The Presence (22 page)

“Toni?” he said, and frowned.

She must have looked wild, she was certain. With him in the living flesh, walking across the hall, her panic subsided.

“I, uh, how is Wallace?” she asked.

“Fine for the night. The vet is convinced he's getting into something that's making him get this colic, though he can't figure out what. But he's good, Toni. Honestly, I wouldn't lie to you. You could have asked Bruce. He's up there now. In fact, he's been in for a while. You can go to sleep, and rest assured, old Wallace is doing well.”

She smiled, glad to realize that he thought she was standing barefoot and in a nightgown on the landing because she was so worried about the horse.

“Good night, Ryan. And thanks,” she said.

She turned and fled back down the hallway, bursting into Bruce's bedroom. He had showered and was in a towel. He seemed distracted, and when he looked up and saw her, his face was filled with tension.

“I was about to gather a search party,” he said. “I told you that I'd tend to the horse, Toni. And he's doing well.”

She nodded. “Yes, thanks.”

She was still standing in the doorway.

“Are you coming in?” he asked her.

She nodded, but didn't move.

“Toni, what on earth is the matter with you?”

She swallowed. “Bruce, you weren't standing at the foot of the bed in a kilt about fifteen minutes ago, were you?”

“What? I was out with the horses, with Ryan.” He sighed. “You're dreaming again?”

She shook her head. “No…no, I don't think that I'm dreaming. I think that I'm seeing the ghost of your ancestor.” She gritted her teeth, watching the astonishment and total incomprehension that spread over his features.

“Toni, ghosts don't exist,” he said.

“I'm seeing the ghost of your ancestor,” she said firmly. “And he keeps taking me down to the crypts.”

“That door is bolted,” he said harshly. “I keep the only key.”

“Come with me,” she told him.

“Toni, I'm wearing a towel. I'd have to get dressed. You're barely dressed yourself, you know. That thing is entirely see-through.”

“Come now,” she insisted.

“In a towel?”

“We're the only ones up,” she said, and turning, she went back down along the hallway.

“Toni, dammit!” he said, but followed behind her.

She realized she was almost running. He caught up with her on the stairway, swearing as he gripped her arm—he'd almost lost the towel.

“Toni, this is insanity.”

“I'll show you!”

She wrenched free, and tore through the main hall and the secondary hall. At the door to the crypts she stood dead still. It was closed.

She grabbed the handle and tugged, but it was firmly bolted. She felt him behind her, felt his doubt and skepticism. And then her own.

She turned into his arms. “I saw him!” she insisted. “He opened this door, I went down it!”

“Toni, please, let's go to bed?” he said.

She was shaking, cold as ice. He lifted her, hugging her close to him as they traveled back the way they had come. He tried to tease her. “Don't wiggle too much. I'll lose the towel.”

She wasn't wiggling. She wasn't moving.

“Toni…!” he murmured, distressed by her fear. She shook her head, curling her arms around his neck.

He opened the door, still ajar, to the master's chambers with his foot, and closed it the same way. He laid
her upon the bed and told her, “I'll get you some tea…brandy? Something?”

“No!” she said, rising to throw herself into his arms again. “No, no, don't leave me, even for a second.”

“Toni, it's all right here—”

“No, just hold me. Make love to me, be with me, alive, vital, flesh and blood. Do what you do so well, make everything else in the world fade away!”

“Toni!” he whispered again, his slate eyes searching her own.

“Now, please!” she begged.

And with that, he complied. His lips found hers, and tonight they were gentle, slow, even hesitant. But she wouldn't have it. Not that. She was fevered, clinging to him, pressing the kiss until it became one of the most volatile passions. She ripped away his towel, frantic to be against him, to rid herself of every barrier between them. She was frenetic, electric against his flesh, needing every bit of heat and warmth, fevered, chaotic….

Until he caught hold of her, bore her down, gripped her wrists and began a far slower, far more sensual seduction, bathing her flesh with fire, with the brush of lips, teeth, tongue, hands, all eliciting a deep, slow hunger and anguish, and making her feel cherished, taken….

And as she had longed for, ached and needed, the world faded. Every thought was gone except for the perfect fit of his body to hers, the thunder of heartbeats, the drive of his sex, his hips, the frenzied arch and writhe of her own.

