Wolf Island

by Cheryl Gorman

  She stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her. Abby wandered down several corridors, mindful of her direction. Maybe she should have brought along a bag of breadcrumbs to drop at her feet. She smiled at her own whimsy. It wouldn’t do for her to get lost. No doubt Devlin would come to fetch her.

  He drew her to him like a fire on a cold night, but that fire would burn if she ventured too close. Abby rubbed her fingers against the fabric of her garnet-colored cotton skirt. His warmth, the desire she’d felt when she touched him, remained.

  Did he have something to do with her sister’s disappearance? She may not have found anything concrete with which to implicate him yet, but there was a strong possibility he was involved. Miranda’s words reverberated through her mind. “I’m not sure about Devlin. One minute, he makes me want to trust him, and the next, I know he’s hiding something. I believe he’s connected somehow to the murder of Alice Howard, a young woman who once lived on the island.”

  Devlin’s handsome face and bedroom eyes appeared with vivid clarity in Abby’s head, nearly making her sigh, before unease settled in her stomach. How could she be attracted to him when Miranda believed he might be linked to a murder? And what about Miranda’s disappearance? Was he connected to that, too? She shook the image of Devlin from her mind. She needed to focus on her goal of finding Miranda.

  Was she alive or dead?

  The thought of losing her sister filled her with incomprehensible grief. She hated the thought of being totally alone in the world. After her mum’s death, she struggled to keep herself busy so she wouldn’t have to think about the holes in her life. What would she do with another hole?

  Scrape. Click.

  Abby’s heart lurched. She turned, but saw no one behind her in the hallway. She smiled to herself while her heart stopped flipping about. This was a castle. Of course there would be strange noises.

  She continued down a couple more hallways before she noticed a door standing ajar. Light spilled through onto the wide, wood floor, and with it, the haunting strains of a violin. Anticipation, curiosity, and a deep longing she didn’t understand warred inside her chest. She peered through the doorway.

  Devlin stood in front of a large floor-to-ceiling window, eyes closed, a violin cradled in his big hands and a look of profound peace on his face.

  Abby backed away slowly. The floor creaked. He turned his head and stared at her with eyes narrowed in annoyance. She gasped. “I’m sorry. I must have made a wrong turn. It’s rather easy to get lost in this place.” She spun on the balls of her feet.

  “Ms. Chapel. Wait.” She halted at the sound of his demanding voice. “I’ll walk you back to your room.”

  She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder. She wanted to sail down the hallway back to her room, but she forced herself to stand and face him. After all, he knew why she was here. “Okay.”

  She waited until he had placed the violin into its case and stepped out into the hall. His big hand wrapped around her elbow, and his touch evoked an unfulfilled yearning. Had those hands harmed Miranda?

  By the time they reached her room, Abby’s heart thrashed against her ribs and her breath shuddered from her lungs. She stepped quickly inside. “Thank you. I’ll see you at dinner.” Before she could close the door, he strode over the threshold and sprawled in a wing chair by the fireplace. His green gaze assessed her from head to foot.

  “Do you mind?”

  A sardonic smile traced his lips. “No, I don’t mind at all. Come here, Abby.”

  Chapter Two

  “I want to change before dinner.”

  A gentle bend of his lips set her heart to racing again. “We don’t dress for dinner here. Come sit down.”

  He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles. She noticed he wasn’t wearing socks. The sight of those bare male ankles made her remember seeing much more than just his ankles. Her pulse fluttered. She needed to stop this insane attraction she felt for him. How would she ever manage to find out about Miranda if she allowed Devlin to charm her like this?

  She should grab her still-packed suitcase and scurry back to England, because the chemistry that arced between them frightened her and made her feel guilty at the same time. However, running away wouldn’t solve Miranda’s disappearance. And she had never run from responsibility or family obligation. No way would she start now.

  “What I’d really like is a tour of the castle.” Nervously, she fingered a button on her blouse.

