Into Thin Air (36 page)
Eleanor Morgan took a long, deep breath of crisp air, smiled, and then turned and jogged up the walkway. She could hardly believe it—she was in the northeast of England! And, to her dad's dismay, she was there alone.
She snorted. And under the name of Mary Hatch.
She was so—what was the word she was looking for?
Shrewd.
Yep. Definitely that. And in her line of work, you had to be. Especially when dealing with criminals
—even if they were almost a hundred years old.
Not that a genealogist came across many criminals. But she had. And it was
personal.
As she ran, she glanced over at the sea, just beyond the buildings of the village.
Wild,
she thought,
untamed.
The North Sea. Even the name sounded lethal.
Beautiful.
She slowed to a walk, regulating her breathing. She couldn't believe how good she felt after having been in the hospital for so long. So much of what had happened was missing, which the doctor told her was quite normal. One day, she'd just awakened in the hospital. They'd told her she'd been out for a run, and a car had swerved too close. Maybe it was a good thing she remembered zilch about it.
The bookstore's bell tinkled when she pushed the door opened and entered the cool, darkened interior. Mahogany wood and wall-to-wall books, with an antique lamp here and there, made the place warm and inviting. Three men stood behind the podium, poring over an old tome. They looked up when she walked in.
"Aye, good eve to ye, girl," one said. "Can we help ye?"
She thought the ye was adorable. "Yes. I'm Mary Hatch. You called and said I had a book in?" She felt guilty giving a fake name to the man's face, but if her great-grandfather's notes meant anything, the Langstons weren't people to play around with. The less everyone else knew about her, the less
they'd
know.
"Aye, sweet maid," the second man said, giving her a big white smile. He was tall, very dark-complected, bald, with a slim goatee. She thought his accent was just
it.
"Have a look round whilst we get it for ye."
"Och, aye," said the third man, who grinned a split-toothed grin. "Have a look round. And do take your time."
"Thanks." Eleanor unzipped her running jacket and started to browse. Tons of old volumes filled the store, and she thought she might just want to get a cot and stay the night. Turning down one aisle, she looked through the local history section, breathing in the delicious smell of old leather and aging pages.
At the front of the store, a bell tinkled, announcing the arrival of another customer. She leaned back on the heels of her sneakers and peeked around the end of the aisle, but all she caught were the long, jean-clad legs of some guy.
She went back to browsing.
But what could she say? She was nosy. So she listened. "Good eve to ye, Lord Grimm. How fare ye?" one of the book guys said.
"Passing fair."
Lord Grimm? Funny name. Cute accent, though.
She went back to browsing.
"Err, Mary Hatch? Your book?"
Eleanor lifted a volume from the shelf. "Thanks, guys. I'll get it in just a sec." She looked at the old leather-bound in her hand.
Naughty Ladies of the 1680s.
She opened the page.
Ooh, interesting.
"Just a minute, Lord Grimm. Don't you wish to browse?" said one of the booksellers. "I've a few new selections on medieval armor and weaponry."
"Mary Hatch! Please, come retrieve your book!" one of the others said.
"Posthaste!" the third said.
Sheesh. Talk about pushy salespeople. "Okay, okay. Hold your bleeping oysters, fellas. I'm coming." Putting the book beneath her arm, Eleanor walked toward the front of the bookstore, just as the bell tinkled again.
When she got to the end of the aisle,
Lord Grimm's
heels were just turning the corner outside.
With a smile, she turned to the book guys. "Sorry. Here's one more, okay?" She handed them the
Naughty Ladies
book, pulled the money out of her running pants, and paid for her purchase. She couldn't help but notice the solemn look on their faces. She wondered what Lord Grimm had done to tick them off.
"And a nice eve to ye, lass," the bald guy said. "Er, see ye later." He handed her the two books.
Eleanor grinned and took them. "Not if I see you first." She turned and walked toward the door.
And just as she pushed, someone from the other side pulled. Eleanor half stumbled out smack into a very large guy. Two strong arms grabbed her by the shoulders and steadied her.
"Beg pardon," he said in a fairly cute, raspy voice.
A shiver coursed down her spine, and by the time Eleanor gained her balance and looked around, all she saw was one boot disappearing into the store, the door closing behind him.
