Scarlet Nights: An Edilean Novel

by Jude Deveraux

For all that the bath had charm, the kitchen didn’t. The old linoleum floor was worn through to the boards below. The appliances were 1970s avocado, and the cabinet doors were barely hanging on.

  “This room could be redone,” Sara said.

  “I know, with white marble countertops. Please let me hear you say those words again.”

  “Ask Ariel on Saturday. She’s the one who’ll be living here with you. Unless Erica gets you first.”

  Maybe it was the mention of reality or maybe it was the sound of a squirrel in the chimney, but it brought them both back to the present. For a minute they stared at each other.

  Mike broke the silence. “Is the old summerhouse still standing? I didn’t see it on the day I was dodging Lang’s weapons.”

  Sara’s face brightened. “You know about that place? I remember seeing it when I was a child. It’s truly lovely; the walls are made of lattice.”

  “Grans told us she used to go there when this town got to be too much for her.”

  “That sounds sad.”

  “If I know her, whatever chaos she was in, she caused it. Think you can find it again?”

  She pulled a piece of paper that looked to be a map from her pocket. “Another advantage of dresses is that you can have pockets. Jeans don’t.”

  “Jeans have lots of pockets.”

  “And they’re all packed full of the body parts women want to show off.”

  Mike laughed. “That is wonderfully true. So where’s the summerhouse?”

  When Mike reached for the map she pulled it away. “No, you don’t. I like it when you follow me.”

  “I certainly do like the view.”

  Ten minutes later they were at the old summerhouse, and it was prettier than Sara remembered. Mike hadn’t seen it on his earlier trip because it was set behind shrubs that had been allowed to grow eight feet tall. From the side of the path, the area looked to be impenetrable, but Sara knew just where to look for the hidden opening.

  Inside, they didn’t have to worry about trampling weeds because Mr. Lang had trimmed around the old place until it looked like something on a garden tour. Overhead was a beautiful copper beech tree with low-hanging branches, the ground under it carpeted with moss.

  The summerhouse was an octagon, only big enough inside for two people, and its latticework walls had been recently painted a greenish blue. The building and the setting were as secluded and as romantic as Mike’s grandmother had described.

  While Mike explored the little building, Sara sat under the big shade tree and watched him. He climbed onto the bell-shaped roof and when he finished with that, he checked every inch of the concrete foundation. She guessed that Mike’s interest in the pretty little building was more than just about the case, but she also knew he’d not tell her directly. She’d have to wheedle it out of him, or do something devious to find out. It was a sport she was beginning to enjoy.

  When Mike finished his inspection, she was sure he’d say they had to leave—no doubt for her “safety”—but he surprised her by stretching out beside her on the soft, fragrant undergrowth of the tree and putting his hands behind his head. His elbow was inches from her hip, almost touching but not quite.

  She leaned back against the tree. She didn’t want to leave this place. Ever.

  “The house needs a complete overhaul,” he said into the silence.

  “Mmmm, that it does.”

  “You sound like that makes you happy.”

  “I helped Luke remodel Edilean Manor and I had a good time.”

  “And you’d like to tear into this place. I’ll tell you what, you design and I’ll saw the boards.”

  Sara wanted to laugh but she couldn’t. She still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that Merlin’s Farm would never be hers. “Your wife will want to do that.”

  “I’m a long way from marriage. With my job, I might not live until tomorrow.”

  “From what I hear, I could go with you,” Sara said lightly.

  “Not if I have any breath left,” Mike said softly.

  There was an awkward silence between them, so Sara got them back on the house. “At least most of the paneling put in by the first Merlin is still there.”

  “And who was that?”

  “My guess is Alexander McDowell.” She was smiling. “Sorry, that’s an inside joke. All first McDowell sons are named Alexander. The family line goes back to Scotland and Angus McTern Harcourt. He’s the man who settled our little town and named it after his wife.”

  “Yet another name I’ve heard often.”

  She looked at him in question.

