“And you, my beloved husband, are in need of an imagination transplant.” Mara kissed Duncan affectionately on the top of his head as she stood to begin clearing the table.
“If there was such a thing, Druidheachd would surely be the center where the transplants were performed. Never has there been a place with so many fanciful, impressionable, suggestible people!”
April wriggled down to help Mara, and Andrew leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. He was obviously enjoying himself. “Dunc, correct me if I’ve my facts twisted, but do you no’ make your living using what wee imagination you’ve been given to convince your fellow men and women to purchase what they never knew they needed?”
“Imagination’s a completely different matter when it’s used in the practice of free enterprise.” Duncan allowed himself a smile.
Duncan had owned a successful advertising agency in Pasadena before his divorce from his first wife, but he had sold it, and the money had gone to her in exchange for custody of April. Fiona knew that her brother still missed the faster pace of the business world, despite his satisfaction with life in Druidheachd. “Duncan, have you started another agency?” she asked.
Duncan shrugged. “I’m doing some consulting. I commute twice a week and do the rest of the work from home.”
“That’s terrific.”
“He’ll no’ be content until Glasgow is the Los Angeles of Great Britain,” Andrew said. “And we are all awash in consumer values and valuables.”
“I’m working with a tourist board, as well as several companies that export Scottish products,” Duncan said. “And, as usual, Andrew is exaggerating.”
“No’ a bit of it. I’m telling the truth as I know it. You’ve plans to put your mark on Scotland. Before you know it, we’ll be trading our shortbread and haggis for Save the Rain Forest ice cream and green algae sausages.”
“I’ll take the algae over haggis any day,” Duncan said.
“Haggis?” Fiona asked.
“The intestines of sheep, stuffed like sausages. The intestines are the best part of it. It’s downhill from there,” Duncan said.
“You’ve truly a way with images, Dunc. I’m fain to see what you’ll do to Scotland once you’ve had the opportunity.”
“Are the two of you at it again? Shall I stand between you or let you slug it out?” The words sounded from the doorway. Fiona turned and saw a dark-haired man standing there. He was tall, almost regal, and at his side was a slender woman with brown hair and eyes that rivaled Andrew’s for sparkle.
“Billie. Iain.” Mara went to the doorway and kissed Iain’s cheek. He embraced her before he passed her on to his wife.
Fiona watched with something like dread. She was exhausted. Jet lag and a wealth of new experiences and emotions had drained her of all reserves. Her life had been at best contemplative, at worst stultifying. But for a moment she wished for the peace of the familiar, for the boredom of seclusion.
Then she was swallowed in Iain Ross’s arms, strong, confident arms holding her against a hard chest. “Ah, Fiona,” he said. “You’re every bit as lovely as I remembered.”
She was at a loss for words. She was not lovely, nor would she ever be. She had been marked by fire, scarred by experiences that had made her a recluse for most of her life. Yet Iain told the truth as he saw it. She was beautiful to him. She was Duncan’s sister, and for too short a time, she had practically been his.
She found herself embracing him, too. When he stepped back, she smiled up at him. “You’re taller than I remember, Iain. But then, so am I.”
His blue eyes were understanding, yet at the same time assessing. She had the strangest feeling that he completely comprehended what the day had done to her. “Come here, Billie, and meet the guest of honor,” he said, without taking his eyes off Fiona.
Fiona found herself in another set of arms. Billie was wiry, and energy seemed to pulse in waves from her. Fiona guessed that Iain’s wife was everything Fiona herself was not, lively, impulsive, courageous to a fault. Despite their differences, Fiona was drawn to her immediately.
“We’ve all been on pins and needles waiting for you,” Billie said. “I wish you could have come for the wedding.”
“I do, too.” Fiona murmured the expected polite response before she realized that she really meant it. Billie and Iain had been married just three weeks ago. Fiona had been invited to the ceremony at Fearnshader, the manor home that had been in Iain’s family for centuries, but she hadn’t believed she was strong enough to make the trip. She had been told repeatedly that she wasn’t.
