Katie squared her shoulders with a sigh and started forward. She’d only taken a few steps when Alistair’s voice from above her head stopped her.
“Good evening. Kate.”
She looked up. He was bending over the banister, his long, blond hair hanging loose around his face. He appeared to be wearing a loose-fitting silk shirt with huge sleeves. It resembled the ragged remnants of Derry’s shirt, and momentarily her heart beat faster as she thought of him. Then the sound of splintering glass and the surprised silence that followed jolted her out of her reverie. “Hi, Alistair.”
“Hang on a sec, will you? I’ll be right down.”
She glanced into the living room. It looked as if everyone from the English department was there. She recognized quite a few graduate students as well. “I should go say hello to your folks, don’t you think?”
“If you insist. I’ll be right there.”
Katie drew another deep breath and continued on her way. The things we do for love, she thought. The babble from the party grew louder as she looked around the Prosers’ living room curiously. They certainly did live in elegant splendor. The room looked like something out of Town and Country magazine. Threadbare Oriental carpets covered the polished hardwood floors. The ceiling soared at least six feet over her head. The walls were covered with signed prints, and bookshelves dominated one whole wall. Black-and-white photographs in tasteful silver frames smiled back at her. The furniture was overstuffed and covered with flowered chintz. She felt as though she’d stepped out of Massachusetts and into an English country home. Which, she thought with a wry grin as she stepped past the wide-opened French doors out onto the flagstone floored patio, was almost what she’d done.
“Well, well, Katie Coyle.” Terry Callahan’s voice boomed just behind her and she turned, startled. “So nice to see you again. I’ve been meaning to give you a call and ask how things are going.”
Katie smiled up at the dean of interdepartmental studies. He was a huge bear of a man, well into his sixties, and his ruddy face was framed by a thick, silver-white mane. “Dr. Callahan. It’s very nice to see you again.”
“Terry, Terry,” he boomed with a wave of his hand. “How are you finding East Bay?”
“I’m really enjoying the students,” Katie said with complete honesty. I wish I could say the same for my colleagues, she added silently.
“They are a great group, aren’t they?” Callahan patted her shoulder. “Every year they amaze me. But I’ll tell you what—every year the new faculty amaze me even more. I’ve heard some very nice things about you, Katie.”
“You have?” Katie blinked.
“Absolutely. You’re doing just fine, my dear, and don’t let anyone”—here he paused and glanced out the French doors to the screened porch—“convince you otherwise. Come, let’s go find our hosts, shall we?”
Katie allowed him to lead her out into the crowded patio. A makeshift bar had been set up at one end, and at the other a buffet table held trays of cut-up vegetables and dips and fat wheels of cheese surrounded by crackers. A maid circulated with scallops wrapped in bacon. Katie caught a whiff of the smoky bacon as the tray went by. Her mouth watered unexpectedly.
To one side of the bar, Reginald Proser held court, surrounded by half a dozen graduate students.
“Shall we?” Terry smiled down at her.
The graduate students parted like the Red Sea at their approach. Proser looked up at Katie, and the fleeting expression of annoyance was instantly replaced by a welcoming smile when he saw who stood behind her. “Miss Coyle,” he began.
“There you are!” Alistair reached around Callahan to grab Katie’s elbow. “Thought I’d lost you in this mix.”
“How are you, Dr. Proser?” Katie managed.
“Listen, Pater,” Alistair barged on ahead over her voice, “Kate and I are going out for a bite to eat. She’ll have me back before the witching hour, I promise.” He tightened his grip on her arm, and before she could protest, practically dragged her away from the group.
Katie barely had time for a weak smile of apology before they were out the door. “There,” he said, shaking out the enormous sleeves of his silk shirt. “Thank God we’re out of there.”
“Alistair, how could you do that?” Katie said through clenched teeth. “I’d just about said hello to your father, and I hadn’t even seen your mother at all. We could’ve had at least one drink, and circulated a bit. That was rude. I—I—”
“Well, if you wanted to stay, why didn’t you say something?”
And cause a scene? Katie retorted silently. She only shook her head and reached inside her purse. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“I guess we’ll give Chez Yvette another try, all right?”
“Sounds great. Did you make reservations?”
“Uh, no. Do you think we’ll need them?”
“It is Friday,” he said. “But it’s getting to be the off season. I think we’ll be all right,” he added magnanimously.
Katie gritted her teeth all the way to the restaurant. When the waitress had set their drinks in front of them, she leaned forward before Alistair could say anything.
“Alistair,” she began. “Can I ask you a few questions about your Clancy topic?”
“Oh?” His voice turned cold.
“You know my friend, Derry Riordan? He’s very, very interested in your theory. He wanted me to—”
“Funny. I didn’t think he seemed all that interested.”
Katie shrugged. “Well, trust me, he is. At any rate, there were a few things he wanted me to ask you about—”
“Such as?” He shot her a look filled with such hostility that Katie paused.
“He’s not an academic, Alistair. I think it’s really fun when someone outside the academy takes an interest in something as obscure and esoteric as the Missing Earl, don’t you?”