She soared, flew and exploded beneath him, then felt the burst of searing warmth within her that was his
climax. And still, there was the feel of him within her, growing softer, a part of her…his arms, holding her.

“Toni…”

“No, not tonight. Please, don't talk tonight!” she begged. “Just…hold me.”

And so he did.

“B
ruce, please. Before God, I do not know what this man has said to you, but you are my life, and I'd not be tray you, ever. Dear God! I love you, Bruce!” she whispered.

And looking down into her eyes, those pools of blue, sapphire with sincerity and the sweetness of the bond that had been theirs forever, he knew that she spoke the truth. He drew her to her feet.

“Ah, so he lied, and has not come as yet. But he will come, Annalise. Perhaps the Lord Cromwell has not taken to ordering the demise of the families of men such as myself, but neither would he punish a man, here, in what he considers the wilds of Scotland, a land of savages, who took a captive…and misused her. Our son is safe enough, following the young king in France. You can stay here no longer.”

“Where would you have me go?” she whispered.

“To the Highlands. To the clansmen there, honor-bound to protect you, my love.”

“We could bring danger upon those men. And here, the castle—our son's inheritance—could fall to the enemy.”

“A castle is mortar and stone, no more. And though
no troops have come, in their eyes, the property is confiscated by the government, as it was. Nae, our hope is in the return of the king. And whether we are here or not, the day the king returns in triumph as Charles II of En gland will be the day we are justified, and all is restored.”

She shivered suddenly. “What if that day never comes?”

“It will,” he declared staunchly. He stroked her chin, reveled in the soft feel of her flesh and the beauty of her fine features. And more. Something that transcended anything mortal. The way that she looked at him. And all that they shared.

“I must get you away. Tonight.”

“As you wish,” she told him.

He held her against him, taking a brief moment to feel the heat between them, the beating of their hearts, a pulse that slowly melded, as well. He inhaled the scent of her, and thought that this, being together so, loving a person with such great passion and being loved in return, was heaven. And he was humbled.

He pulled away from her.

She smiled, her lips damp, wistful and sensual.

“There's not so much as a night we could spend together first?”

“Not in this house,” he told her, ruing the words. “We must get into the forest.”

She nodded. “I'll get my things….”

“Bring little. We must travel fast.”

She was quick, and she knew that his words were wise. As she prepared, Bruce spoke with his steward and his men, explaining that he was taking his lady away, and that, until the world was right again, the people
mustn't give their own lives in a battle. But if they came, to allow the troops of the Protectorate in, let them do what they would, take what they craved, even unto the very stone of the castle. When Annalise came down to ride with him, many wept, but she gave them her cheerful, beautiful smile, swearing that all would be well.

And they rode together, both of them upon his great black mount.

He brought them into the forest. Finding a cove deep in the security of ancient oaks, he laid out his mantle, and there, surrounded by the softness of the night's breeze, the verdant richness of the woods, upon a bed of pines, he made love to her. As the moon waned high above them, he held her against his heart. Entwined, they found a night's rest, beauty and peace.

As the sun rose, he heard the snap of a branch. Leaping to his feet, he grabbed his sword. Somehow, they had been betrayed.

The sound was distant still, so he fell to his knees, waking her, his finger to his lips. “Dress, quickly. I'll leave the stallion. Take him ever north and westward, climb to the Highlands and await me.”

“Where are you going? What are you doing?” she demanded with alarm.

“Leading them astray.”

“No!” She threw herself against him.

“Annalise! I wage battle constantly, I know what I'm about. You must be away. Please, if I know that you are safe, I can fight any man!”

She rose, finding her clothing, scattered about, as he kilted himself into his tartan in silence. He held her then, once more. One last kiss.

“Go!” he urged her.

He bent low and moved silently, at first, until he had put distance between them. Then he let his presence be known. And he heard the activity in the forest, heard the horses, moving now far more carelessly through the trees.

He knew that his enemy waited before him, and his path veered just in time for the men to jump out from their hiding places too late.

His sword felled them both with a mighty swing.

But there were more.

Suddenly he was surrounded.

He found a path through the trees behind him, drawing them on. He was caught, and he knew it, but he fought like berserkers who had long ago come to Scotland, joining their Norse and Danish blood with that of more ancient tribes. He fought, not for his life, but for time—time for Annalise to depart to champions in the north.

