full frontal glory.

She hadn't seen many naked men, the last being her husband. The image in front of her now was so startling she couldn't help but stare. A smile was dawning on the stranger's full lips, one matched by his intent brown eyes. No, not quite brown, were they? They were like the finest Scottish whiskey touched with sunlight.

Her gaze danced down his strong and corded neck to broad shoulders etched with muscle. His chest was broad and muscled as well, tapering down to a slim waist and hips.

Even semiflaccid, his manhood was quite impressive.

The longer she watched, the more impressive it became.

What on earth was a naked man doing on Macrath's beach?

To her utter chagrin, the stranger turned and presented his backside to her, glancing over his shoulder to see if she approved of the sight.

She withdrew from the window, cheeks flaming. What on earth had she been doing? Who was she to gawk at a naked man as if she'd never before seen one?

Now that she knew Carlton was going to survive his escape, she should retreat immediately to the library.

“You'd better tell Alistair his brother's gotten loose again. Are you the new governess?”

She turned to find him standing in the doorway, still naked.

She pressed her fingers against the base of her throat and counseled herself to appear unaffected.

“I warn you, the imp escapes at any chance. You'll have your hands full there.”

The look of fright on Carlton's face hadn't been fear of the distance to the beach, but the fact that he'd been caught.

She couldn't quite place the man's accent, but it wasn't Scottish. American, perhaps. What did she care where he came from? The problem was what he was doing here.

“I'm not a governess,” she said. “I'm Macrath's sister, Ceana.”

He bent and retrieved his shirt from a pile of clothes beside the door, taking his time with it. Shouldn't he have begun with his trousers instead?

“Who are you?” she asked, looking away as he began to don the rest of his clothing.

She'd had two children. She was well versed in matters of nature. She knew quite well what a man's body looked like. The fact that his struck her as singularly attractive was no doubt due to the fact she'd been a widow for three years.

“Well, Ceana Sinclair, is it all that important you know who I am?”

“It isn't Sinclair,” she said. “It's Mead.”

He tilted his head and studied her.

“Is Mr. Mead visiting along with you?”

She stared down at her dress of unremitting black. “I'm a widow,” she said.

A shadow flitted over his face “Are you? Did Macrath know you were coming?”

“No,” she said. “Does it matter? He's my brother. He's family. And why would you be wanting to know?”

He shrugged, finished buttoning his pants and began to don his shoes.

“Who are you?” she asked again.

“I'm a detective,” he said. “My company was hired by your brother.”

“Why?”

“Now that's something I'm most assuredly not going to tell you,” he said. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Mead. I hope to see more of you before I leave.”

And she hoped to see much, much less of him.

S
he heard the conversation halfway back up to the library. To her surprise, however, the door was shut tight. At the top of the passage she fumbled in the dark for the latch, wishing she'd made note of it before descending to the grotto.

“If you move,” he said directly behind her, “I'll open the door for you.”

She jerked, startled by the sound of his voice so close. How had he crept up on her unaware?

“Where do you suggest I stand?” she asked.

His hands on her shoulders surprised her. She almost brushed aside his touch, but he was trying to help, so she allowed him to guide her to the far wall.

The total darkness was disorienting. He smelled of the sea and sun-­warmed skin and was entirely too close.

“There,” he said, bending low, so near she could feel his breath on her forehead. “Just stand there for a moment.”

“You're an American,” she said.

“You sound Irish,” he said. “But if you're Macrath's sister you should be a Scot.”

“Would you please open the door,” she said.
And move away, please.

He chuckled as if he'd heard her unspoken words, turned and engaged a latch she still couldn't see.

The door swung open to reveal four surprised ­people.

Alistair evidently hadn't been told where they'd disappeared, Brianag scowled at her, and Macrath and Virginia both looked amazed as she exited the secret passage behind the stranger.

“Ceana!” Virginia reached her and, in a flurry of silk and warmth, enveloped her in an embrace. “Dearest Ceana, what on earth are you doing here and how glad I am to see you.”