  “Why are you so tense about having a man in your room?”

  She’d never had a man in her room. None of the men she’d associated with in the recent past would dream of coming into a woman’s room without an invitation. They were all quiet, boring men.

  Men with respectable jobs and impeccable reputations.

  Safe men.

  Not like this man. Devlin was anything but safe. He exuded danger down to the soles of his worn, leather loafers. “I’m not tense.”

  “Good. For a minute, I thought you were afraid of me.”

  She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid of you, but I do think you’re hiding something.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  She cocked her head to one side. “How much time did you spend with my sister while she was here?”

  He flashed a devastating grin that almost buckled her knees. “Do you want it in exact hours and minutes?”

  Abby fought back an answering smile. Danger and charm added up to a lethal combination. “What about that nonsense on the front porch, the cold air and the crazy laugh? Do you enjoy frightening your guests?”

  He pursed his lips and glanced away, but not before she saw concern flicker briefly through his eyes. What was he concerned about? Devlin rose from the chair and paced to the doorway while keeping his thoughtful gaze pinned on her. He swept his arm out through the door in a broad gesture.

  He’d said earlier that he had nothing to hide. If that were true, why wouldn’t he answer her questions?

  Abby walked to his side. “You first. I insist.”

  Wicked humor glinted in his eyes, framed in thick black lashes. His gaze slid to her mouth and lingered. Would he try to kiss her? Would she let him? Yes -- no -- maybe. What was she thinking? Did Miranda have this same reaction to him? Is this how he gets to people?

  He stepped into the hallway and, thankfully, her more rational side shifted back into place.

  Wide corridors with floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a magnificent view of the castle grounds. Dark green draperies, held back with thick gold ropes and tassels, hung on either side of the windows.

  “What grade do you teach?” They turned a corner and started down another hallway.

  “We call them forms. I teach seventh form at a school for young ladies in Westmorland.” She needed to shift the conversation back to the subject at hand -- Miranda. “When did Miranda leave, exactly?”

  He lightly rubbed the tips of his fingers over his nose and studied her. “I told you she left a couple of weeks ago. Late. You don’t believe me. Do you?”

  “I -- I’m not sure.”

  He studied her face for a long, tense moment and made her skin heat. “My family has been on this island for centuries. The Morgans are very good at reading people. What are you really thinking?” He stopped in the middle of the wide hallway. His deep voice urged her to tell him the truth.

  “I think you know more than you’re telling me and I intend to find out what that is.”

  He leaned in close and brushed a strand of hair from her face with just the tip of his finger, caressing her cheek. His touch left a trail of warmth behind. “You do that, Abigail.” His quiet voice surrounded her.

  A strong sense of déjà vu settled in the pit of her stomach.

  Rubbish. She’d never met the man before today. Why did Devlin saying her name seem as natural and right as if they were old friends meeting again? He mesmerized her even as every cell in her body screamed
for her to run.

  But she couldn’t fly home like a frightened bird seeking the safety and warmth of its nest. She wanted time to puzzle this out without Devlin’s penetrating eyes watching her every move. She had to find Miranda, and, like it or not, Devlin was the key.

  “I will, Devlin. You can bet on it.”

  His mouth curved in a slight smile, and they continued walking down the hallway. They passed a couple of elegantly appointed bedrooms and parlors. He stopped in the doorway of a magnificent library. Floor-to-ceiling shelves, crammed full of books, lined the walls. Her gaze darted about the space.

  “At least you’re honest, Abby. Now I’ll be honest with you. Your sister spent a lot of time in here.”

  Each time he dropped his r’s, her attraction for him slid further beneath her skin. Get a grip. “Mind if I have a look around?”

  He waved a hand through the air. “Be my guest.” Devlin flipped a switch, and a wash of light flooded the room.