  “Grans said that in Edilean only the descendants of Angus Harcourt got a fair shake.”

  “That’s probably true,” Sara said, “but then it is our town.”

  Mike groaned. “Spoken like a true aristocrat.”

  “I don’t think that being descended from a Scotsman who quite possibly was a thief and a kidnapper qualifies me as an aristocrat. Ariel said the man stowed away on a ship—and it wasn’t the Mayflower.”

  Mike rolled onto his side to gaze at her. “You look like a lady to me.” He thought she was so beautiful sitting on the ground under the big old tree. He could see her with a wide-brimmed hat and her sewing. “This place suits you.” He rolled onto his back. He had to quit looking at her or he’d reach out to touch her. He made himself remember the case and Stefan Vandlo. Vandlo would never live in an old house, especially one as small as this one, Mike thought. From the look of the store, Vandlo was more of the gold-faucets-in-the-guest-bath sort of guy.

  They were silent for a while, then Sara couldn’t help herself when she asked, “Have you ever been in love?”

  “No.” Mike paused. “But I came close to it once.”

  “What happened?”

  “When she found out I wasn’t who I’d told her I was and they took her husband off to prison because of me, she fell out of love with me. Instantly.”

  “Imagine that.”

  “Later I heard she bailed his mistress out and they moved in together. But she never forgave me.”

  Sara couldn’t help laughing. “What a very strange life you’ve led.”

  “I guess it’s all in how you look at it. So what would you do with this place if it was yours?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “First, I’d replenish the orchard.”

  “Not the house first? No white marble in the kitchen?”

  “Trees need time to grow. That marble is waiting for me in a warehouse somewhere.”

  “You think Anders would agree to all that?”

  “Anders? What happened to calling him ‘Greg’?”

  “Sara,” he said slowly, “I’ve never met this man you’re engaged to, but from all I’ve heard, I don’t think he’s worthy of you. Are you sure you want to marry him? Wouldn’t you rather—”

  “Don’t even say it.” She didn’t want his words to strengthen the doubt that was beginning to come into her mind. “Everything for the wedding has been arranged. I’ve been having meetings with the planner.”

  “How are you going to get Merlin’s Farm if I own it?”

  “I don’t know.” Sara could hear the frustration in her voice. “Since I met you, it’s like everything in my life has changed. Before you, I knew exactly where I was going, but now I … I don’t know. I can’t seem to think clearly.”

  “That’s the best thing I’ve heard in months, maybe years.”

  “Maybe for you, but not for me,” she mumbled.

  Mike got up and held out his hands to her. When she was standing in front of him, he kept holding her hands. “Sara”—his voice was soft—“sometimes it seems like I’ve known you forever.” He leaned forward to kiss her and when she didn’t move, he was encouraged.

  When he was half an inch from her lips, she said, “Did you say that to the woman whose husband you arrested?”

  Mike pulled back. “What?”

  “Your women, the ones you’ve wooed then betrayed. Did you say the same t
hings to them that you do to me? You know, about how I’m the most beautiful, the most—”

  He dropped her hands. Yes, he had said a lot of the same things to them as he did to Sara, but … He turned away. The difference was that this time he meant what he was saying—and that revelation shocked him. “You ready to go?”

  “So now you’re angry at me?”

  He turned on her. “I’ve done what I had to, whatever was necessary to bring about justice. And for your information, I have never put anyone in prison who didn’t deserve it. And many of the women who should have been indicted, I let go.”

  Sara was unperturbed by Mike’s anger. When Greg got angry at her, she felt a sense of panic—and often, bewilderment. Rarely was she sure about what she’d done to cause his rage. All she knew was that she had to calm him down, make him forgive her, and get things back to the way they were in the first months they were together.

  But she didn’t feel that confusion with Mike. His anger always had a reason, and something that had caused it. It was Greg’s irrational fury, that had no known cause, that made her crazy.