That day, he brought down man after man. Yet, to no avail. For his enemy had amassed quite an army, and the men were bitter and incensed at the losses they had sustained in previous battle. Alone, he bore their assault, sustained wound after wound, and battled on.

Finally he stood in a field of corpses, but his great sword had been broken, and he was on his knees, blood dripping down his forehead into his eyes. The men around him backed away as Grayson Davis strode into the copse.

“Not such a hero now, are ye, man?” he demanded.

MacNiall looked up. “A hero? Always. For a man who believes in his ideals, and does not shift with the winds of fortune, will always be remembered as such.”

Davis strode closer to him.

“Do you know how you are about to die?”

“Aye, that I do.”

“You will scream with pain, beg for mercy, before I am done. I swear it.”

He further inflamed his foe's wrath by smiling. “There is nothing you can do to me now that will cause me to cry out.”

“Nae?” Grayson said. “Well, then, let me show you what you must see before you even begin to die!”

B
y morning, Toni fully intended to talk to Bruce. Despite the fact that she was going to sound crazy, she meant to tell him that she was definitely seeing his ancestor, that a ghost had led her into the woods and was now leading her down to the crypts. But when she awoke, he was already gone.

David, sipping coffee and reading the paper in the kitchen, told her that he'd gone into town to see Jonathan.

“You all right?” he asked her.

“Yes…why?” She glanced at him, helping herself to the coffee.

“Why?” He shook his head and looked toward the doorway, assuring himself that they were alone. “Because you're seeing…entities. Ghosts. A disturbing presence, or something.” He cleared his throat. “And Thayer told me that an old woman gave you some kind of look yesterday, and then said something absolutely horrible about
you
being found in the forest.”

“She was just an old, superstitious woman,” Toni said.

David set his paper down and patted the chair next
to him. “Sit. Talk to me. So, she didn't scare you at all, huh?”

“She put the fear of hell and damnation right into me!” Toni said, laughing. “But only for a minute. She has cataracts, so her eyes were a little…eerie. After she was gone and we talked with her son…well, I was fine. Even stayed in the cemetery by myself.”

David smiled. She decided not to tell him about her nocturnal trips to visit more grave sites deep in the bowels of the castle. He was too worried about her already.

“Laird Bruce is certainly in a fine mood, so it seems,” David said.

“Well, I don't suppose the old legend had much bearing on his day-to-day life,” Toni said. “But yes, I guess he's really pleased to find out that his famous ancestor most probably was innocent of the murder of his wife.”

“And, apparently, we are good for the village.” He was silent for a moment, studying his cup. “You know, I had been afraid that we'd be somewhat ostracized here.”

“For being American?” Toni said.

David winced. “No, not exactly. And when I said ‘we,' I meant Kevin and myself. For being of a different persuasion,” he said lightly. “But people are wonderful. We had a great time in the village yesterday. Certainly, some of the older folks, gents, mainly, looked at us with a great deal of curiosity, but…everyone was curious and intrigued. We're actually going to get a lot of the locals up to the castle to see what we're up to, I think.”

“That's good. I'm glad.”

“But we don't really have a right to the place, so who knows how long Laird MacNiall will let it go on?”

Toni looked downward.
Yes, how long could it go on?

“Well,” she said, looking up. “In light of Laird MacNiall's pleasure over the vindication of his ancestor, I've thought of a way to change that particular bit of history in our tour.”

“Oh, yeah?”

She nodded. “We have the great laird ride in just as before. He climbs the stairs to meet Annalise. It's glorious, a dramatic confrontation. Annalise pleads her innocence, then the two come running down the stairs—just as the bad guy rides in!”

David arched a brow to her. “Oh, Lord. Don't make me be the bad guy!”

She grinned. “No, it has to be Ryan. He's the only one with a prayer of controlling Wallace when Shaunessy is in the hall.” She frowned suddenly, starting to jump up. “Wallace is…better, right?”

David nodded. “Sit. Finish your coffee. Wallace is right as rain this morning.”

She sat. “Well, what do you think?”

“I like it. And MacNiall will like it. Ryan will love it. He'll have a chance to play the knight again.”

She nodded. “I've got to run it by the others. And Bruce, of course.”

Kevin came walking on in.

“What are you running by the others?”

With a sigh, she went through her idea again.

“Works for me!” Kevin said. “Want breakfast? What have we got? You know, David, we bought all those
supplies yesterday and what we really need is to go grocery shopping for ourselves again.”