  Sofas, chairs, and reading lamps were scattered throughout. Abby walked over the parquet floor to a large bay window. Dim afternoon light tinted the air with a hint of mauve.

  She settled onto the tufted window seat and glanced at Devlin. “Miranda’s never been much of a reader unless it involved something paranormal. Why did she spend so much time here?”

  “She conducted several vigils in this room after she thought she detected some ghostly activity using some of those gadgets of hers.”

  Abby remembered those gadgets well. Miranda always came home with the boot of her car packed full with sensors, temperature gauges, and the like. Miranda wanted to teach her how to use them, but she didn’t care to learn. “Did she leave in a hurry?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. One morning, I woke up and she was gone.”

  She didn’t believe him. A man like Devlin would be aware of all the comings and goings of his guests. Abby rubbed her thumb over the face of her watch and could almost feel the minutes trickling away, one tick-tock at a time.

  Miranda, where are you?

  “You never gave me an explanation about the chimes I heard when I first arrived at the castle.”

  He looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. “You obviously encountered the Chiming Lady.”

  His voice held an allure, a kind of wicked seduction that urged her to admit she’d experienced a ghost. She refused to give in to it.

  Abby rose from the window seat and walked across the room to him. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  He looked at her and smiled. “Your sister does. She’s absolutely convinced the castle is haunted. When she wasn’t running tests, she peppered everyone she met with questions about the chiming ghost.”

  “And she disappeared in the process. I have to find out what happened to my sister. That’s why I need to stay in the castle longer than one night.”

  “Pointless. She’s not here.” He gestured with his hand. “Go look for her somewhere else in Maine. Check with Homeland Security -- they’re supposed to keep track of foreigners.”

  She closed her hands into loose fists at her sides. “Very funny. I’m a guest, and guests should have the option of staying a bit longer if they choose.”

  “Having guests once a month is tolerable. Twice a month would be unbearable.”

  “Oh, I’m unbearable?” She kept her tone light despite her irritation.

  He nodded. “In a manner of speaking.”

  A lock of shiny black hair dipped onto his forehead. She almost reached up to brush the hair off his face. Sweet Mary, what was the matter with her?

  She should ease her way in, try to be more accommodating and pleasant rather than so demanding. “I promise I won’t be any trouble.” She hoped he didn’t see the lie in her eyes.

  He smirked. “That’s what they all say. Then they make a nuisance of themselves, quizzing me about the castle, the island, and if the castle’s really haunted. They take pictures, gawk at everything -- including me -- like they’ve never seen a castle or its owner before.”

  “What do you expect? Most of them haven’t been in a castle or met anyone remotely connected with one. People are naturally curious and often gullible, especially when it comes to ghostly sightings. If it bothers you so much, why open up the castle at all? Simply close your doors and be done with it.”

  “I don’t want to be done with it.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  He looked toward the window at the dwindling light. “I want Wolf Island to survive. The fishing industry here has suffered in the last few years because the fish in the waters surrounding the island have slowly begun to disappear. People were either moving away or going bankrupt.” He paused as if gathering his thoughts and exhaled a deep breath. “My great-great-grandfather founded the village, and since I’m his descendant, it’s largely up to me to help support the people living here.”

  “And?”

  “We’ve managed to turn the village into a kind of resort and created a cottage industry. Fishermen take tourists out for leisure cruises in their renovated boats, and many of the old buildings are now bed-and-breakfasts. Rumors have flown around for years about Morgan’s Keep being haunted, so I hyped the concept and started offering ghost tours and haunted weekends.”

  “Has any of this helped?”

  “Yes, the local economy has grown steadily since we started advertising our haunted island and castle.” He turned and looked at her. “Maybe you’ll see a ghost or two while you’re here.”

  “Doubtful. Besides, I don’t care whether the castle is haunted. I’m just here to find my sister.”

  “One night’s all you’ve got.”

  “Surely we can work something out.”

