The Painted Castle

by Kristy Cambron

  That showed he honestly meant what he’d said.

  “Wait a minute—you’re serious? But you must have signed a contract. Don’t you have to return home at some point?”

  “Framlingham is home at the moment.”

  “But where will you go when the job is over?”

  He shrugged. Noblesse oblige. “I’m not worried about it.”

  Who was so cavalier with their livelihood? Keira wasn’t one to stay planted in any one place for too long, so she understood the move-on mentality that came with wanderlust personalities like theirs. But didn’t that roving spirit ever long to settle? Hers had. Even more when she’d come home with a broken heart and found two brothers married to the loves of their lives, and she still muddling through on her own. Dublin may have been a rebound home—and a temporary one at that—but at least she still had someplace that was dear enough for her to want to hang her hat on a familiar peg while she regrouped.

  How could Emory toss that security about without a second thought?

  “You’re not at all worried about where you’re to live?”

  He steamed the milk like a pro, raising his voice over the loud whir of the frother. “Why? Should I be?”

  “Most people are. It’s a bit basic, isn’t it? When I lost my lease in New York, I had to pack boxes and cross an ocean to move back in with my da. At twenty-six years old, mind. When I hadn’t lived there since I was a girl in knee socks and a plaid jumper.”

  Emory stood in the growing cast of morning light, working but shifting his gaze up at her every so often. “That must have been hard.”

  “It was. It is.”

  “How so?”

  She shrugged like it didn’t matter, but of course it did. More than she’d dare tell him. Though it had taken years to come to grips with, Keira would give the abbreviated version.

  No sob stories here.

  “My parents divorced when I was young. Da chose looking after a ruddy old pub over his family. That’s my view of it. He neglected his duty. He let us go, and then everything began unraveling in the aftermath. How do you backpedal from that? I had to come home now where I knew I could regroup from a few things—but we’ve never said a word about it. Da tends bar and we act like nothing happened all those years ago. He’d have the locals at the bar believing we’re a right good Irish family, when all I want to do is tell him what I think of him.”

  “So you were just getting settled to deal with that, and I step in to lure you away with euros and paint. I hope you’ll forgive me for the terrible timing.”

  “I might, if the coffee’s any good.” She took a drink—hot. Sweet and strong too, proving the perfect diversion.

  “Well?” Emory waited.

  “You’re off the hook.” She smiled. “Because so is this.”

  They stood by the windows. He was quiet as his smile faded and they sipped and watched the world wake, yawn, and come alive beyond the leaded glass.

  “So what happened after you packed your boxes and braved the Atlantic?”

  She smiled inside, warmed by more than coffee. “Cormac welcomed me back. He always does.”

  “Ah. Brothers can be good like that.”

  “My brothers can. I’m closer to Cormac—he’s the oldest. But only because Quinn had a case of wanderlust and chose to indulge for several years. Before he married Ellie. I don’t blame him completely; he’s a different person now. And I was bit by the travel bug once upon a time. But Cormac was steady in a way few people in my life have been. I was still young and he gave up Trinity College to move to London with Mum and me, shortly after the divorce. She . . .”

  Keira swallowed another deep drink of coffee, stalling.

  It had been years since she’d talked of her mother with anyone other than Cormac. She’d not even been able to broach the subject with Alton—she should have, but her former fiancé didn’t stick around long enough to find out what was ticking on the inside of her. And by the time she was ready to open up, he was gone.

  “She what?” Emory spoke up, a little prompt drawing her back to the moment.

  “Uh . . . Mum passed from cancer many years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Keira shrugged like it was nothing, even though deep down in the hidden-away recesses of her innermost, it was everything to her.

  “It’s alright. Like you said—just another sock in the gut, right?”

  “I hope I don’t sound that pessimistic. Life can sometimes be that, yes,” he said, his voice softened to a whisper. “But it can have bring-you-to-your-knees beauty too. Grief isn’t always a loss of any one person or thing. I think it’s the loss of who we might have become had life not taken an unexpected turn. That needs some time to work out.”

