Draycott Eternal

by Christina Skye

  Ian finally accepted the truth. He’d been in turmoil from the first moment he had set eyes on Jamee Night. Even now, while he fought to remain controlled and detached, he couldn’t get the thought of her soft lips and trembling hands out of his mind. She would sheathe him perfectly, all silk and heat beneath his hands.

  All woman.

  He slammed his fist down against the desk and cursed. Jamee was not a woman, she was a client. It was bloody well time for him to follow his own rules, which meant head straight and eyes forward.

  He loosened his tie and cursed. Just business, that’s the way it would be from now on. In his eyes, Jamee Night was no longer a woman.

  She was work.

  He looked up and saw Duncan standing in the doorway.

  “At ease, McCall. You can relax now.”

  “I am relaxed,” Ian snapped.

  “Sure you are,” Dunraven said knowingly. “Almost as relaxed as you were two years ago when we were about to go in after the DEA agent’s child who was being held by the cartel in lieu of two plutonium devices and a SCUD missile.”

  Ian drew a harsh breath. “I look that bad, do I?”

  “Worse.” Duncan sank into the chair before the fire. “What’s bothering you this time?”

  “Nothing much. I have a pair of kidnappers I can’t trace, an informant on the inside who’s too damned good and a client who’s driving me steadily insane. Add it all up, and I’m having one hell of a week. Why should anything be bothering me?”

  “Sorry I asked,” Duncan muttered. “Still, we’re getting close. The constable has put out an alert in the village and that pair from the cottage will turn up soon. They won’t get far on foot with their tires nearly flat.”

  Ian stared out at the dark outline of the hills above the burned-out cottage. “I’m not so sure they’ll try.”

  Duncan frowned. “Do you mean they’ll go to ground somewhere in the area?”

  “Maybe. Or they could have other transport waiting nearby. They’ve been bloody well equipped this far, and somehow I think their tricks aren’t over.” Ian turned from the window. “Any word on that telephone number I found in their car?”

  “It’s a Glasgow exchange. Your people at Security International tell me it appears to be a popular pub just off Buchanan Street.”

  “Grand. That narrows the search. Only about ten thousand people could have been in and out during the last month.”

  Duncan made a flat, hard sound. “Something has to break soon, Ian. Until then, what can we do to help?”

  Ian rubbed the knot at the back of his neck. “Just keep your eyes open. I take it your usual security is in place?”

  MacKinnon nodded. “Upgraded every three months. Even that ghostly ancestor of yours isn’t going to slip past the gate without setting off an alarm or two.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Ian said tightly. “Just see that no one new comes to stay. I’ve made an initial check on everyone who’s here, including the models and the photo crew from the U.S. Everyone seems to pass so far, but I’m still waiting for photo identification on each one.”

  “You can’t really think that—”

  “I don’t take chances, Duncan. I never have.” Ian shrugged. “Something feels…wrong. I just wish I could be certain Jamee was safe here.”

  Ian ran a hand across his eyes. For a second, light blurred, then exploded in a flash. The colors in the room glowed and then faded slowly.

  “What’s bothering you?” Duncan growled. “There’s something else.”

  Ian steepled his fingers against his forehead. “I suppose you have a right to know.” He swallowed, feeling a hollow pain at his chest. “It appears that…I’m going blind.”

  Duncan’s hands closed tightly on the arm of his chair. “Good God, like your father. You’re certain?”

  Ian laughed dryly. “It’s not the sort of thing a person makes mistakes about. I’ve been having symptoms for the last year. Blurred vision, headaches, that sort of thing. I told myself it was just the old Glenlyle legends that made me imagine things. But I had a battery of tests last week, and the results were quite conclusive, believe me.”

  “Damn the tests,” Duncan hissed. “Is there nothing that can be done?”

  Hadn’t Ian asked himself the same question a thousand times? “Apparently not, according to three specialists I’ve seen. It’s some sort of long-term degeneration of the optic nerve. Unfortunately, the disease appears to be a genetic feature of the Glenlyles. You know that my father had it, as did his father. I didn’t want to take this job, but Adam Night is a hard person to refuse.” Ian’s eyes darkened. “So is his sister.”