With a shrug, and a slight sense of disappointment that she'd only seen the boot, she made her way to the chip shop up the street before calling a cab to take her back to the cottage.
Nicklesby sighed into the phone's receiver. "Fergus, you poop! They were in the store together and not once did they lay eyes upon each other. I thought you had matters under control."
"Pah!" spat Fergus. "The managing of a hundred charges' 'tis easier than getting those two tae notice on another! By Wallace's sword, 'tis making me daft!"
Nicklesby sighed. "What of Aizeene and Elgan? What were those two oafs doing?"
"Trying their bloody best tae gain the lass' attention." He blew a gusty sigh into the receiver. " 'Twas no use. She had her wee nose stuck in a musty old tome."
"By the crows, very well. I'll ring Lord Dreadmoor and see about our next step."
As Eleanor sat on the deck of the cottage, facing the tumultuous North Sea and eating everything but the thick white wrap paper of her fried cod and chips, the phone rang. Balling up the paper, before she did eat it, she went through the back door and lifted the cordless. "Hello?"
"Hi, Eleanor!" a familiar voice said. "It's Andi. Are you busy?"
Eleanor wiped her mouth on a napkin. "Hi. Just finished eating."
It had been like a sign, or something, meeting the Dreadmoors. Andi—who was waddling around almost seven months pregnant—and her extremely handsome hubby, Tristan, happened to send out enough mass advertisement for their holiday rentals that one had ended up in Eleanor's in-box. She and Andi—who was an American, too—had hit it off immediately, and they'd even picked her up at the airport. Not only that, but they were in tight with the local constable, who now had her great-grandfather's ledger and her notes under investigation. And although she'd considered using one of her funny aliases, she thought she'd do better to give her real name. At least, with the Dreadmoors and the constable. Locally, like at the bookstore? Mary Hatch would do just fine.
"Well, do you mind if I drop by?" Andi said. "Tristan has to take care of some business, and I don't want to be bored out of my gourd."
"Far be it from me to want to be responsible for you going out of your gourd," Eleanor laughed.
"Come on over."
After they hung up, she thought about Andi's husband, Tristan. A handsome guy—heck, the entire castle was filled with big, handsome guys—yet they all seemed a little odd. Off. Cute, very polite, but a bit off.
She couldn't quite put a finger on it.
Half an hour later, Tristan dropped Andi off. With a wave and a
How fare thee?
out of the window, he drove off.
She smiled at Andi as they walked through the house and onto the deck. "You know that thing about pregnant women glowing?"
Andi laughed. "Am I blinding you with it?"
Eleanor leaned against the wooden rail and smiled. "Yep. H-A-P-P-Y is written right across your forehead." And how could anyone blame her?
Andi patted her tummy, or bump, as the Brits called it, and moved to stand next to Eleanor. "I think I'm growing a whale." She pushed her hair behind her ears and grinned. "Listen. I don't have any female friends around here, and I want you to do something for me. Huge favor."
Eleanor lifted a brow. "What?"
The smile Andi gave her split her pretty face in two. "We've been invited to a party at a castle just north a ways, and I'd really like you to come."
Eleanor tapped her chin with a forefinger. "Hmm. When is it? I may not be here."
"Ha-ha, you wily girl. You'll be here." Andi cleared her throat. "It's tomorrow night. Please?"
Eleanor shoved her hands into her running jacket pockets. "I don't have anything to wear, except a business casual."
Andi patted her shoulder. "Well, it's slightly formal, but not to worry." She winked. "I've got something that'll look fantastic on you."
Blowing out an exaggerated breath, Eleanor agreed. "Oh-kay. You talked me into it."
"Great!" Andi said. "We'll pick you up around six thirty, and I'll bring the dress and shoes." She turned and gazed out over the sea. "It's different here." She looked at Eleanor. "From back home."
Scanning the seascape, taking in the briny scents, the gulls screaming overhead, the wildness of it—
Eleanor nodded. "It really is." She looked at Andi. "Funny. Sometimes I think I must have dreamed about this place. England." She sighed and glanced back over the water. and watched a bird dive straight into a wave. "It's new and exciting, yet weirdly familiar."
Andi put an arm around her shoulders. "Yep, I get that feeling all the time."