“There's eggs,” David said. “Plenty of them.”

“Omelettes, then.”

“Um, want help?” Toni asked.

“No!” both of them said in unison.

“I'm not that bad a cook!” she protested.

“As long as we're not getting too elaborate,” David said, “Kevin and I work best alone. Go on out and see old Wallace, why don't you? Assure yourself that he's doing all right.”

“Good idea!” she agreed, and started out.

 

The morning was crisp, clear and beautiful. As Toni walked from the castle to the stables, she found herself looking around, hoping that Eban wasn't about. She hated herself for still feeling so uneasy around the man, but she did. She was always ready to defend him in public. But inside, he made her uneasy.

She didn't see Eban as she walked on into the stables, but Shaunessy was gone. Bruce must have taken him. Wallace, however, was in his stall. Standing. He snorted as she walked toward him, and she thought that the horse was glad to see her.

She patted his nose, looking at his eyes, checking out his length thoroughly. “You're looking good this morning, fellow!” she told him. “Very good, as a matter of fact.”

He stuck his head over the stall gate and pressed his nose against her chest, pushing her, as if he were looking for some kind of a handout.

“No, I didn't bring anything for you, boy,” she told him, patting the downy nose. “We don't know what's
making you sick! Maybe you're allergic to apples or carrots. Hmm. I wonder if that's possible. I haven't met this vet of yours yet, but when I do, I'll have to ask him about that.”

The horse's huge brown eyes were on her, as if he really listened. He prodded her chest again with the tip of his soft nose, as if saying that such delights as apples and carrots couldn't possibly cause a problem.

“You are such a sweetie!” she told him.

She was startled when his ears suddenly went back flat. Turning around, she saw nothing. But she couldn't believe that the horse had suddenly become angry with her!

Then she heard a noise, a scraping sound from the rafters above her. A tingling of instinctive wariness vibrated throughout her limbs.

A ladder led up to the rafters. It was between her and the exit to the stables.

She inhaled deeply.
So? Someone was up there. So what?
It was probably just Eban, shelving hay, or…doing something.

The sound stopped, but she was still on edge.

“Well, Wallace, dear boy, I'm going to leave you to…enjoy your time off, stand around, do whatever horses do in their stalls,” she said aloud. But she didn't walk out. Instead, she silently slipped the latch and entered the stall, standing by the horse's side. Still. Waiting.

At first, there was nothing at all. Then she heard movement above her again. She remained where she was, not breathing. Someone was coming down the ladder. She stayed hiding behind the horse, watching.

From around Wallace's flank, she saw a man coming down the ladder. He was in jeans and a casual denim
shirt. She saw the back of his head first, his sandy-colored hair.

Thayer.

He jumped the last few feet to the ground, dusted his hands on his jeans and looked around. He seemed to sigh with relief. Then he walked to the stable doors and hesitated, looking out. After a moment, he made a quick exit.

Toni remained with the horse for a moment, puzzled. Why should Thayer be nervous about being in the stables? He had as much right to come out here as any of them.

“Good boy,” she murmured, patting Wallace's neck. She slipped back out of the stall, walked out down the aisle of stalls and found herself looking up the ladder.

What the hell had he been doing up there?

She was just about to set a foot on the first rung of the ladder when she was startled by a voice.

“Eh, he be lookin' well and fine this mornin', miss, don't ye think?”

She swung around, almost in a panic herself. Eban was just inside the doorway, looking toward Wallace's stall.

She swallowed hard, forced a smile. Despite herself, she noted that he blocked the doorway.

“He looks very good, Eban. Thank you for watching him with such concern. He's really a wonderful horse.”

“Aye, that he is,” Eban agreed.

He didn't move from the doorway. If she was going to make an exit, she would have to walk by him.

“Well, thank you again,” she murmured a bit awkwardly, striding toward the exit. She passed him, pain
fully aware of his presence. She was afraid that he was going to reach a hand out, stop her.

But he didn't. Instead, he caused her to pause with his words.

“'E's trying to talk to ye, miss, ye know.”

She felt almost as if she had been physically gripped. And so she turned back to him.

“What?”

“The laird. Not everyone is able t'see him. But ye…y've got the way, y'know. The touch.”