  She reminded herself that no matter how much she came to like Mike, he was temporary. He was here for a job, and when it was done, he’d leave and she’d never see him again—except maybe as Tess’s brother. But she even doubted that. Tess had lived in Edilean for years, and Mike had never visited.

  As for Merlin’s Farm, Mike had made it clear that that was Tess’s idea, not his. After his retirement, Mike would probably stay in sunny Florida and the farm would go back to the McDowells.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

  “I was just thinking about how different you and I are. I want permanence, someone to share my life with. I want children and fruit trees. But you want—” She paused. “What do you want? Do you even know?”

  No woman had ever before asked him those questions and he didn’t know how to answer them. His whole life had been spent getting away from something, not moving toward anything. But Sara wasn’t like other women, and she made him question himself.

  “Is now when you tell me that I’m different from all the other women you’ve sweet-talked in the name of duty?”

  She was so right on that Mike couldn’t help laughing. “I was thinking about it.” He looked up at the sky. “It looks like it might rain. I think we should go.”

  Sara started in the direction of the car, but Mike caught her arm and pulled her back to him. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he put his finger over his lips. Sara listened, but heard nothing.

  As Mike kept hold of her hand, he looked around. There were only two ways out. One was through high weeds at the back of the summerhouse, but that would leave a path. The other was to go into an open area and try to get to the barn—but whoever was approaching would see them.

  Mike glanced up at the old tree, then looked at Sara in question. She nodded.

  Behind them was a faint sound of gravel crunching and Mr. Lang’s unmistakable voice muttering. When she was a child, her sisters made fun of her because when Mr. Lang walked by at the Farmers’ Market, Sara dove under the counter. Even today, the sound of his approaching scared her.

  Mike pointed to her feet, then patted his shoulders. It took her a moment to understand what he meant, then she nodded.

  He went to the tree, squatted down, and looked at Sara over his shoulder. If silence and speed hadn’t been so important, she would have argued that he couldn’t lift her from his crouching position. But there was no time for discussion. Quickly, she slipped off her sandals, put the straps over her wrist, and stepped onto Mike’s shoulders. Instantly, he stood up and Sara nearly gasped at the quickness of it. Her hands were on the tree to steady herself and she easily reached a branch. It was harder to swing herself up, and for once she wished she’d worn one of her two pairs of jeans. But she didn’t have time to think about propriety or tearing her dress. She swung a leg over and sat up on the fork of the heavy branch.

  Below her, Mike was looking up at her in question. She nodded, and seconds later Mike made a leap, caught the branch and swung himself up.

  Sara could hear Mr. Lang more clearly now and saw movement through the shrubs. He was getting closer.

  Mike touched her arm and when she looked at him, he nodded upward. He wanted them to climb up. He made a motion for her to stay seated, while he stood up on the branch. When he leaned forward, his hands out to another branch, Sara gasped aloud in fear.

  Turning, Mike frowned at her, but when he saw that she was afraid for him, he gave a cocky little grin. In the next second, he grabbed a higher branch and swung himself up onto it. Leaning down, he held out both arms to Sara.

  She didn’t hesitate. She reached up to Mike just as she’d done at the window, except that this time if she fell, she’d be seriously hurt.

  Grasping her wrists, Mike pulled her upward. It was an awkward movement, and for all that he’d told her she was light, she could see that he was straining.

  The second branch was smaller than the first one, with little room on it. Mike leaned back against the tree, his legs hanging down, and pulled Sara into his arms, her back to his front.

  She knew he’d set up the position, and had the circumstances been different, she would have moved out of his grasp. Maybe, she thought. Maybe she would have moved, but she had to admit that her body fit well against his. Mike’s chin rested at the top of Sara’s head. Perfect.

  She was thinking so hard that she forgot why she and Mike were up in a tree, so when she heard Mr. Lang in the clearing below, she almost spoke. But Mike’s arms tightened about her, and she leaned back against him. When she felt his whiskery cheek against her neck, she closed her eyes. His breath was soft and she could smell the sweetness of it.