The next night, Eleanor rode in the backseat of Tristan's Rover. She knew Andi and he were loaded, living in a castle and all—but sheesh! One could never tell it. Andi and Tristan—actually, their entire castle of guys—were all humble and supernice. Especially the one sitting beside her. Jason, he'd said his name was.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed he kept looking at her.
Cute, but way too young. Dressed in a formal black tux, he was rather handsome.
Bailey would
probably drool on sight.
As Tristan maneuvered the car up the winding coastline, Eleanor marveled at the information the police had come up with that afternoon. Constable Hurley, a local cop, had stopped by and confirmed Eleanor's leads on her great-grandfather's family, who'd left England in 1912 to come to the Americas only after changing their last name. It hadn't been easy, but after finding the marriage certificate of her grandpa Phineas' parents, woven into the leather binding of his ledger, she'd been able to uncover several things—her mother's true surname, included.
"My lady," Jason said, startling her from her thoughts, "is aught amiss?"
Is aught amiss?
Talk about déjà vu.
She gave the guy beside her a smile, thinking how handsome he looked in his suit, with his longish hair pulled back. "I'm fine, thanks. Just thinking."
He smiled and gave a short nod.
Moments later, the car began to climb the sloping lane leading toward their friend's castle. With a quick glance down at herself—golly, she hoped this black dress Andi let her borrow didn't look too
revealing.
She secured the light, gauzy black wrap about her bare shoulders and uncrossed her legs.
"You look rather fetching in that gown," Jason said, giving her a smile. "In truth."
The way he spoke just cracked her up—and every time he did speak, she had the strangest feeling come over her, gnaw at her insides.
Familiarity.
Yet she knew she'd have remembered a cutie like Jason. "Thank you," she answered with a smile of her own. "You look pretty darn good yourself."
His cheeks turned pink.
As the castle came into view, Eleanor all but gasped. "Wow."
Tall gray towers on all sides hurtled toward the sky as the ancient twelfth-century towers rose from the rock. A wall encircled it, and Eleanor could barely wait to get inside.
Lately, she'd grown a fascination for castles.
Through an enormous
gatehouse
they drove, then over a drawbridge, the sound of the wood rumbling beneath the tires of the Rover. At the end of the drawbridge, a
portcullis,
which as they drove beneath, Eleanor looked up at, awed at the large, jagged steel teeth.
Beyond that, the castle. Rather, the
keep.
It took her breath away.
And, as she stepped out onto the gravel close to the entrance, where several other vehicles, and a few motorcycles, stood parked, another wash of déjà vu came over her.
"Shall I take your wrap, my dear?"
Eleanor smiled at the sweet-looking, tall, skinny man standing just inside the entrance of the keep.
Funny. With a proper black suit and bow tie, with his hair combed back neatly, his large ears poking out, and his rather long pointy nose, he reminded her of ... of ...
Ichabod Crane.
Taken aback by her inner thought, Eleanor handed the man her gauzy wrap. "Yes, thank you."
He gave a short nod and draped her wrap over a forearm. "I'm Nicklesby, lady, and if you find yourself needing aught, I shall be ever at the ready. You've nothing to do but ask."
Nicklesby. Perfect.
"Thanks, Nicklesby."
"Come on," Andi said, pulling Eleanor's arm.
Jason was one step behind her.
As they entered the hall, the tinny sound of some old-fashioned musical instrument played a light, merry tune that for some reason reminded her of Christmas. A Victorian Christmas, maybe, like something straight out of a Charles Dickens novel.
Eleanor looked around as Andi pulled her along. High ceilings were crisscrossed with dark wooden rafters, and old-fashioned sconces decorated the stone walls. Within the mammoth stone hearth blazed two long rows of pillared candles set in black iron; they cast off the fragrant scent of vanilla.
Massive tapestries hung here and there, the stitches revealing medieval scenes that drew Eleanor's attention. She found herself pulling free of Andi.
Weaving through the throng of men from Dreadmoor, who seemed to watch her every move, she walked up to the tapestry and stared.
A battle scene, and a fierce one at that. Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, astride a powerful horse in the center, was surrounded by her own band of armored knights and farmers with pitchforks. One warrior, Eleanor noticed, wore no armor, and had numerous tattoos across his chest and back. Her stomach pinged. Wow. He looked ...