Yet now she was here.
“Billie was the bonniest of brides,” Andrew said. “The single lasses from six villages wept as she walked up the aisle.”
Everyone laughed, except Iain, who narrowed his eyes. “And who are you to talk, Andrew? Is there a single woman in the north of Scotland who doesn’t have you at the top of her list?”
“I suspect there are a few,” Billie said dryly. “Though contrary to the utterly male perspective being expressed in this room, most women have better things to do than lay snares for recalcitrant bachelors or even to bother themselves with lists.”
“Is that how you caught Iain, Billie?” Duncan asked. “You ignored him until he couldn’t resist such a novel approach?”
“No, she nearly drowned herself right in front of me.” Iain slung his arm over Billie’s shoulder. “That caught my eye.”
“Think what you will,” Billie said, eyes shining. “But in my version of the story, you caught me.”
Fiona was entranced by the interplay. The three men had been friends since infancy. They had been born together at the stroke of midnight on Hallowe’en in the tiny hospital that served the village of Druidheachd. The odd coincidence had been proclaimed an omen, and the babies had been raised to be as close as brothers. No parent, including the highly educated Malcolm Ross, tenth laird of Druidheachd, had dared to object.
Now two of the three men of midnight—as they were known in the village—were married, and their wives had been absorbed into the close circle of friends. Only Andrew remained alone. Fiona wondered why he had never taken the plunge.
She followed the stream of conversation, answering when spoken to but primarily enjoying the role of observer. Andrew gave a truncated version of the accident that morning and their visit to the hospital in Glasgow. Sympathy was expressed, but more important, it was apparent on the faces of everyone present.
They took coffee in the living room, and the talk turned to life at Fearnshader.
“Billie’s having all the furnishings appraised and dated,” Iain said. “Then we’ll decide what to keep, what to donate to museums, and what to sell at auction.”
“No one has thrown out anything at Fearnshader for centuries,” Billie said. “It’s less a home than a warehouse. If a piece isn’t sturdy or useful enough to stand the rigors of real life, then I don’t want it.”
“I can see it now.” Duncan held out his hands in the facsimile of a picture frame. “Fearnshader decked out in California contemporary.”
“No chance of that,” Billie said. “Just a Fearnshader you can walk through and furniture you can sit on. We’ll keep the best pieces and the real heirlooms, the rest is history.” Her smile was infectious. “Literally.”
“As soon as you’ve settled in, Fiona,” Iain said, “we’ll have you for a visit.”
Fiona smiled her thanks.
“We could use a visitor or two,” Billie said. “There’s been a noticeable lack of them since the wedding.”
“Well, I’ve been there twice,” Mara said. “And I know Duncan and Andrew have stopped by.”
“I think what Billie’s trying to say is that we’ve noticed a…” Iain shrugged. “A change? I don’t know how else to put it, exactly, except that there’s a new reserve in the way people in the village are treating us.”
“Perhaps they’re just keeping their distance for a time. They know that newlyweds hav
e better things to do than entertain,” Mara said.
“I’d like to think that’s it.” Iain didn’t look convinced.
“I’ve wondered if it was me,” Billie said. “If the fact that I’m from America, even though my family came from here originally, has upset people. But I was warmly welcomed when I first arrived, and even at the wedding, people seemed genuinely happy that Iain and I had found each other.”
“It’s only been a matter of weeks,” Mara said. “Perhaps they’re just adjusting to the change in your status. It’s a wee village, and change comes slowly. It took more than a little time for me to be accepted.”
Iain lifted one expressive hand. “Last week we decided to hire new staff to assist the gardener. We want to restore my mother’s gardens.”
“Lady Mary would be pleased,” Duncan said.
“I asked the gardener to find helpers he would like to work with. I knew his judgment could be trusted. He came to me a few days later and told me that none of the village lads would come. He’s had to go farther afield.”