  Duncan took a slow breath. “Do you know how long before…”

  “Before my vision starts going?” Ian shrugged. “Maybe a year. Maybe ten. The art of prognostication is best left to psychics and card-carrying Theosophists, I’m told.” He winced at the bitterness in his voice. “Sorry, Duncan. I’m being a bloody fool and I’m sorry. I only pray I can see this through. I don’t want Jamee to be hurt.”

  “She doesn’t know about your eyes?”

  “Of course not. And I mean for it to stay that way,” Ian said flatly. “She already wants me replaced.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s afraid I’ll be hurt. The woman is trailed by professionals, burned out of a cottage, and she worries about me.”

  “I see,” Duncan said slowly. “And what do you plan to do now?”

  “The backup team is expected in two hours. I want them fully briefed about the cottage and given what little description I could get of the pair with the four-wheel-drive vehicle.” Ian paced the room, his eyes narrowed. “I want to be notified as soon as those verified photos of the people here at the castle start coming in. The more problems we can rule out, the better.”

  “What you said to Jamee about marriage was just for the sake of the others, I take it.”

  Ian stopped pacing and shoved one hand into the pocket of his jacket. “Of course it was.” He pulled out his Browning and studied it. “She’s a client, Duncan. Even if I did have feelings for her, I’d be honor-bound to ignore them.”

  “If?” Duncan prodded, one brow raised.

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Just tell me this,” Duncan said calmly. “What if Jamee weren’t a client? What if she was just another beautiful tourist eager to soak up a little Scottish culture?”

  “I don’t play ‘what if,’ Duncan.”

  “Maybe it’s time you did,” his old friend said slowly. “Otherwise you both could lose something very rare and special.” Duncan strode to his desk before Ian could answer. “Now, I think we’d better put through a call to Jamee’s brother and fill him in on what’s happened.”

  JAMEE LOOKED over the broad staircase to a towering Christmas tree decorated with shimmering silver bells. Holly covered the oak door and tiny white lights blinked along the Great Hall’s massive oak rafters. An air of expectation filled the breathless quiet.

  Jamee fingered the box holding the design Duncan and Kara had commissioned for Dunraven’s stately halls. She had been overjoyed to receive the request, but now that she was finally here, she wasn’t certain her weaving could live up to the magic of this ancient home. It was clear to her now why her parents had loved Dunraven Castle.

  She found Kara and another woman stringing holly in the foyer. Angus McTavish was beside them, very dashing in a bright tartan kilt and a black turtleneck.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many men in kilts before,” Jamee said.

  “Get used to it,” Kara answered. “After a while, their scrawny legs actually begin to look rather attractive.”

  Jamee tried not to laugh as Angus scowled. She took a deep breath and turned to Kara. “This is for you and Duncan. I hope you like it.” She held out her box.

  “So soon? We only spoke to you three months ago. Nicholas Draycott told us that it took ages for you to finish a design.”

 
“This time an idea came almost immediately. Of course, if you don’t like this piece, I can try something else. I’m already working on another weaving, something far more colorful. I have it upstairs if you’d like to—”

  Kara’s gasp cut through Jamee’s anxious explanations. “Jamee, it’s—it’s—”

  Jamee’s heart sank. “You don’t like it.”

  “Not like it? It’s incredible,” Kara said in a rush, cradling the heavy midnight-blue weaving Jamee had finished only a week earlier. “I see a dozen shades and textures of blue here, a blend of alpaca, mohair, even raw silk. But what are these?”

  Jamee fingered the tiny knots of gold that glimmered through layers of blue fiber. “Silk stars. This is the moon peeking through the clouds. For every star, you have one wish, to be made at midnight with an open heart. That’s the custom in the village I visited in Bali. Since I’ve always thought of Dunraven towering beneath a midnight sky while magic walked abroad, the night sky and stars seemed appropriate.”

