Countdown (15 page)

Had that been Cira’s attitude when she’d taken the boy, Leo, into her home?

Jock Gavin wasn’t Leo and she wasn’t Cira. So stop making comparisons and get back to Mario and see if she could nudge him into speeding up the work on Cira’s scrolls.

Bartlett was standing in the hall when she came in the front door, his expression concerned. “I saw you go into the stable with the boy. You were there a long time. Is everything all right?”

“No problem. He’s very sweet.” She gestured to the sketchbook she carried. “I was just doing a little work.”

He shook his head reproachfully. “You shouldn’t have gone into the stable. Trevor’s put it off-limits to all of us. That’s MacDuff’s territory.”

“MacDuff didn’t kick me out, so I guess it was okay with him.” She started up the stairs. “I’ve got to get back to Mario. I’ll see you later.” As she reached the landing, she glanced back and saw him still staring after her with a troubled expression. She said gently, “It’s okay, Bartlett. Stop worrying.”

He forced a smile and nodded. “I’ll work on it.” He turned away. “It used to be easier. The older I get, the more aware I become of how many things there are to worry about in this world. You wouldn’t know about that. The young always think they’re immortal.”

“You’re wrong. I never thought I was immortal even when I was a kid. I knew you had to fight to stay alive.” She continued up the stairs. “But I’m not about to spoil even one minute of it fretting unless I decide there’s cause.”

M
ay I come in, Trevor?” MacDuff asked after he opened the library door. He nodded at Bartlett, who was standing beside the desk. “I thought you’d come running here after I saw you outside in the courtyard looking at the stable as if it were a windmill and you were Don Quixote.” He dropped down in the visitor’s chair and smiled at Trevor. “I decided to save you the trouble of seeking me out. You’re such a busy man.”

“You said you’d keep him away from her,” Trevor said coldly. “Get him the hell out of here.”

His smile faded. “Jock’s home is with me. Such as it is.”

“I believe I’ll leave you to your discussion.” Bartlett moved toward the door. “But I never tilt at windmills, MacDuff. Though I do believe Don Quixote’s nobility overshadowed his foolishness.”

As the door closed behind Bartlett, Trevor repeated, “Get Jock the hell away from here. Or I’ll do it myself.”

MacDuff shook his head. “No, you won’t. You need me. If he goes, I go.”

“Don’t try to bluff me.” His gaze was narrowed on MacDuff’s face. “You may not even be able to help me. If Mario comes through, I may be able to find the gold myself. How the hell do I know you have any valid lead at all? Maybe it’s a con.”

“Give me what I want and see.”

“Bloodthirsty bastard.”

“Ah, yes. That I am. But you should have realized that when you saw everything I was willing to give up to get my chance.” He leaned back in the chair and his gaze wandered around the library. “It’s strange sitting in this visitor’s chair when I always sat where you are. Life takes odd turns, doesn’t it?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Just a wee detour.” His gaze shifted back to Trevor. “I did tell him not to go near her, but it didn’t work out. It won’t happen again.”

“He’ll stay away from her?”

“No, but I’ll always be with them.” He held up his hand as Trevor started to curse. “She wants to sketch him. I warned her about him. I’m not sure she believed me, but that won’t matter as long as I’m there to intercede.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“Then talk to her, tell her not to do it.” He tilted his head. “If you think it will do any good.”

“You son of a bitch.”

“Actually, my mother was a quintessential bitch, so I’ll not take offense at that remark.” He got to his feet. “I’ll make sure Jane sketches him in the courtyard so that you can have someone you trust keep watch on them. I’m quite aware that wouldn’t be me.” He shook his head as he gazed around the library again. “Strange . . .”

“I hope it sticks in your throat to see me here,” Trevor said through his teeth.

MacDuff shook his head. “No, this place doesn’t define who I am. Do I love it? With every breath. But I don’t have to be here. I carry it with me.” He smiled. “You look very good in that chair, Trevor. Quite the laird. Enjoy.” His smile faded as he turned and headed for the door. “If you choose not to interfere, I’ll be grateful. It’s the first time since I found him that he’s responded positively to anyone but me. I believe she’s good for him. That’s the bottom line for me.”

“I won’t trade—”

But MacDuff had already left the library.