  “You talk like you understand it.”

  “Maybe. But then I see a sunrise like this and I have to believe God’s behind something so good. Why else would He paint the sky like that, knowing that no one else on earth would see it from this exact view but us two? There’s intention in that.”

  Emory didn’t elaborate, thank heaven.

  Keira didn’t know if she’d be able to talk about much more with him. It wasn’t like her to open up, and certainly not to a stranger. They stood in silence for a while after that—who knew how long, save for the sun that made its debut in reams of harvest orange, gold, and white and after time had splintered the clouds with sharp rays that cut through the cloud of mist hovering over the meadows.

  As the sun rose, Keira was struck with a realization.

  “Emory, the sun streams in through these windows . . .”

  “It does, yes.”

  “Across the entire back side of the manor?”

  Emory stared at her, confusion showing in his glance. “Yeah. So?”

  Keira set her mug on the windowsill and moved toward the French doors at the center. She wrapped her palms around the cold brass handles. “Can I go out here?”

  He followed suit and set his mug next to hers. “Sure, it’s not locked from the inside. But why?”

  “Because I want to see the stone on the wall next to the Regency Ballroom. It should be down to the right, yes? Almost to the end.”

  “Yeah, it is.” He followed her as she pushed the doors wide.

  The crisp morning air filled her lungs as Keira swept out onto the terrace. She moved along the row of windows, counting rooms, finding the spot where he’d taken her down the stairs to the cottage the day before. She peered up when she reached a wall jutting out into the terrace, noticing its uneven stone soaring two stories in height above them and pitched sharp at the top.

  It was the only span across the back of the manor that looked like it tried to fit but couldn’t, not even with its dappled stone. A harsh wall faced the view of meadow and mist and castle spires that cut the sky—another clue that something didn’t quite match up. Why in the world would a manor wall be built to cut off natural light and block out such a breathtaking view?

  “Like the brick wall in the library . . . this doesn’t belong either, does it?” Keira asked. Emory eased back at her side as together they stared up at the sweeping wall.

  “It’s not out of the ordinary for additions to have been added to manor houses like these, especially if they’re owned for generations and the wealth grew at certain points among them.”

  “I know that. But this feels different somehow.” She ran her fingertips over a line of the dappled stone. “You have the floor plans for the manor?”

  “What there is of them, yes. There’s the wood panel you saw. Ben’s working to unearth what’s behind it.”

  “When were the library shelves built?”

  “1812? Somewhere around there. They’re original to the manor.”

  She flitted her glance from windows to wall and back again. “And no shelving that was added later, hmm?”

  “Not that we’re aware of. The floor plans show a set of doors behind the brick wall that connected through to the ballroom. Pity the contracto
rs had to be so negligent they punched a hole in the wall right next to them. But if they hadn’t, would we even be here right now?”

  “No. It’s not the doors . . .” Keira stared, feeling something stir within her. She pointed to the junction of the high pitch. “I mean above them. What’s up there in the floor plan?”

  Emory stepped up alongside her and drifted his fingertips over the same corner she inspected, where stone met stone. He pointed out two lines to her, both marked by a stark variance in color, texture, and, evidently, age.

  From afar, one might not have noticed—and they hadn’t during their walk the day before. They’d known the library had been walled off from the inside, long after the manor had been built. But up close, it was clear: there was only one explanation for how the library had fade marks on the wallpaper if none of the shelving had been disturbed . . . “It used to have a window, didn’t it?”

  “Behind the wood paneling—it’d have to.” Emory smiled wide, sunlight casting a glow on his face. “You know what this means, don’t you, Foley?”

  “We should be on the hunt for the other paintings that hung in the library. And we can’t let Ben anywhere near that wall until we find out if there’s glass behind it.”

  “Chances are he already knows. We just didn’t think to ask where his nose is buried at the moment. But one thing’s for certain—two weeks here won’t be enough for either of us, no matter where we’re going when it’s over.”