  “No, we can’t. There is one possible solution to your hotel dilemma, though. I have a friend in the village who might have a room to rent in her house.”

  Staying in the castle would be the most advantageous situation for her. It would give her more opportunities to search for clues about Miranda’s whereabouts, although she wasn’t exactly sure what she was looking for.

  He glanced at his watch, then at Abby, with observant eyes. “Let’s go. Otis has dinner waiting.”

  “I’d like to stop by my room on the way downstairs.” Quiet surrounded them in the hall, with only the distant echo of a ship’s horn filtering through the walls from outside. “It must be lonely here, day after day without anyone to talk to except Otis. How do you stand it?”

  Devlin looked at her, his eyes darkening with unreadable emotions while a cold smile spread over his mouth. “You’d be surprised what a man can stand.”

  What did he mean? Did he spend a great deal of time alone because of his supposed link to Alice Howard’s death? She made a mental note to check back-issues of the local newspaper at the library to look for information about that young woman. But first, she needed him to agree to let her stay.

  An idea formed in her mind. If he wanted to give the island’s economy a much-needed jolt, she’d show him how he and the island could profit from her stay.

  Besides, if she left, she might not be able to get back in. He could find innumerable excuses to put her off. Miranda had last been seen here at this castle, and it was the only place Abby knew to look. She couldn’t let him outsmart her. She had to move quickly.

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  He stopped and turned his head. His sensual gaze journeyed in a lazy appraisal from her eyes to her mouth, making her limbs feel warm and weak. “A proposition?” An underlying sensuality suffused his husky voice.

  Her cheeks heated. What would it be like to slip beneath the sheets with a man like him, to lie warm and protected within his embrace? But would she gain protection, or would getting closer to him physically be a danger instead? Had the same thing happened to Miranda?

  Why did she find him so attractive? Abby gave herself a mental shake. “Wrong choice of words. I didn’t mean that kind of proposition.”

  A corner of Devlin’s handsome mouth
kicked up.

  Abby cleared her throat. “I design a lot of graphics for my students to help them with their studies. I’ve built quite a few websites, and the owners were very pleased with the results.” She paused to let her words sink in and gauge his reaction. He raised his brows and motioned for her to continue.

  “I could do the same for you and the island.” She gestured with her hand. “A well-designed website could bring in a lot of much needed business. In fact, I’m surprised you don’t already have one. There would, of course, be plenty of information about the Chiming Lady, the history of the island, and so forth.” Tomorrow she would go into the village and get a firsthand look around, snap a few pictures, and talk to the locals. That would make it easy to bring Miranda into the conversation.

  “Once I get the site up and running, I’m sure it will encourage more tourists to visit the island, therefore boosting the economy. What do you think?”

  His mouth eased into a sudden, arresting smile. “I think you’re just trying to come up with an excuse to stay, but you’re wasting your breath.”

  Not just an excuse. She had to stay. “Won’t you at least consider the idea?”

  The lamps along the hallway flickered out. A chill brushed Abby’s skin.

  “Help me,” a quiet voice sighed.

  Her heartbeat picked up rhythm, and she stopped in her tracks. “Did you hear that?” she whispered and lightly touched his arm.

  “What?” A frown creased Devlin’s brow.

  “That weird voice.” She turned her head to look up and down the darkened hallway, seeing nothing.

  “Must have been the wind.” He shrugged in an unconcerned manner and lightly grasped her elbow to lead her toward her room.

  “It didn’t sound like the wind. And what about the lights?”

  “Power outages aren’t unusual in the castle. Much of the wiring is old. Relax. You’re letting your imagination run away with you.”

  She didn’t appreciate his patronizing tone, but she let it pass for now. Maybe he was right. When they entered her room, he lifted the screen from the fireplace, knelt down, and struck a match against the hearth. In a moment, flames licked at the kindling and stacked wood. He rose, replaced the screen, and watched her with a sensual glimmer in his eyes.