  His hands came up to the side of her head and she felt his strong fingers in her hair, against her scalp. She put her head back, her eyes closed, and tipped her head to one side to give him access to her neck.

  But the kiss she anticipated didn’t come. Instead, she felt Mike’s body tense up and his hands freeze in place.

  Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Mike’s cheek was against hers and he was looking down at Mr. Lang below. Sara shifted a bit so she could see the man more clearly. He had brought two big plastic buckets with him, and they were both full, but she couldn’t see what was in them. He was muttering in his guttural voice. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he sounded angry.

  She was much more interested in the fact that she was backed up against Mike than she was in whatever odious thing Mr. Lang was doing. Probably building another trap, she thought.

  When Sara moved her cheek against Mike’s, he pulled away, and she repressed a sigh. Of course it wasn’t true, but her first thought was that yet another man had lost interest in her. In her lifetime, many men had come on to her, but only two of them—and Mike—had interested her. But then, she couldn’t really count Mike as one of the men in her life, could she?

  It was while she was contemplating this that she heard Mr. Lang say the word Anders. She heard it clearly enough that, before she thought, she gasped.

  Instantly, Mike’s hand went over her mouth. Below them, Mr. Lang stopped what he was doing and looked around.

  Mike removed his hand and Sara held her breath. If Mr. Lang saw them hiding in the tree above him, they’d never find out why he was muttering Greg’s name.

  Mike pointed to the lower tree branch and she knew that he meant to go there so he could hear better. Quickly, and with great agility, Mike moved away from Sara, grabbed an overhead branch, and swung down to the one below. He stretched out on his stomach, flattening himself, as he listened.

  Sara wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what the old man was saying. Wouldn’t it be better not to know if the man she was going to marry was somehow involved in what Mike had called a war? Surely Greg couldn’t have—wouldn’t have—done something that caused Mr. Lang to set traps all around the property.

>   It was when she heard the word dogs that she sat up straighter. Below her, to her right, Mike was looking up at her. He’d heard the word too.

  Sara’s instinct was to put her palms over her ears. If Greg was doing something he shouldn’t, she didn’t want to know of it.

  On the other hand, if she didn’t listen, she knew she would be postponing the inevitable.

  With a defiant gesture, Sara secured her sandals on her arm, then stretched out on the tree branch just as Mike was, and gave her attention to the old man below. It was easy to see that he was constructing another trap. He put almost invisible nylon fishing line across the bottom of the doorway to the summerhouse, and attached something inside, but she couldn’t see what it was.

  Minutes later, she heard him chuckle—an ugly little sound—and he stepped away to admire his handiwork. He picked up a small rock and tossed it, hitting the line with one shot.

  To Sara’s horror, four big, steel-tipped arrows flew across the doorway and landed in the wood at the other side.

  Sara had to put her hand to her mouth to keep from shouting in protest. She glanced at Mike and he mouthed, “Okay?” She nodded, but it wasn’t easy to do. If she and Mike had come later or tomorrow, there was a chance the metal spears would have hit him, for it was Mike who always went first.

  When Mike smiled at her, the calm of him restored her equilibrium. He turned back as Lang began to mutter again, but this time it was louder.

  “That’ll teach you, Greg Anders,” Brewster Lang said as he pulled the arrows out of the wood and reset the trap. “You can’t murder my dogs and get away with it. I hope these arrows kill you!”

  Angrily, he picked up his tools, put them in the buckets, and made his way back to the path to the house.

  Mike looked at Sara across the space between the branches and waited for at least ten minutes before he stood up on the heavy branch.

  “Can you step across to me?” he asked.

  She was distracted by what she’d heard. “Sure.” Mike took her hand, and Sara made the long step, but her mind wasn’t on it and she slipped.

  But Mike caught her. He was holding on to a branch above his head with one hand and to Sara with the other. As fast as she could, she scrambled up and leaned against him. They were standing on the branch, Mike with his back against the big tree, with both arms around Sara.