  * * *

  “Cormac’s out just now, but why not try his cell phone?” Laine’s sweet voice bounded through the phone.

  Keira stood in her room—paced was more like it—around the simple but elegant furnishings. Under twelve-foot ceilings. From four-poster bed to marble mantel and fireplace, to the antique mirrored wardrobe and the salmon-colored salon chairs pushed up against the far wall. Step by step, heartbeat by heart swell. While she didn’t have a clear understanding yet of what Carter Wilmont had in his possession, it was clear something was behind the library wall. Victoria’s presence only added to the mystery of it all, and Keira couldn’t possibly find out what it was if she bolted right at the beginning of this thing.

  Calling home to give the news was all she could do.

  “I tried his phone first. Got voice mail.”

  “Then he’ll call you back, I’m sure.” Laine paused. No doubt she was reading between the lines—her brother’s wife was good at that. “As long as everything’s okay.”

  “It is. It’s just that this job may prove a bit more . . . involved than I thought.”

  “Oh? How involved?”

  “Like a couple more weeks involved. I can’t see any way around it.”

  Laine paused again, silence echoing over the phone. “What’s he look like?”

  “What?”

  “You know—the guy. The one my husband pitched a fit over? I couldn’t get a straight answer out of him. He just kept grunting disapproval so I read between the lines. So, what does he look like?”

  “Laine, I’m stuck out at a manor in the East Suffolk countryside, in a town the size of our entire city block there in Dublin. I’m not thinking about men.”

  “If you’re stuck out in the middle of nowhere, then I say all the more reason.”

  “I don’t have time for that and wouldn’t want to even if I did. Who’d have guessed an old manor could pose such a unique problem? No, not a problem. A brilliant opportunity. I have a chance to redeem myself from the fiasco in New York. If I can rewrite that chapter of my life, I just might find a career out of it. They have a painting here that needs authentication, and I need time to work out exactly what that means—with no distractions of the male type—so get that out of your clever little matchmaking mind right now.”

  “Well, that’s fine with us, Keira. You’re an adult. You don’t need our permission to spend extra time with . . . the painting.” Keira could almost hear Laine smile through the connection. “Or with whatever else might present itself as an opportunity.”

  Of course she didn’t need their permission.

  Keira knew that. She’d moved to New York for a high-profile internship only to find herself drawn to work at a Chelsea art gallery instead. It was only supposed to be three months. Then six. Then a year, and in the midst of it all, when the timing couldn’t have been worse, she’d met Alton Montgomery . . . and the secure part of her world came crashing down.

  Cormac had tried to warn her off an entanglement with the gallery owner’s son, but Alton’s easy compliments, ardent attention, and heart-stopping smile formed a toxic combination that spelled disaster in the end.

  She didn’t want a repeat, thank you very much.

  “Look—just tell Cormac not to worry, yeah? I’m grateful for the support, but this could run into Christmas and I know I’d hoped to be home long before that.”

  “And Jack? What should we tell him?”

  Keira chewed the edge of her thumbnail at the mention of her father. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Da won’t notice I’m gone. But I promised Cassie I wouldn’t be gone for the holidays. If I let my niece down, she’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

  “Well, that’d be part of her charm I think. But I’m biased as her mom. I’ll just say you’re wanted for Christmas, Keira, but Cormac wouldn’t lay down any firm expectation on it. Even if we’re planning on hosting this year. If Ellie and Quinn have a break in their renovation schedule on the Sleeping Beauty, they might come over from France. But you know there’s always an extra room for you.”

  A thought hit, and Keira remembered she needed to ask. She’d only met her sister-in-law, who happened to be Laine’s best friend, when Laine and Cormac were married the year before. It was then Ellie had been in the throes of a tough cancer battle.

  Keira finally halted her back-and-forth, sitting on the edge of her bed. “How’s Ellie?”

