The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (18 page)

He waved away her concern, but his color didn’t return. “Fine. Keep reading.”

She did, but her eyes kept darting between the iPad and her patient. “The Frasers have one son. When not at the winery, they split their time between a farm in Kentucky and an estate in the Scottish Highlands.”

Braham sat heavily in the nearest wing chair, rocking it slightly, and put his head in his hands.

Charlotte jumped up then, dropping the iPad on the table next to the sofa and rushing to his side. “You’re not okay. What hurts?”

“Must have been all the stairs I climbed. My legs gave out.”

She pushed a footstool over to his chair and lifted his legs. “Put your feet on the stool. I’ll get you some water.”

He shook his head. “No water. Whiskey.”

She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, and the rigid muscles beneath her hand eased a little.

The visiting cat jumped off the sofa and followed her across the room to the liquor cabinet, where she rubbed up against her legs. Charlotte scratched her behind the ears. “Go find Jack. Go.” The cat skedaddled. “Good luck,” she said to the vanishing animal. When Jack was in writing mode, he was capable of ignoring fire alarms.

She scooped ice into two highball glasses, then splashed whiskey over the cubes. The Mozart overture ended and the room-temperature spirits cracked the ice, roaring like an avalanche in the silence.

She handed Braham a drink. “Do you feel dizzy?”

“I’m fine.” He took a long sip and the color slowly returned to his face.

Satisfied he wasn’t in any physical distress, she returned to her spot on the sofa and was rejoined by the cat. “Struck out, huh?” She curled up beside Charlotter, purring.

“What else is written about the Montgomerys and Frasers?” Braham asked.

A chunk of wood split in the fireplace with a loud
crack
, and sent a swirl of sparks up the chimney and the scent of hickory into the room.

Charlotte picked up the iPad, tucked her feet up under her, and read more from the website. “The winery had a successful launch of a new chardonnay a couple of years ago. The wine is called
Cailean.
I’ve seen the wine at the liquor store but haven’t tasted it.”

“
Cailean
means child in Gaelic.”

She cocked her head in surprise. “Do you speak the language?”

“Gaelic, Latin, Italian, Spanish, and French.”

She wanted to ask him to translate the inscription on the brooch, but she didn’t dare. They’d start arguing again.

“Jack’s also a polyglot. He can’t speak Gaelic, but he can speak the other ones, plus Greek, Japanese, and German.”

Jack entered the room, heading straight for the liquor cabinet. “And a little bit of Russian.” He poured a drink. “I just got off the phone with my agent. She wants me in Atlanta tomorrow, for two days. I’ll have a car pick me up in the morning. Which means you can drive mine home and leave your car for Braham to practice with.”

She gave Jack a brief, shocked laugh. “You can’t leave Braham here by himself. He can come to Richmond and stay with me.”

Braham rattled the ice in his glass. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a number of years. I can manage. Besides, I want to learn to drive, which I can’t do safely in the city.”

She removed a blue-patterned scrunchie from her long ponytail, finger-combed her hair, pulled it together, and then looped the tie around her hair again. Fiddling with her hair gave her a minute to think instead of spitting out her first response—
I’m not leaving you by yourself.

“You just got out of the hospital and should have a caregiver close by. I’d stay here, but I’m on call for the next two nights.”

“If you’re working during the day and on call at night, what’s the difference? He’d still be alone.”

“The difference is I’d only be five minutes away.”

“It’s only two days. He can manage.”

“Oh bloody hell, Jack. Stop thinking about what’s most convenient for you and think about your guest.”

“I
am
, sis. Braham would much rather stay here where he’s familiar with his surroundings than spend two days stuck in your house where he can’t even see the river. Right?” Jack said, glancing at Braham.”

Braham cocked his brow. “Right.”

Jack winked at Charlotte. “See? Told you.” He sipped his drink. “Now, what did I hear about a winery?”