It was his turn to shrug. “Sure. I guess. What do you want to know?”
“Well, you mentioned that you’d discovered that the Earl had betrayed his brother to the English. Why would he have done that?”
“Kilmartin spent most of his youth in London. He was more English than Irish. His loyalties were clearly on the side of the English. And the brother was a real troublemaker—he was involved with the rebels from the time he was sixteen or so.”
“Ah. So this was something personal, between the brothers?”
“Oh, no.” Alistair waved a hand dismissively. “Kilmartin was a double agent for a time. In the end, it’s what saved his brother’s neck, you know.”
“But I thought you said that the estates were forfeit—that the Kilmartin estate was sold to the Church and remains Church property to this day? Why did that happen if Kilmartin was a loyal subject?”
“For show, of course. The Irish would’ve killed him.”
“And what about his title?”
“It was stripped—again for show.”
“You found court records of all this?”
“I didn’t say that.” He was looking at her with outright suspicion. “I pieced this all together over a very long period of time.”
“I see.” Katie sipped her drink. “But why do you suppose he didn’t go back to England? If he’d acted in the best interests of the English—”
“The Irish had a price on his head. Where do you suppose he’d have been safe? He had to disappear.”
“And where do you think he ended up?”
“Germany. As a minor attaché of the British ambassador. He was very popular with the ladies.”
“And there are records of him there?”
“Well, not specifically, no. His Kilmartin identity was obliterated. It took quite a bit of sleuthing to connect the two together, actually. But it’s quite clear once you’ve done the work.”
“So, if you don’t mind my asking—”
“Actually, I do mind your asking,” he interrupted. “If this friend of yours is so interested, he’s just going to have
to wait until my article is published. I don’t see us talking about your topic.”
Katie sat back. That’s because you’ve never asked about my topic, she wanted to scream. But there was no point antagonizing him. “It’s just that I find this remarkable, Alistair. It’s like the Princes in the Tower, or what really happened to Anastasia. These historical mysteries aren’t just popular within the academy. The general public is interested in them as well.”
“I know.” He preened. “I’m expecting a book contract out of this, actually. Historical nonfiction, of course, but with a popular slant. Something the general reader will be able to appreciate without having to think too hard.” He laughed, a short, nasty sound that made Katie fight to keep her expression neutral. “Can’t have that, you know.”
“Can’t have what?”
“The general reader thinking. Too much work!”
“I don’t know about that,” Katie murmured, more to herself than to him.
Predictably, he ignored her comment. “I’m anticipating some controversy, too, of course. The trouble with so many in the academy is that they insist on thinking in the same box.”
“I’m not sure it’s just that,” said Katie slowly. “New theories need to be tested.” He shrugged. Mercifully, just as he had opened his mouth, the waitress set their plates in front of them.
“Oh,” said Katie. “This looks great. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse!” She dug into her food with feverish abandon, hoping to forestall the conversation for a short time, at least. She was gratified to see Alistair give her a weak smile and pick up his fork. Maybe she could convince him to make it an early night.
It was later than she’d hoped it would be when Katie finally turned her key in the lock and stepped into the living room. Instantly the scent of bay rum surrounded her, and she felt an overwhelming rush of warmth and welcoming and love. “Derry,” she said aloud, smiling. “I’m glad to be back, too.”
Come to the woods.
“Now?” Automatically she glanced outside. The night was cool, and very dark.
I have a surprise.
“All right.” She dropped her keys on the table and left her purse on the couch. She picked up her flashlight from the coffee table. She’d have to remember to stock up on batteries.
She followed the heavy fragrance out the door and across the bridge, the beam of light bobbing ahead. At the very perimeter of the forest he coalesced into sight and caught her in his arms. “I missed you,” he murmured, as his mouth came down on hers.
She barely had time to smile in response. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and gave herself up to the pleasure of his kiss.
He broke away just as her knees were beginning to weaken. “Not yet.” He grinned down at her, his teeth even and white in the dark. “Come.”
He led her through the woods. Up ahead, she saw an orange glow among the trees. “What’s that?”
“You’ll see.”
They stepped into the clearing of the Stones, and in between the dark shapes, she could see a bonfire dancing and crackling. Smoke rose in a lazy spiral to the sky, and a log split with a hiss and a crack and a shower of sparks. The scent of the fragrant wood mingled with the odors of the sea and the damp leaves. She breathed deeply as he led her into the circle. “Oh, Derry, it’s quite beautiful.”
“And warm, you see.” He slipped his hands beneath her jacket.
She turned, allowing him to undress her. The fire gave off an uneven heat that swept across her in waves. His fingers on her bare flesh burned, and the cool night air made her nipples stand erect and raised gooseflesh on her arms and shoulders.
“You’re cold,” he whispered. “Come here.” He led her to a blanket spread out on the ground. It was soft and smelled of lavender. She looked at him, puzzled. “I borrowed them from Mary.” He shed his clothes in a few quick motions and stretched out beside her, pulling the second blanket over them both. In the firelight, his skin was luminous and his eyes were so deep a blue that they almost seemed black. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.