  “She’s much better. Has another doctor’s appointment with her oncologist next week, so we should know more then. And in the meantime, she’s apparently delighted to goad your dear brother with every zealous plan of restoring their fairy-tale castle to its former French glory. She wants to rush through and open to the public in the spring even if it’s not picture-perfect ready yet, though Quinn’s do-things-right attitude is feeling the tension of it. Apparently he thinks they can do much better if they wait and open with a bang in the busy tourist season in the fall. Ellie’s just as determined it’s got to be spring, so they’re at an impasse.

  “But Quinn’s changed through it all, as you know. He’ll tell you the globe-trotting side of him has finally died out. It seems the cancer battle did more than just affect Ellie, because she says now he grips tighter to the things he hadn’t before. He’s forged a closer relationship with the family and the land, putting down roots. He’s overseeing everything alongside Ellie and even pledges to stay on and manage the vineyard with your grandfather, which is all new for him. So we’ll have to see what they make of it.”

  “What is it with this family and castles?” Keira laughed low. “It seems everything we try has one hiding in the background somewhere. Seems we can’t one of us say no to the stories in a pile of old stones.”

  “You’re right.” Laine paused as a baby cooed in the background.

  It was beautiful to think of Cormac and Laine having a new daughter—Juliette—named for their mother. Keira listened as Laine soothed the child with honeyed words and soft, velvet tones.

  “Sorry about that. Juliette’s a little restless these days. But if you want me to, I’ll tell Cormac you called. And if I can do anything to soften the news—which, by the way, you should only be excited about—you know I’ll go to battle for you. Anytime, anyplace.”

  And she would. Keira had learned two things in the time she’d moved back home: Cormac had a wife who was absolutely perfect for him and who was beloved by everyone else too.

  “Thanks, Laine. I’ll keep that bit in my back pocket for a day when I need reminding.”

 
“It would be wonderful to have the family all together for the holidays, but we understand if you can’t. You have a job to do there. No matter how he might try to grumble about it, Cormac will understand that.” Laine paused, and Keira could almost hear the warmth in her smile through the phone. “He’s just gotten used to the idea of having his little sister home again and doesn’t want to let go. That’s all.”

  “And I’m not letting go of anything. I’m just . . . stepping away for a few more weeks. I promise I’ll be home soon.”

  “And I’ll tell him and Jack that our girl is coming home soon.” Seconds of silence ticked by against the connection. “Your dad misses you too, Keira . . .”

  She swallowed hard against old wounds and broken dreams.

  “I know he does.”

  “Well, as long as I said it. I’ll just let you two come together on your own. So let’s leave Christmas on the table, okay? You just do your best there, keep us updated, and we’ll talk soon. Okay?”

  They said their good-byes, and Keira sat on the bed, phone in hand, savoring the silence and the view out the windows.

  The crew was bunking in the wing facing Parham Hill’s border with Framlingham Castle, with a view of the rock wall–lined road that led to the village. But a bit of odd action snapped her attention from the landscape and drew her to the window.

  And there, far off on the horizon, she saw a dark-headed figure—Emory.

  Clad in his usual tee and jeans, his hair hanging in his eyes, he swung a scythe, cutting through bramble and the thick vines at the cottage gate.

  Keira watched, peering around the side of the curtain at the furious clash of man and nature that erupted before her. Emory swung and struck at the thorns of time as if the overgrowth were his mortal enemy and he the lone protector of the cottage’s fate. He was too far to judge by his face, but if she read the unmistakable layer of fury in his muscled swings, Keira saw the distinct shadow . . . of pain.

  Parham Hill seemed to own the strange combination of both peace and pain. Beauty and bitterness. A lavishness surrounded by a coldness . . . They were strange bedfellows to find hidden in the shadow of Framlingham Castle and its quaint little country hamlet. It made little sense. And for how quickly Keira had stepped into the role of Victoria’s protector, she was just as certain the old beekeeper’s cottage had a champion of its own.