She sighed, shaking her head. Sometimes it was pointless to argue with her brother. He could bulldoze his way up, down, and all around her. If she was going to be home, she’d have a better argument, but she had a full schedule, so she accepted defeat and moved on.

“Braham’s friend started a winery in Napa,” she said. “It’s still in existence and is operated by his descendants. It boasts the longest continuous operation of any winery in the country.”

Jack gave her a broad smile. “A long weekend in the wine country would be nice. I can schedule a book signing to make the trip tax deductible.” He tossed back his drink. “I’ll check my calendar later, but right now I’ve got work to finish. I’ll be in my office.”

“Would you like to visit the winery?” Charlotte asked Braham.

He gave an agitated sigh, then took a long swallow of his drink. “Maybe. Is there any more information about the man she married or his farm?”

Charlotte Googled Elliott Fraser. “He breeds Thoroughbreds and owns MacKlenna Farm in Lexington, Kentucky. The farm is a three thousand acre Thoroughbred breeding and training facility established in 1790. Wow. Impressive. The farm has also had several Kentucky Derby and Triple Crown winners.”

Jack returned to the library. “Did you say MacKlenna Farm?”

“If you’re going to eavesdrop, why don’t you stay in here?” Charlotte said.

“I can’t, really. But did you say MacKlenna Farm?”

“Have you heard of it?”

“I met Elliott Fraser and Sean MacKlenna several years ago when I went to the Kentucky Derby. You had an emergency and couldn’t get away. I’m glad you didn’t go. Fraser would have hit on you. The guy is a drinker and a player.”

“Not anymore,” Charlotte said.

Jack scooted the cat out of the way and sat down next to Charlotte. “Guys like him don’t change. Let me see his picture.”

Charlotte clicked on several pictures of Elliott with his wife and child. “This isn’t the face of a womanizer.”

“Does it say anything about the farm’s stallions?” Braham asked.

“The stallion with the smallest stud fee, five thousand dollars, is an eight-year-old named Stormy.” Jack whistled. “What a horse. Look at this picture.” He held up the iPad, showing off a magnificent stallion with three white stockings.

Braham took the iPad from Jack with a shaking hand. “I’d let this horse service my finest mare any day of the week. He’s a winner.” Braham handed back the iPad and poured another drink. “What time do you leave in the morning?”

“The car will be here at six,” Jack said. “I’ve got an early flight.”

“I’ll be up before you leave,” Braham said. “I don’t want to miss a cup of your coffee.”

“You can at least show him how to make it himself,” Charlotte said.

“Oh, he knows. He prefers to have it ready when he comes into the kitchen in the morning. He can’t stay at your house. You don’t even have a coffee pot.”

“I don’t need one. There’s a Starbucks at the corner.”

Jack shook his head. “Sad.”

“I’m turning in. It’s been a long day. Goodnight,” Braham said.

“Hey, if you need cash while I’m gone, there’s a little bit in the top drawer of my desk.”

Charlotte laughed. “It’s his pizza delivery money.”

“Glad to know. The pizza we had yesterday for lunch was good.” He left the room, and a minute later they heard his bedroom door close.

“He had a rough day,” Charlotte said. “You should have seen him at the Lincoln Memorial. It was heartbreaking.”

“Then you were the best person to be with him.”

“Not necessarily,” Charlotte said. “I wish I knew what he was thinking. He’s a very private person.”

Jack enlarged the picture of Stormy. Then checked out the other stallions standing stud at MacKlenna Farm. “Braham’s been a spy for four years. He’s learned to play his cards close to his chest, for survival if for no other reason. I doubt you’ll get much out of him.” Jack handed the iPad back to her. “Beautiful stallions.”

She set the iPad on the coffee table along with the charger and her car keys. “I wish I could do more to help him.”

Jack gave her a hug. “You’ve done a lot for him already. Give him time. He’ll find his way. If you’d let him back on a horse, he might feel like he had a bit more control of his life.”

“I’d rather give him a watch. I learned the hard way that not knowing the time of day makes you feel even less in control over your circumstances. I didn’t like it at all.”