She gave a long sigh and surrendered to his embrace, her body aching with a sudden fierce need. Later, as they curled up together, lying on their sides, watching the fire, she gave another sigh, this one of satisfaction. “This is very nice.”
“Yes,” he said. “Very nice indeed.”
She turned on her back and smiled. “It’s like a dream, all of this. You being here—the way you make me feel—I can’t quite believe it’s all really happening.”
“And how do I make you feel?” He wrapped one curl around his forefinger and allowed it to spring back.
“As if I’m the only woman in the world,” she said. “You listen to me, you talk to me as if you care about what I say. You make me feel safe and loved—” She broke off.
“I do love you,” he whispered.
She rolled to face him. “You mean that?”
“Of course I mean it.” He raised her chin and gently met her lips.
“I nearly forgot to tell you,” she said. “I had dinner with Alistair tonight. His story is certainly different from yours.”
“He’s lying,” Derry said fiercely.
“He gave me a couple of clues, though. Not a whole lot, but enough to check a few things out. I think it’s likely he’s found your brother—”
“My brother was no traitor.”
“Well, perhaps not, but he could have gone to the Continent. Maybe he did end up in Germany.” Derry made a little noise of disgust, picked up a twig and threw it into the fire. “I’ll start looking into it tomorrow.” She yawned. “Oh, I’m tired. I should go.” He gathered her into his arms, cradling her head on his chest. “Not yet, careen. Not yet.”
With a little sigh, she relaxed. Her head drooped and her breathing deepened. In a few minutes, she was fast asleep.
• • •
Derry lay holding her close, listening to her breathe. Her body was warm and round and firm, and her heart beat in slow, steady beats. Her breast fit snugly in the palm of his hand. He looked down at her face, so vulnerable in sleep.
What was he doing, the voice of his conscience whispered. How was it fair to her, to fall in love. He could offer her nothing—not even a roof to shelter her or a bed to lie on. He had nothing but a borrowed blanket and a fire in the woods.
He buried his face in her curls and the fragrance of lilies and lavender and roses filled his nostrils. He breathed deeply, relishing the scent.
Maybe Mary was right, he thought with a pang of regret. He had nothing to offer this woman but love. But I cannot lose her again, his mind screamed. She is dearer than life to me.
You don’t have a life, the voice of his conscience retorted. But she does, and she’s in danger of wasting it on you. Let her go.
He tightened his arms around her. Let her go. The very thought made him ache. Once again fate had done nothing but play a cruel trick on him. What kind of God had condemned him to this half-life, half-death existence? And what had he done to merit such a punishment? He lay for a long time, watching as the flames slowly faded, and felt as though every chance he’d ever imagined for happiness was dying away with them.
• • •
The morning sun glittered on Mary’s bracelets as she bent to pick up the folded blankets. Bits of leaves and tiny twigs clung to them, and she shook them out, brushing away as much debris as she could.
“I’ll do it.”
Derry’s voice behind her made her jump. “Damn it, Derry, how many times must I tell you not to do that?” She turned to face him, her heart pounding. The early morning air was crisp, and he was wearing the old windbreaker that had belonged to her father.
“I’ll do it.”
She saw at once that he was upset. “Are you sure?”
“Summon your witch women.”
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Of course it isn’t what I want, Mary. But what I want hasn’t seemed to enter into anything for t
he last two hundred years. I’ve learned to expect nothing. And nothing—maybe at last—is what I’ll get.”
“Oh, come, you don’t believe that…”
“What do you expect me to believe, Mary? In heaven or in hell? This everlasting nothingness has been more hellish than anything I ever imagined. And then, at last, she comes back to me, and it’s becoming so painfully, terribly clear to me that there is nothing I can give her but grief and heartache and emptiness. You think I can believe in a God who would ordain such a thing?”
Mary made a little gesture. “Maybe not in the Christian God, Derry, but perhaps—”
“In your higher power?” He turned away with a muttered curse. “Summon your friends, Mary. We’ll have this done. And the sooner the better. My existence here is nothing but pain—for me and anyone who would know me.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The telephone began to ring just as Katie turned the lock in her office door. The key stuck in the old lock, and she fiddled with it. Though what was the rush? she wondered, as she reached for the receiver. It was probably Alistair calling for another date. Today was Wednesday, and she hadn’t heard from him since she’d dropped him off on Friday night. “Dr. Coyle.”
“There’s no need to rub it in that you finished first.”
“Maggie?” Katie grinned. “What are you doing calling me here? How did you get this number?”
“I called the university switchboard and asked for it, of course. How’re things going?”
“Oh,” Katie said with a sigh. She shoved the door closed and sank down in the battered chair behind the scarred metal desk. “I seem to be scoring points at every tum.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
Briefly, Katie outlined what had happened at the Prosers’ party on Friday. “And that’s not the worst of it. I managed to make Alistair annoyed as well.”
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