Trevor drew a deep breath and tried to smother the frustration that was tearing through him. He did need MacDuff, dammit. He’d begun thinking of the laird as a long shot, but the more he found out about MacDuff’s visits to Herculaneum, the more Trevor was beginning to believe he might be the answer.

Was MacDuff bluffing? Maybe, but Trevor couldn’t risk it. Okay, so consider the situation calmly. MacDuff wouldn’t want anything to happen to Jane. It wasn’t in his best interests. He’d promised to be on-site during any encounter, and Trevor trusted him to keep his word. Not that he wouldn’t have Brenner on hand to keep an eye on Jock.

Hell, the entire situation could be resolved if he could go to Jane and tell her that those damn sketching sessions were unacceptable. But that wasn’t an option.

If MacDuff had warned her about Jock and she was still planning on seeing the boy, then Trevor’s interference would do no good. She’d do as she pleased, and any protest from him would be useless.

But she never let stubbornness get in the way of good sense. So try to get ammunition to convince her that it was reasonable for her to turn her back on the boy. Until then he’d take measures to protect her and try to keep himself from obviously stepping between them.

Ammunition. He reached for the telephone and dialed Venable. “I have a favor to ask. I need information.”

J
ane was still with Mario when Trevor knocked on the door at eight-fifteen that evening. He opened the door without waiting for an answer. “I do hate to interrupt, Jane.” His tone was sarcastic. “But I can’t have you distracting Mario from his work any longer.”

“She wasn’t distracting me,” Mario said quickly. “Her presence is very quiet and soothing.”

“Soothing? Amazing. And Bartlett tells me she went down to the kitchen late this afternoon and fixed you both a tray. You must have discovered a side of her that she’s never shown me.”

“People respond differently to different people,” Jane said. “I didn’t want to disturb Mario.”

Mario grinned. “Because she wanted me to finish the scroll I’m working on.”

Jane nodded with a rueful smile. “I was hoping you’d speed through it and give me something to read tomorrow.”

“I told you I was having trouble with it. There are entire words missing and I have to guess. Or perhaps I’m stretching out the translating so that I can look up and see you sitting there.”

“You’d better not be,” Trevor said.

“Just a joke,” Mario said quickly. “It’s going well, Trevor.”

“Any reference?”

“Not yet.”

“Reference to what?” Jane asked.

“The gold. What else?” Trevor said. “If you read Cira’s first letter, you must know there’s a doubt that the gold was in the tunnel, that she might have hidden it somewhere else.”

“And if she did, you’re out of luck.”

“Unless I find a clue to where she stashed it.”

“You mean where Pia stashed it. Who is Pia?”

He shrugged. “If you read the scroll, you know as much as I do.” He met her eyes. “You said you wanted to go to the Run. Have you changed your mind?”

“No. Why should I?”

“You seem to be fascinated by Mario and his scholastic bag of tricks.” He turned on his heel. “Come on.”

“Wait a moment.” He wasn’t waiting. He was already halfway down the hall. “Bye, Mario, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Trevor had reached the staircase by the time she caught up with him. “You’re being exceptionally rude.”

“I know. I feel like being rude. It’s a privilege I allow myself occasionally.”

“I’m surprised anyone puts up with you.”

“They don’t have to. It’s their privilege to tell me to go to hell.”

“You’re right.” She stopped on the stairs. “Go to hell.”

He glanced back over his shoulder. “Now, that’s what I expected. You mustn’t treat me too—” He broke off. Then a smile lit his face. “I’m being an uncivilized bastard, aren’t I?”

“Yes.”

“And you did your best to provoke me today.” He made a face. “I made it easy for you. You knew just where to strike. I’ve always prided myself on my self-confidence, but you managed to undermine it. I was actually jealous of Mario.” He lifted his hand to stop her as she started to speak. “And don’t tell me that you didn’t want to rake me over the coals. You were frustrated about your situation here and you wanted me to be frustrated too. Well, you succeeded. We’re even.
Pax?
”

They weren’t even, but she welcomed the possibility of ignoring the tension between them. The past twenty-four hours had been unbearable. “I’d never encourage Mario to get my own back against you. I don’t play with people’s feelings. I like him too much.”