  “Where magic walks—you’re right in that. I’ve felt the enchantment in this castle since the first moment I saw it,” Kara whispered. “Duncan will be beyond words. I don’t know how you managed to capture such magic.”

  Jamee shifted restlessly. “If you’d like me to change the layout, I can. Even the colors.”

  “There’s no way that Duncan or I will let you have this back, my dear. This goes in the place of honor at the foot of the stairs. There’s a single light that will pick up the gold flecks of the stars. And we’ll be very careful how we use our wishes, I promise.”

  “What wishes?” Duncan appeared at the foot of the stairs, then halted at the sight of Jamee’s weaving. He studied the layered tones of blue dotted with tiny spots of gold and inhaled slowly. “I don’t know what to say, Jamee. It’s enchanted. Is that actually how you see Dunraven?”

  Jamee nodded. “Ever since my parents described it to me. I can see why they loved staying here. But I was afraid you’d want something more…realistic.”

  Duncan touched the textile reverently. “I don’t know when a piece of art has moved me more.” He looked at Kara. “Shall we hang it now?”

  “Yes, let’s.”

  Dozens of tiny fiber stars gleamed beneath the single hall sconce as Duncan hung the weaving at the foot of the stairs. Fabric met stone in a primal complement of textures as old as woman against man, the result as natural as if the blue fabric had grown against the wall rather than been shaped by Jamee’s hands.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Duncan said. “Your gift of vision changes this whole space.”

  “My other piece is very different,” Jamee said, pleased with how the muted blues blended with the weathered granite wall. “The colors are extraordinary, all yellows and reds and peach. But I need to be more familiar with the castle before I can decide the bottom half of the design.”

  “Take your time. Every room is open to you, and I’ll be delighted to show you through anytime. On the other hand,” Duncan added with a gleam in his eyes, “Ian knows his way around Dunraven almost as well as I do.”

  “I wouldn’t want to bother Ian,” Jamee said stiffly. As she spoke a current of air brushed her neck.

  “But I insist that you bother me.” Ian moved behind Jamee. “And I’d like nothing better than to give you the grand tour. But first, your brother wants to talk to you. He’s on the phone.”

  He took Jamee’s arm, guiding her to Duncan’s study. As they neared the door, Ian added, “I told him about what happened at the cottage. I suspect he wants you to go home.”

  Jamee stared at Ian, unable to read the expression in his eyes. “What about you? Do you want me to go?”

  “It might be safer, Jamee. So far we haven’t come up with much.”

  “That’s not what I asked, Ian. I asked what you wanted.”

  “What I want doesn’t matter,” Ian answered. “If you’d feel safer back in the States, you should go.”

  She was torn by the thought. If she left, Ian would no longer be a target and she could begin the hard work of reclaiming her independence. But if she left now, there would be no resolution, and Jamee was no quitter.

  He was making it too easy, she thought. Out that door and vanish, then their paths would never cross again. Someone else would escort her home; someone else would guard her until the kidnappers were finally cornered.

  So easy.

  “No,” Jamee said tensely. “I’m not running away now.” She caught the phone from the desk. “Adam?”

  “Jamee, are you okay over there?” Adam Night’s voice was edged with worry. “Duncan told me about what happened at the cottage. I’m not certain this man McCall can be counted on to keep you safe.”

  “Ian saved my life. Without him I would either be a captive now or I’d be dead in that fire.”

  “He told you exactly what’s happening?”

  “He told me.”

  Adam muttered harshly. “Come home, Jamee. I’ll have someone travel with you, and I’ll meet you myself in London. There are too many risks this way.”

  “There are always risks, Adam. Even in crossing the street. Terence could tell you that.” For a moment Jamee’s eyes blurred as she thought of her brother’s carefree grin and the off-key tunes he always whistled. “No, I’m staying here. Ian has a few ideas.”

  Adam cleared this throat. “Jamee, there’s one more thing. Something you don’t know about Ian.”

  She turned, studying the man standing in the doorway. “What about him?”

  She saw Ian’s eyes narrow at her words. He strode across the room and pulled the receiver from her hand.