He came closer to her and whispered, “Aye, y'must take care, grave care. Don't be lettin' 'em all know it. There's those out there, always, who would do evil. But the laird…the laird would tell ye things.”

She felt every hair on her body stand on end. Her smile was about to crack.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she said firmly, and turned.

Her footsteps were slow, but, by the time she neared the castle, she was nearly running.

As she entered the main hall, Ryan was coming down the stairs. “You went to see Wallace. Isn't it great, the old boy bounded back like a trooper!”

“Right. It's great.”

She started up the stairs, anxious to hurry past him.

His hand fell on her arm. He stared at her quizzically. “Where are you going now? Kevin just shouted up to say that breakfast was ready.”

“I—I just want to wash up,” she said. “I'll be right back down. Don't wait for me, though. Everyone just eat, okay?”

Almost jerking free, she ran past him. She went straight to her room and found her purse. She dumped
the contents on the bed, heedless of any mess. She dug into her wallet and found the card she had carried with her always, swearing that she would never use it.

She looked around, glad to realize that she'd remembered to plug her phone into the wall with the European adaptor on Saturday.

She punched in the country code for the United States, hesitated, looked at the card and then dialed.

 

“I've heard about the great discovery old Doc Darrow has made,” Robert said, greeting Bruce as he came into the pub. “Congratulations!”

Bruce took his friend's hand and shook it as he slid into the booth. They were in Stirling, on Robert's suggestion that they meet there.

“Might be a bit absurd to feel so elated about something so long ago, but…” Bruce said with a shrug. “Sure, I'm happy. It's a fine thing to discover that your heroic ancestor wasn't a wife killer.”

Robert grinned.

“Why Stirling?” Bruce asked.

“Didn't want to make you come to Edinburgh. I had some business here, and I don't really want our man Jonathan to know that I'm meeting with you so often. Don't want to step on his toes there, you know? We need too much cooperation.”

Bruce nodded. “Well, then fine. So?”

“Want to order first?”

“Sure,” Bruce said, glancing around with a slightly arched brow. The pub was rather dingy, considering that Stirling offered a lot of really fine establishments. Actually, Bruce considered the city a true gem of the country.

“They have the most delicious fish and chips in the world here. Full of fat and cholesterol,” Robert said. He grimaced. “Service is slow today. The old fellow who owns the place has lost another waitress. They all quit on him. He's a bloody bugger, he is. Still, the fish and chips make it worth the wait.”

“How long a wait?”

Robert grinned. “Not too long for me. He knows who I am.” To prove his point, he lifted a hand. A fleshy man in an apron made his way over.

“Aye, then, what'll it be, Detective Inspector?”

“Fish and chips for me.” He looked at Bruce.

“Fish and chips, and a stout,” Bruce said.

“I'll be puttin' a rush on it,” the man said, and he shook his head. “Lasses these days! Dependable as shite!”

“Lost another one, did you, George?”

“Came in Sunday mornin', took off Sunday afternoon, haven't see the lights o' her eyes since!” Muttering, he walked away.

“Someone should just tell him one day that he's a nasty bastard,” Robert said.

George came back swiftly, nearly throwing a pint of stout down before Bruce.

“So?” Bruce said, when he was gone.

“Actually, I didn't dig up much. It's rather the coincidence of things that made me call you so quickly,” Robert explained. “First, our Glasgow fellow, Thayer Fraser. The man has a record.”

“Anything serious?”

“Some busts for drugs when he was young. Clean slate for the last several years. Played with a band, the Kinked Kilts, and his last gig was at a piano bar.”

“As he said,” Bruce murmured.

“He worked some shady places,” Robert said. “Suspect, but not criminal.”

“That's all on the man?”

“Aye, so far.”

“And the others?”

“What I've gotten in from checking legally accessible records is rather strange. Apparently they're all exactly what they appear to be. I've found the college records from NYU, and some references to work. Not one of the Americans has a police record of any kind. But, as a point of interest, two of them are natural computer whizzes.”

“Lucky for them,” Bruce said. “Which two? And why is that important?”

“Well, we're following two mysteries here, wouldn't you say? For them to have gotten the permits and licenses they have, there had to be some truth to their rental agreements. That means that someone did have a hell of a lot on you, such as information regarding your actual title, your numbers in our old British society…information that only you, as an individual, should have had. A crack computer hacker can get all kinds of information on someone, which is why identity theft is getting to be such an issue these days.”