Mara frowned and turned to her husband. “Duncan, that sounds familiar.”
“We’ve had a similar experience here,” Duncan admitted. “I’ve had to advertise as far away as Fort William for new maids and a server for the dining room. And no one can explain why suddenly there’s no help to be had in Druidheachd.”
“It’s most certainly just a coincidence,” Andrew said.
“Do you think so?” Iain turned to him. “Have you noticed anything odd yourself?”
“No’ a thing. Duncan, has business dropped off at the hotel? The pub?”
“The daily receipts have been less at the pub, but not so much that I’d call it a trend. Business dips and soars on a regular basis, depending on the weather, the season….”
“Have either of you asked around? Have you questioned anyone?” Andrew asked.
“It’s difficult to ask outright,” Iain said. “But I’m keeping my eyes open.”
“As am I,” Duncan admitted. “And I’m listening.”
“I think you’ll find that it’s nowt,” Andrew said. “Just winter ending and the locals staying home and readying themselves for the occasional glimmer of bonny weather. The winter was worse than we’ve had in years. Perhaps our young people are all looking for positions in a better climate.”
The talk drifted to other things. As if they were afraid they might wear out Fiona, Iain and Billie made excuses a few minutes later and left. Duncan went to help April get ready for bed, and Mara offered to help Fiona settle into her suite, which was just down the hall from their apartment.
Andrew stood as Fiona did. “I’ll be saying good-night now.”
Fiona didn’t want Andrew to go. It was his strength that had gotten her so far today, and she didn’t want to lose it. But there was more, an awareness of him that had sustained her, too. She had watched him throughout the evening, cataloging his responses, savoring his wit, basking in the warmth of his gaze when his eyes settled on her. She had a cloistered nun’s experience with men, but she didn’t need experience to know just how special Andrew was.
She held out her hand. “Good night, Andrew, and thank you for everything.”
He took her hand in his bandaged one and held it for a moment. His hazel eyes glinted in the lamplight. “I’ll see you soon, Fiona.” He turned to Mara and kissed her cheek, then he was gone.
“The room always seems a bit dimmer when he leaves it, does it no’?” Mara put her arm around Fiona’s shoulders. “Let’s get you settled.”
The suite Duncan and Mara had chosen for Fiona was huge, with a stove and refrigerator in one corner of the main room and a wide daybed, table and chairs along the other side. There were two multipaned windows that looked over the main street. The small connected sitting room had already been furnished with a magnificent old desk and a drawing table, and Mara told her that in the daylight the window there looked over an enclosed courtyard with neatly clipped boxwoods and beds of blooming bulbs.
“You know, of course, that any rooms in the hotel are yours for the taking,” Mara said. “But I chose this for your first days here. It’s close to us, but you’ll have privacy, too. And it’s one of the larger accommodations. Most of all, I thought you might like the views as much as I do.”
“It’s lovely. Perfect. I’m sure I’ll be happy here.”
“Will you?” Mara rested her hands on Fiona’s shoulders. “That’s all we want, Fiona. At any time…if there’s anything we might do…”
“You’ve done enough just to let me come.”
“This is your home.”
There was nothing Fiona could say to that. She was about to be left alone with her ghosts, and she could feel them wrestling inside her already. Was home the place where you felt as if you were about to be torn to bits?
Fiona turned back to the windows after Mara had gone. Dark had settled in, along with a light rain, and only the occasional sloshing of a car on High Street was visible in the faded lamplight. Tomorrow the village green would be a bright emerald set amidst the gray stone of Druidheachd, but tonight there was only glistening cobblestone and the haze of drifting rain.
She sighed and turned away. Her suitcases had been unpacked by one of the hotel’s maids and all her toiletries laid neatly in place. She could bathe and go to bed, as everyone expected.
Or she could not.
She stood, paralyzed. She was not used to being torn by indecision. There had been so few decisions to make in her life that choices had seemed exotic, heady things.