The second person to embrace her was her brother. He did so in such an exuberant manner, it left no doubt about his welcome.

“It's about time you came to Drumvagen,” he said, stepping back. “Where are the girls?”

“I left them at Iverclaire,” she said, knowing she'd have to tell him the whole story. Or tell Virginia, which was the same thing.

“Bruce,” he said, reaching over to shake the hand of the stranger. “I see you've met my sister.”

“She's met your youngest as well,” the stranger said, laughter bubbling up in his voice. “I'm afraid I had to rescue Carlton once again. He climbed out of his window and was heading for disaster.”

Virginia's hand went to her lips. “Oh no.”

“Thank you,” Macrath said.

“You might want to put an iron bar across the window. Or move him so that his window doesn't overlook the beach. It seems to be a temptation.”

Macrath only nodded. Bruce left the room, leaving the four of them standing there. Brianag glared at all of them before she, too, departed, mumbling about uninvited guests.

“I should have sent word,” Ceana said.

“Brianag is getting up in years and she's been testy of late. I apologize for the rudeness with which you were treated.” He glanced toward Alistair, who evidently had told his father about her arrival. “Drumvagen is known for its hospitality, and I'm sorry you weren't shown that.”

Virginia wound her arm around Ceana's.

“Let's go and make sure you are made welcome,” she said. “And then I want you to tell me everything happening in Ireland. And Iverclaire.”

Oh, dear, that would be a tale, wouldn't it?

 

C
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T
o her great surprise, her valises were taken to a guest chamber at the end of the hall on the second floor. A brass plaque on the door was inscribed with her name.

As her fingertips traced the letters, she turned to Virginia. “Have I always had my own guest room?”

Virginia smiled. “A suite. It's one thing Macrath has always insisted on. All his family is welcome at Drumvagen. Mairi has one, as does Fenella,” she added, referring to the cousin who'd come to live with them as a child.

“I never knew. He is the very best brother.”

“And the very best husband, except some of the time,” Virginia said, smiling. She reached past Ceana to open the door.

Ever since she was a little girl, she had loved the color yellow. Macrath had evidently remembered.

The room was like a burst of sunshine when she entered. The settee was upholstered in a pale yellow with flowers embroidered on the skirt. The footstool was adorned with flowers as well, and so, too, the pale yellow carpet on the gleaming mahogany floor. Even the view of the ocean was magnificent.

“I don't know what to say,” she said.

“You don't have to say a word. You're family.”

Instead of leaving her, Virginia pulled her out of the room and down the corridor to the Rose Parlor, the name inscribed with another brass plaque.

The rose parlor, no doubt named for its view of Drumvagen's massive rose garden, was a thoroughly enjoyable room, one Virginia claimed as hers. This was evidenced by her very calmly locking the door so they couldn't be disturbed.

“I adore my progeny,” she said, turning to Ceana. “But there are times when I need to be less their mother and more just me.”

She moved to a wing chair beside the window and motioned to its companion.

“Besides, we need to talk. What has made you so upset you've come all the way from Ireland? But first, I must ask, why has Brianag declared war on you?”

She sat, watched as Virginia opened a tin of biscuits and offered it to her. Taking one, she sank her teeth into one of the most delicious chocolate biscuits she'd ever tasted.

“Do not tell me she made this,” Ceana said. “I might have to reconsider how I feel about your housekeeper.”

Virginia studied her for a moment, a ghost of a smile curving her lips. “Did anyone ever tell you that you sound strange? I say that as an American raised by an English nurse who's married to a Scot. I know a little about strange accents. Is it all those years living in Ireland?”

“I suspect it is.”

“Brianag didn't make them,” Virginia said, smiling. “They're made by a firm in Edinburgh.”

Ceana reached for another biscuit. At this rate she would be waddling by the time she returned to Ireland.