She rinsed out her glass at the bar and left it in the sink. “You know, two weeks ago, Braham was almost dead. He’s making a remarkable recovery, but he’s not healed yet. Let’s see how he’s doing next week. If he promises not to go galloping around the farm, he can probably ride. But not until then.”

Jack grinned. “We don’t have to gallop to go hunting.”

Charlotte’s mind spun with worst-case scenarios. “I only hope he doesn’t go off hunting on his own.”

19

Mallory Plantation, Richmond, Virginia – Present Day

A
n hour after
Jack left with the car service, Braham carried a change of clothes and a sack of food out to Charlotte’s Range Rover. If he was going to leave, it had to be now. Earlier he had read the driving manual on the iPad. He’d watched videos on YouTube, and he knew the rules of the road. The real question now was—could he drive a car Jack said could drive itself?

He started the engine and entered his destination in the GPS device. At seventy miles an hour it would take six hours to reach Lexington, Kentucky. He had calculated gas mileage, and driving at a constant rate of speed, he could make it on one tank of gasoline. If he had to buy more fuel he would use some of Jack’s pizza money. He hated leaving without an explanation, but even if he had tried again to explain, he knew they wouldn’t have understood.

He had called MacKlenna Farm and been told Elliott and his wife, Meredith, were at the farm until the end of next week. If Braham didn’t leave now, he would miss the Frasers and the only means of returning to his time. The plan he had formulated might not work, but he had to try. Although he’d never been behind the wheel of an automobile, he dismissed it as insignificant. He would learn on the way and pray a traffic officer didn’t stop him. He understood the traffic laws and how much trouble he could get into without a license. But he didn’t think they would shoot him or hang him, and hopefully jails had improved a wee bit since the mid-eighteen hundreds.

He adjusted the seat and mirror as he had seen Charlotte do the day before. Then he put the car in gear. Before pressing the accelerator, he took a steadying breath. The moment he touched the accelerator, the car shot forward.

Braham slammed his foot on the brake and his chest hit the steering wheel. “Damn.” He had forgotten to buckle up. He left his foot on the brake, put on the belt, put the car into park, and sat perfectly still.

While the car remained in park, he pressed the accelerator with a much lighter touch, listening to the roar of the engine. Obviously, he couldn’t master driving techniques simply by reading instructions. He put the car in gear again and pressed on the accelerator. The car shot forward, but this time he didn’t use the brake. Instead, he lifted the foot on the gas pedal a bit and the car slowed. He continued to practice both braking and accelerating until he felt familiar enough with how acceleration worked.

Feeling more confident, he followed the farm road and circled the plantation. Then he circled again. By the third time, his confidence had increased dramatically until he looked down at the speedometer. He was only traveling at five miles per hour. He stopped the car and pounded his palms against the steering wheel.

At this speed, he could get to Lexington faster riding a horse. He blew out a long breath and drove more circles around the farm, increasing his speed with each loop. When he felt comfortable at forty-five miles per hour, he ventured out onto the lane leading to the highway. As the first stop sign came into view, he stopped, and inched his way up to the sign. A car was coming from his right. He cringed, waiting for the impact he knew would come. The car zoomed by, and he relaxed. If he was going to panic every time a car came toward him, then he might as well turn around and go back to the plantation.

He pulled out faster than he intended and didn’t turn the wheel as far as necessary, which put him close to the edge of the pavement. To avoid hurling off the road, he cut the wheel too sharply, causing the car to swing. He then yanked the wheel in the opposite direction. The rear end swerved from side to side, and he ran into the grass. He hit the brakes and threw the car into park.

“Damn.” He slammed his palms against the wheel again, breathing heavily. This might be the hardest task he’d ever undertaken. He should practice more before he set out, but he had no time to lose. He took a moment to regain his composure then pulled out onto the highway. By the time he reached the I-64 West exit, his palms had stopped sweating.