by Dawn Brown
“Where’s Caid?”
The nurse stopped what she was doing and her tiny eyes locked on Hillary. “Ye’re awake at last. Thank goodness, maybe that nuisance will stop hounding me.”
“Caid?” Her thoughts were still muddled and hazy.
“I’ll send him in. I’ll be pleased to have him out from underfoot. Two concussions in two weeks, must be a sort of record. Any pain?”
Hillary nodded.
“I’ll fetch you something. The doctor will be here shortly to examine you.”
Hillary didn’t care about any of that. She wanted to see Caid, to know that he was all right. “Okay,” she muttered instead.
The nurse left the small room and Hillary tried to sift through the details from the previous night. She pretty much had it all in order except for how she’d wound up in the hospital under Nurse Ratched’s tender mercies once more.
“Ye’re awake.” A smile curved Caid’s mouth, but his hollowed eyes were dark with concern.
“I’m okay. Bristol?”
“He’s going to be all right. It was touch and go there for a bit. She stabbed his lung, and whether by fluke or inclination, by lying on his left side, he managed to keep the blood in his injured lung and it stopped him from drowning in it.”
A shiver gripped her and the motion sent a fresh wave of pain rolling around her skull. Caid’s brows drew together as he lowered himself gingerly to the edge of the bed.
“Ye’re hurting.” He tucked her hair behind her ear and the back of his knuckle grazed the corner of the bandage on her forehead, making it crinkle.
“The nurse is going to get me something for it. How did I end up here? I remember going after the knife, but that’s all.”
“She jumped on you, smashed your head against the floor. I thought she’d killed you.” He swallowed hard.
Hillary reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand. His stubble scraped her palm. “She didn’t. I’m right here.”
With a nod, Caid continued. “She might have if Warren hadnae shown up when he did. I guess you lied about sending him for the book.”
“Not entirely.” A smile curved her lips. “The ledger was in my car.”
Caid turned quiet, his gaze never leaving hers. “Why did you do it? After you called Warren, why didnae you just leave? She almost killed you.”
“She had you handcuffed to the drain, and Bristol was bleeding out on the floor. Did you honestly think I would leave you there? My God, I love you.” The words hung in the air for a moment and she immediately wished she could call them back. Whatever she thought she’d heard in a state of semi-consciousness was probably the result of a drug-induced dream.
“I didn’t plan on confronting her,” she went on, hoping those three little words would simply be lost in the conversation. “But when she started torturing you, I had to do something to distract her.”
“So you put me in the position of watching her attack you, maybe kill you, while I could do nothing about it. I love you too, you know.” The anger in his voice took nothing from his words. It was the most romantic declaration she’d ever heard.
He dipped his head and brushed his lips over hers. “You scared me,” he murmured.
“I didn’t mean to.” She slid her arms around his neck and drew him closer, wanting the feel of his mouth on hers again.
“You seem to be feeling better,” the nurse said as she entered the room. “The doctor will be here in just a moment. Mr. Douglas you’ll need to wait outside, and I’ll no’ hear another word about it.”
Caid lifted his head and rolled his eyes. Hillary couldn’t help but smile.
“I’ll be right outside,” he promised.
Caid left Hillary’s room and collapsed into one of the chairs in the waiting room, exhaustion spreading over him, weighing down his limbs. She was going to be okay. And she loved him. Maybe he could sort this mess after all.
Half-dozing on the uncomfortable vinyl chair, he gave a start when the little nurse’s palm touched his shoulder. “The doctor’s finished. You can go back in.”
“Thank you,” he said with a nod. Then made his way back to Hillary.
“What did the doctor say?” he asked, once back in her room.
“That I’m much improved, but they want to keep me one more night just in case.” Her eyes were heavy and she fought to keep them open.
“The pain killers,” she said. “They’re making me drowsy. I don’t know if I can stay awake much longer.”
“That’s all right.” He pressed his mouth gently to her forehead, careful to avoid her bandage. “Get some rest.”
“I’m going to miss my flight tomorrow,” she mumbled, her words like a kick in the gut.
Absently, he smoothed her hair back. “Dinnae worry, I’ll take care of everything.”
He only hoped that she would want what he had in mind.
Hillary tapped lightly on the closed hospital door, then opened it slightly and poked her head through the narrow gap. Joan sat up in the bed. The ventilator was gone, and the redness of her skin had faded. Her hair was clean and styled once more and the site of her so alert made Hillary’s eyes damp with relief.
Joan smiled when she saw Hillary, and waved her into the room.
“I’d heard you’d been taken off the ventilator.” Hillary sat in the chair next to the bed.
“Aye,” Joan said, her voice still raspy. “The doctor says I’ll be able go home in a few days.” Her mouth turned down, perhaps with the memory that the inn was gone and she had no home to return to. “But how are you? I heard about everything that happened.”
“I’m fine now. Another bump on the head, but they’re letting me go home today.” And much like Joan, she had nowhere to go, either. Certainly Caid’s parents would have taken possession of Glendon House by now. He hadn’t mentioned it when he’d called earlier and neither had she.
He would be arriving soon to pick her up, but where he would drop her off was another matter. Sure, he’d admitted to loving her, but what did that change? He was off to Spain soon, and she’d be booking a flight home.
“I’m pleased to hear it. Have you seen Bristol?” Joan asked.
“He was sleeping when I checked in on him,” Hillary managed around the lump in her throat. He’d looked so sickly. His usually ruddy complexion pasty against the stark white of the hospital sheets. But he was going to be all right, that was the important thing.
“Ye’re no’ blaming yourself?” Joan asked, sounding annoyed.
“I sent him over there.”