She relayed the circumstances of her arrival to Virginia, including her words to Brianag. “I wasn't the least bit polite and I apologize. But she had no right to frighten Fiona. The poor child was shaking.”

Virginia's face had remained very still during her recitation, but now she said, “I think it's time Brianag retired to her cottage in the village. Until recently she's always been a part of Drumvagen, but she's changed of late.”

“I could be entirely wrong in my assessment,” Ceana said. “Ask Fiona and Alistair. He seems to be very mature for his age.

Virginia smiled. “Logan thinks he's a born politician. One with the ability to say the most difficult things in the most pleasant way possible. Plus, he seems inordinately interested in all the news from Parliament.”

Ceana's sister, Mairi, was married to Logan Harrison, the former Lord Provost of Edinburgh. The two of them had gone on to be very successful in the book publishing business. Logan also owned a very prosperous chain of bookstores, while Mairi was at the helm of the
Edinburgh Women's Gazette,
a newspaper specifically targeted to the women of Scotland.

“In a moment you'll ask about Mairi and we'll talk about Logan and then it will be time for dinner and you'll not have told me why you left Ireland.”

Virginia sat back, eyeing her patiently. The time had come to tell another truth, a more personal one this time.

The course of Virginia and Macrath's love had been a rocky one, while her own with Peter had been blessed from the very beginning. When he was taken from her, three years ago, she thought she wouldn't be able to bear it. But she had and gradually the dark night of her grief had given way to a dawn of sorts.

“I put the girls in Pegeen's care. She's my favorite sister-­in-­law, the one who's married to Dennis. I told her I was going to Scotland and would return in a few weeks.”

“Did she ask why?” Virginia asked.

Ceana nodded. “Everyone did. I didn't know how to answer them.” She took another biscuit. “The girls thought it was a grand adventure to stay with their aunt. I love my family in Ireland, truly I do. But once Peter died, everything changed. I never considered that being Peter's widow would be so much more difficult than being his wife. His family welcomed me with outstretched arms and genuinely warm hearts. Now I can't go anywhere or do anything without one of them hovering over me.”

“I'll wager Peter's death was difficult for them.”

She nodded. Her beloved Peter had caught a simple cold. It had lingered for a few weeks and gone into pneumonia, until his heart had simply stopped one night.

“You're their connection to Peter. If you change too much, it's like you're taking Peter away from them again.”

She considered Virginia's words.

“I moved to one of the gardener's cottages on the castle grounds. You would have thought I danced naked in the light of the moon.”

Virginia smiled.

She regarded the hearth, now empty of fire. In a few weeks the room would need a full grown blaze. She might not live in Edinburgh any longer but Scottish weather didn't change.

“Is that why you're still dressed in black?”

She glanced down at herself. “I don't know if I'll ever wear anything else,” she said. “Heaven knows what the brothers would do if I ever wore mauve.” She glanced at Virginia. “I loved Peter with all my heart, but he's gone. I can't make him come alive, no matter how much I pray for it.”

“No, you can't,” Virginia said softly. “And you need a life of your own, one you choose. Have you considered moving back to Scotland?”

“I've begun to think it's the only way I can have a life,” she said.

“You're always welcome at Drumvagen.”

The suite she'd never before seen proved that.

When Macrath and Virginia had come to Ireland after Peter's death, the attraction between them had been difficult to witness because it reminded her too much of Peter's loss. Would it still?

Peter, too, had a way of looking at her across the room, a glance signifying love, possession, and passion. Sometimes he would smile at her, his lips barely curving, yet she would know he was vastly amused by the scene he was watching. He was a kind, considerate, thoroughly likable man, a financial genius who had taken the Duke of Lester's fortune and trebled it. Because of him, Iverclaire was positioned well for the next hundred years. Even the most profligate descendent could not hope to spend all of the money he'd amassed.

She and her daughters were also wealthy. She could easily move anywhere she wanted and not fear for lack of money.