Now she must choose between courage and cowardice. Until now that choice wouldn’t even have presented itself. Her life had been a study in cowardice. But she had altered that when she boarded the 747 to Prestwick.
The hotel had quieted considerably by the time she stepped outside her door. The old building seemed to settle as she listened. It stirred vague memories inside her. Had she really lain awake as a small child and listened to the hotel sigh softly as it readied itself for the stillness of night? It seemed so now. The sounds were so familiar and, best of all, calming.
She started down the corridor. She wasn’t exactly certain of her destination. She thought the room she sought was on this floor somewhere, but she hadn’t wanted to ask. Duncan might have persuaded her not to go there tonight, and if he had failed, he would have insisted on taking her there himself. She hadn’t wanted company.
The room might be occupied tonight. She knew that was possible. If it wasn’t occupied, the door would surely be closed and locked. It was foolishness to be wandering the halls of a hotel she hadn’t lived in for twenty-two years, looking for memories that were best locked away. But even as she told herself to go back, she moved forward.
At the head of the stairs she turned and started up another hallway. With each step she grew more reluctant. Too many years had passed. She had been so young. Time guaranteed change. Even if she remembered the correct hallway, all vestiges of the fire would have been wiped away.
She stopped in front of the fourth door on the left and knew deep inside her that she had found her childhood room. Some memories were too powerful to be dissolved by time or will. She stood quietly and listened. There were no sounds from within.
No sounds.
She lifted her hand to knock softly. The woman whose knuckles rapped against dark wood seemed a stranger to her. What would she say if someone answered? She steeled herself and knocked again, this time louder.
When no one answered, she turned the handle slowly, cautiously. The door swung open, and even from the hallway she could see two freshly made beds waiting for guests who obviously would not be arriving that night.
She stepped inside before the voices in her head could stop her. Her skin was clammy, and her hands shook. Four steps inside, she leaned against the wall, hands behind her, and stared at her past.
“Good-night my dearie dearest. You’ll be snug and safe here tonight, all warm in your wee bed. Nowt can harm you as
long as we’re next door. Your mum will come and tuck you in soon, and before you know it, it will be tomorrow and Duncan will be home again.”
She closed her eyes, but the room was still before her. Her father’s lean figure loomed above her. He bent to kiss her forehead, and she breathed in the faint scent of lime and pipe tobacco. She wrapped her arms around him, but already sleep weighted her eyelids.
The memories were as real as her own heartbeat. She had been nearly asleep when the door opened again.
“Fiona, you little rascal. Did you think I wouldn’t find that picture you drew on the kitchen wall? What am I going to do with you? Never was there such a little girl.”
The voice was female and, despite the scolding, indulgent. The scent this time was light and floral, the lips every bit as warm against Fiona’s forehead.
“Are you cold, sweetheart? Would you like me to plug in your little heater?”
Her eyes flew open. There was no space heater in the room now, of course. Nothing in the room was the same as it had been twenty-two years ago. Fire had gutted everything along half the corridor, even the plastered walls. Had the building been anything but solid stone, it would not be standing now.
“I was afraid I’d find you here.”
For a moment Fiona didn’t know if the voice she heard was real or imagined. She turned her head toward the doorway and found Andrew standing there.
“I thought you might no’ sleep until you’d faced this.” He moved slowly toward her. “Were I you, I could no’ have.”
“It’s madness.” She turned away from him and stared out at the room again. “I found it. After all these years, I still knew exactly where to come.
“My bed was there, I think, and Duncan’s over there. I was mad at him that night because he’d gone to spend the night with you and Iain. He always seemed to be gone, or you and Iain always seemed to be here. I didn’t like being left out.”
“Have you seen enough?”
Her eyelids drifted shut, and a moan, one helpless, futile moan, sounded from somewhere deep inside her. “I’ve seen it so often. In all of my dreams.”
Men of Midnight Complete Collection Page 54