“Oh, I believe you. But you wouldn’t mind letting me wonder. I showed you a weakness and you jumped on it. Maybe in the back of your mind you were punishing me for being fool enough to push you away four years ago.”

She moistened her lips. “I don’t want to talk about this now. Are you going to take me to the Run or not?”

He nodded and turned to the door. “Let’s go.”

They were stopped by a guard at the gate, as Trevor had been last night. “Jane, Patrick Campbell. We’re just going to the Run, Pat. All clear tonight?”

Campbell nodded. “Douglas had a sighting three hours ago, but nowhere close to the castle.” He took out his phone. “I’ll just give your security boys on the perimeter a warning to keep sharp.”

“Do that.” Trevor took Jane’s elbow and nudged her through the gates. “We take the path around the castle to the cliffs. It’s about ten minutes’ walk.” He looked up at the sky. “It’s a full moon. You should be able to see well enough. . . .”

W
hen they turned the corner and began walking toward the edge of the cliff, Jane first noticed only the sea stretching before her. “What is this? What am I supposed to—”

They had reached the top of a knoll, and below them, stretching toward the steep cliff, was a level grassy plain that bordered the entire rear of the castle. The grass was perfectly manicured and on either end of the long expanse were several rows of boulders.

“MacDuff’s Run,” Trevor said.

“What the devil is it? It looks like some Druid meeting place.”

“It was a meeting place, all right. Angus MacDuff had a passion for athletic games. He was something of a robber baron and admired might in any form. He finished building his castle in 1350 and the next spring he held the first Scottish Games in this area.”

“That long ago?”

Trevor shook his head. “In 844 Kenneth MacAlpine, King of Scots, organized a three-day game to keep his army occupied while waiting for good-luck omens before his battle with the Picts. Malcolm Canmore, who took the throne in 1058, held regular games to select the strongest and fastest Scots to join his elite guard.”

“And I thought they were called the Highland Games.”

“The MacDuffs originated in the Highlands, and I guess they brought their games with them. According to their journals the games were the highlight of their year. Curling, wrestling, racing, and some local sports that were a bit weird. All the young men in MacDuff’s service participated in them.” He smiled at Jane. “And an occasional woman. Fiona MacDuff was mentioned as being permitted to run in the races. She won two years in a row.”

“And then I suppose they decided to outlaw women?”

He shook his head. “She got pregnant and stopped of her own accord.” He stopped beside one of the boulders at the end of the Run. “Sit down. I imagine that the later generations brought out chairs to view the games, but these were the first seats.”

She slowly sat down on the boulder beside him. “Why do you come here?”

“I like it.” His gaze traveled down the stretch of grass to the rocks at the end of the Run. “It’s a good place to get your head straight. I feel at home here. I believe I would have enjoyed knowing Angus MacDuff.”

As she stared at his profile, she believed he would too. The wind from the sea was lifting his hair from his forehead and there was that hint of recklessness about his mouth. His eyes were narrowed as if gauging the difficulty of the next competition. She could imagine him sitting here, laughing with the laird and preparing for his turn at the Run. Jesus, she wished she had her sketchbook. “Which event would you have entered?”

“I don’t know. The run, maybe curling . . .” He turned to her and his eyes were glittering with mischief. “Or maybe I’d have been better suited taking book on all the events. I’m sure there was plenty of gambling going on during the games.”

She smiled back at him. “I can see you carving out a niche in that area.”

“Perhaps I could have done both. I’d have gotten bored with only betting on one game a year.”

“Heaven forbid.” She looked away from him. “I didn’t expect this when you brought me here.”

“I know you didn’t. You probably thought the Run was one of my more wicked criminal enterprises.”

“Or had some connection with Grozak. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wanted you here,” he said simply. “I like it here and I wanted you to like it too.”

He was telling the truth, and she did like it here, dammit. It was as if this place reduced everything to the basic and primitive. She could almost hear the pipes and feel the earth vibrate beneath the feet of those long-ago runners. “Would it have been so difficult to just say that?”

“Hell, yes. You’re having trouble even looking at me these days without throwing up a cast-iron barrier. And then I made it worse by letting sex— See, you’re tensing again. Look at me, dammit. This isn’t like you, Jane.”