“It’s no’ yer fault anymore than it is mine. Sarah had come to me with her curse nonsense. When I told her I wouldnae pay her a penny, she told me she feared for me. Fears that sounded vaguely threatening, but no’ out-and-out threats, she was too smart for that. I should have gone to Bristol then, but I was afraid of looking foolish, of making something out of nothing. I wish I could go back and do things differently, but I canae. I willnae take on the guilt for that terrible creature’s actions and neither should you.”
Hillary reached for the older woman’s hand. She remembered the delight in Sarah’s voice when she’d talked about killing people. The glee she’d shown while torturing Caid. “Sarah is a sick woman.”
“She is. But she’ll get what she has coming to her now.”
Hillary hoped Joan was right. For a moment they sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally Joan asked, “Have you seen the inn since the fire?”
Hillary shook her head. “I haven’t.”
“I’ve been told it’s gone, all of it. Nothing left.” Joan seemed to age before her eyes. “My son’s coming from Aberdeen as soon as he can get away. He’s assured me I’m welcome to stay with him…for awhile.”
Hillary wanted to say something to comfort her, but the words escaped her.
The older woman’s eyes turned glassy with unshed tears. “I’ve lost everything, Hillary. What will I do?”
Hillary took a deep breath and offere
d Joan a shaky smile. “You start again. It’s all any of us can do.
The hospital discharged Hillary just before noon and Caid met her as she was signing the necessary release forms. Once she finished, she linked her fingers with his and let him lead toward the car. As they left the building, she made a silent wish that she’d never find herself there again.
On the drive back to Culcraig, Caid seemed quiet and preoccupied. After eliciting little more than one-word replies from him, she gave up trying to make conversation and they both lapsed into silence.
Hillary turned her attention to green hills stretching out forever beneath slate sky. She would miss this place when she left, the stark beauty. For all that she’d been through here, she’d be sad to leave. She glanced at Caid. She’d be sad to leave him, too.
“I went to the hotel for yer things,” Caid said as they drew closer to the village. “I hope you dinnae mind.”
She frowned. “I don’t, but what did you do with everything?”
“I brought them to Glendon House.”
“What about your parents?”
“I backed out of the deal.”
Her heart beat faster. He was keeping Glendon House. What did it mean? An excitement she didn’t dare acknowledge built inside her. “Why did you change your mind?”
He gave her a sidelong look, then pulled the car over to the soft shoulder and turned to face her. “I was going to wait until we were back at the house, but I cannae. I need to know now.” He took her hand in his. “I need to know if you’ll stay with me. If you’ll live with me at Glendon House. I love you and I wantae marry you.”
With his free hand, he reached into his front jeans pocket and produced his grandmother’s wedding band. Hillary tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat. She nodded, but that was all she could manage.
He slid the ring over her finger then kissed her, sweetly, tenderly. Her heart swelled until she thought it might explode.
“I love you too,” she managed at last, then looked down at the ring. “I thought you pawned this.”
“I couldnae. I’d planned to, but all your sentimentality got to me and I couldnae do it. There’s something else.” He took a folded piece of ancient yellowed paper from his pocket and gave it to her.
“Roderick’s last entry.”
They hanged Anne from a tree at the edge of my land before I found them. The woman had to be stopped, but whatever anger I felt for her, I did not want it to end this way.
I took the child home with me and I shall raise her as my own. For my part in what happened to Anne Black, I vow that Agnes will always have a home at Glendon House for as long as she lives.
“Agnes was Anne’s daughter,” Hillary murmured, meeting Caid’s gaze.
“Aye, so it would seem. We’ve always assumed my grandfather left her the house out of the goodness of his heart, but likely it had been Agnes’s all along.”
“That must be how she knew Sarah was lying. This must be the proof she was talking about.”
“Aye. It was folded in that bloody box with the ring all this time, not even hidden. If I had read it earlier, maybe we could have stopped Sarah sooner. Before she hurt Joan and Bristol.”
“You can’t think like that. Even if we had read the entry right away, it still wouldn’t have pointed us to Sarah.”
“I suppose ye’re right.” He leaned over and kissed her again. “One other thing. I visited Joan before meeting you at the hospital. I’ve offered to let her stay at Glendon House while she has the inn rebuilt.”
Relief washed over her. “I’m so glad you did that. I was worried about her.”
“Good, we’re agreed.” Caid started the car and pulled back onto the road.
Hillary glanced down at the ring on her finger. A tiny fissure of doubt crept into her thoughts.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” she asked.
He frowned and glanced at her. “Aye. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. I’ve never felt for anyone what I feel for you.”
“What about traveling? Your trip to Spain?”
He shrugged and grinned. “I still want a holiday. I was thinking Spain, but if you’ve another idea, I’m open to suggestions.”
“Spain’s search for heretics played a huge role in Europe’s witch hunts, I would love…” she trailed off. “Sorry, that’s not very romantic, is it?”
Chuckling, Caid took her hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Oddly, for us it is.”
Hillary rested her head on Caid’s shoulder, happier than she’d ever been. Soon, Glendon House rose up before them.
Home at last.
About the Author
Dawn Brown’s first sojourn into storytelling began when she was nine. She would gather neighborhood kids into her garage and regale them with ghost stories, believing even then that atmosphere played an important role in a good story.
Dawn has a diploma in journalism, but found herself pursuing a career in computer leasing. After the birth of her son, she gave up the corporate world to be a mom and write full time, trading in her dreary cubicle for a dreary room in the attic.
Now Dawn spends her days creating dark, romantic mysteries with edgy heroes, clever heroines and villains she hopes will keep her readers sleeping with the light on.
Dawn lives in Ontario, Canada with her husband and son.
To learn more about Dawn and her books, please visit her website dawnbrownromanticsuspense.blogspot.ca/.