“Thank you,” she said. “Maybe that's why I came home, to see if there's a place for me here.”

“You know there is.” Virginia held out the tin, but this time she shook her head.

“Now tell me why this Bruce person is here at Drumvagen.”

“Bruce Preston. He's a business associate of Macrath. I suspect he is investigating something to do with Macrath's newest invention. Macrath won't discuss the details with me. He told me when the time was right, he would share everything, but for now it's a secret.”

How like Macrath.

She stood, walked to the window, looking down on the massive rose garden.

“Now I wish I hadn't left the girls in Ireland. They would love Drumvagen.”

“Time enough for them to see it,” Virginia said. “But mothers sometimes need time alone.”

She nodded. Suddenly she was crying. She didn't know if she was weeping for all the confusion and misery of the last year or for the loss of Peter or for her future, unexciting as it was.

Virginia was there, a shoulder and an embrace.

That's why she was here at Drumvagen, to feel loved and to be heard.

“I
t was pirates,” Carlton said, his bottom lip sticking out. “I saw pirates.” He eyed Macrath as if calculating just how much he could push his father. “You wouldn't want me to be trapped in my room, Papa, when there were pirates about.”

Any other time, Macrath might have been amused, but not now. He stood there, arms folded, staring down at his youngest son.

Virginia had almost died giving birth to Carlton. Yet he was the most adventurous and challenging of all his children. Alistair had been intelligent, curious, and perfectly mannered. Fiona was sweet, endearing, and a beauty. Carlton could never stay clean, was forever imagining things, and fought him every step of the way.

Right now he needed Carlton's obedience, which could be achieved one of two ways: punishment or cooperation.

He didn't have any doubt Carlton would get the message sooner or later, depending on the punishment he administered. He didn't want to dampen his son's enthusiasm for life, but he did want to protect him.

He came around his desk, grabbed his son by the shoulder and guided him to the chair by the fire. After moving the adjoining chair until he sat in front of the boy, he leaned forward, clasped his hands and stared straight at Carlton.

“What I'm about to tell you is to go no farther than this room, Carlton. I am not telling your brother or your sister, but I think I can trust you with the truth.”

Carlton moved forward until his feet hit the floor instead of dangling in midair. He pressed his hands on the arms of the chair and nodded soberly.

“Your mother's in danger.”

Carlton's eyes widened.

“It's up to all of us to protect her. I can't protect her well enough, Carlton, if I'm always worried about you doing something foolish. I need you to be a man now, not a child.”

“Is it pirates?” Carlton whispered.

He shook his head. “There's a bad man who's come from America to try to steal your mother away.”

“Bruce?”

He was making a mess of this, wasn't he? “No, not Bruce. Bruce is here to find the bad man.”

“Does Mommy know?”

“No,” he said. “Nor do I want her to know right now, Carlton. You have to stay inside Drumvagen. I will release you from your room, but I want you to stay close to your mother at all times.”

Virginia wasn't going to thank him for this.

Carlton nodded enthusiastically. “I'll guard her, Papa, with my life.”

Just what had his son been reading lately? He half expected Carlton to whisk out an imaginary dagger or sword.
The Count of Monte Cristo
? Did they have that in Drumvagen's library? Or had he found the old editions of the broadsides Virginia loved?

He needed to channel his son's imagination, that was obvious.

“Not forever,” he said. “But for the next few weeks. I need your help, Carlton. Do you promise not to tell anyone what I've said?”

His son nodded again, less enthusiastically and more soberly this time. To his amusement, Carlton placed his hand over his heart and inclined his head in a courtier's gesture. “I do, Papa. I shall guard your secret with my life as well.”

Carlton wasn't much younger than Macrath had been when his father died, leaving him to support the rest of the family. He didn't want his son aware of how cruel the world could be. Neither did he want him spoiled. A happy mix of both would be for the best.

Perhaps it wouldn't do Carlton any harm to know there was danger in the world and unfortunately it had come to Drumvagen.