  “I’ll talk to him now.” He lifted the phone. “Night, this is Ian. Your sister seems to have made her choice. It’s up to me to back it up.”

  “Dammit, McCall, they nearly got her at the cottage. How many chances are they going to have?”

  “No more. She won’t be out of my sight again. Now it’s your job to get some answers. Who made those inquiries? Where are they now?”

  “Still no luck. We’re trying everything, but—”

  “Then try harder,” Ian snapped. “I’ll expect your call tonight, and I’ll expect some answers.” He shoved the phone down.

  “What did he mean?” Jamee said slowly. “What aren’t you telling me, Ian?”

  “Nothing that matters.” He crossed his arms. “Let’s get some rules straight. From now on I know where you are every second. And you don’t leave the house unless Duncan or I go with you. Understood?”

  “You can’t—”

  Ian ignored her interruption. “If you make any change in schedule, I’ll expect you to check in immediately. Otherwise, I’ll come after you and I’ll be assuming the worst.” His hand eased into his pocket and Jamee saw the glint of metal.

  A gun.

  Fear feathered across her neck. This was real. Handling guns and worrying about being jumped from behind had put the hard lines in Ian’s face and the shadows in his eyes.

  Jamee didn’t want to hear any more. “I’ll do it. Whatever you say is necessary, Ian. But it makes me mad as hell.”

  Even worse, it made her afraid.

  “Don’t be mad. Leave the anger to me.” A smile twisted his lips. “I’m a lot better at it than you’ll ever be. Where are you going now?”

  “I think I’ll do some work in my room. Angus brought my car up and carried in my bags. I’ve got a small loom set up.”

  “Get some rest. The weaving will wait.”

  “Is that an order?”

  “No, it’s a suggestion.” Ian’s hand rose toward her, then abruptly fell. “You look tired.”

  “So do you.”

  “I’ll sleep when I know you’re safe.”

  THERE WAS A TRICK to coming and going in physical form. Unfortunately, Terence Night still hadn’t mastered it.

  He took shape in the middle of the front hall, as clumsy here as he was everywhere else.

  White lights winked on the grea
t tree as he sank to the floor and braced his chin on his palms. “I’ve made a mess of everything. I thought they would be perfect for each other, but all they do is fight.”

  Something rustled at his feet. Terence looked up to see a gray cat stalking across the marble floor. “What do you think, Gideon? I’m open to any and all suggestions about now. I don’t want to ruin things.”

  The cat coiled about his feet.

  “Do you really think that would work?”

  The cat gave a soft meow.

  Terence looked doubtful. “I don’t know, my sister is very independent.”

  The gray figure meowed again.

  “Yes, I’m aware that other people would call her willful. It’s just that she’s out of her element. She needs to feel in control. And I can feel the danger all around us. If only I could do more.”

  The cat brushed against his foot.

  “You can do that? Even finding the portrait?”

  The cat’s eyes gleamed, very large and very keen.

  Terence held up a hand. “No, I don’t think I want to know how.” He frowned at the winking lights on the tree. “So you’re leaving it up to me. The choice has to be mine.” Light filled the room as Terence paced back and forth, a shimmer of gold and a dozen other pastels. He stopped before the Christmas tree and touched the wings of a satin angel. “It’s for her own good. Jamee needs someone with a heart, someone who will take care of her. She’s been alone far too long. Oh, she’s got Adam, William and Bennett, but it’s not the same. And I can see what Ian McCall feels for her. The man is a positive volcano of color when he’s around her. Too bad she can’t see it.” Terence sighed. “It all used to be so simple: wake up in the morning, worry about what you’re going to do that day, worry about what you would eat and worry about where you would go after you died.” He laughed. “No one told me that dying would be like this. Where are the little cherubs with harps? Where are the clouds of white cotton and the gates of solid pearl?”

  At his feet Gideon blinked.

  “I know. I’ve no reason for self-pity. And I’ll stumble through this somehow. I just wish I could talk to Jamee, if only for a second or two.”

  The cat went still, his head tilted.