He closed the door behind him before Trevor could answer.
Puckish son of a bitch. If he didn’t like him so much, he’d throw him off the parapets of this damn castle. He might anyway if Bartlett kept on jabbing at him. His temperament was obviously not at all stable at present or he wouldn’t have handled Mario that stupidly. Bartlett was right, it was clumsy, and he prided himself on his deftness.
And he’d been equally clumsy with Jane in the conversation afterward. He should have kept his distance, let her become accustomed to him again.
Hell, no. She didn’t need to become accustomed to him. It was as if they’d never been apart. And he couldn’t act any other way when he was with her. He was no Bartlett, and he wouldn’t—
His phone rang. Venable.
“I haven’t got it yet,” he said before Venable could speak. “Maybe in the next few days. Mario’s working on another Cira scroll.”
“And what if that one doesn’t pan out either?” Venable’s voice was charged with tension. “We have to move.”
“We will. But if we can find out anything else, then we’ll go that route. We have time.”
“Not much. I’m tempted to come in there and take over those scrolls and—”
“You do that and you’ll get ashes.”
“You wouldn’t do that. Those scrolls are priceless.”
“To you. Once I’ve read them they’re nothing to me. I’m such a philistine.”
Venable started to curse.
“I believe I’m going to hang up. I’ve taken enough abuse for one evening. I’ll call you when I have something concrete.”
“No, wait. We intercepted a call tonight from the MacGuire woman. She phoned Eve Duncan.”
“So?”
“She told her about Grozak, about MacDuff’s Run, everything.”
“That’s not unexpected. They’re very close.”
“You shouldn’t have brought her there.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Venable.”
He pressed the disconnect. In two minutes Venable would call back apologizing and telling him it was desperation that had sent him over the edge.
Screw him. Venable wasn’t a bad guy but he was beginning to get on Trevor’s nerves. He was a frightened man and he was scared Trevor was going to blunder.
Blundering seemed to be the name of the game tonight, Trevor thought ruefully. Well, he was tired of analyzing everything he did or said. He’d lived by instinct most of his life and that’s the way he’d handle this situation.
He went to the window. The moon was bright tonight and he could see the stark cliffs and the sea beyond. How many times had Angus MacDuff stood here, looking out, and thought about the next voyage, the next raid, the next game?
The game.
He turned and moved toward the door. He needed to get his head straight and his priorities in order, and he knew where to go to do that.
The Run.
Jane took a long shower before slipping on one of Bartlett’s oversize flannel shirts and heading for that huge bed.
Go to sleep. Forget about Trevor and that scene downstairs. He was the grand manipulator, and who knew what he’d intended by telling her he wanted to sleep with her. Maybe he really was anxious to have her, or maybe he was just using his knowledge of her own desires to push her in the way he wanted her to go. The smart thing would be to pretend it had never happened and go on and do what she had to do here.
But that wasn’t her nature. She couldn’t stand pussyfooting around and ignoring the stick of dynamite Trevor had hurled at her. She’d have to confront him, and she wasn’t looking forward to it.
Lord, she was hot. The heavy velvet draperies of the room were smothering. Or maybe she was so charged it only seemed warm. It didn’t matter. She needed air. . . .
Night with no air.
No, that was the dream, Cira’s dream.
She threw back the curtains and opened the heavy casement window.
Bright moonlight shone on the ancient courtyard below.
Ancient? Compared with the ruins of Herculaneum this castle wasn’t old at all. Yet it seemed old when she thought of the comparative youth of the United States and the city of Atlanta where she’d been born. MacDuff’s Run had a haunting quality that was different from Herculaneum. There you were forced by the weight of thousands of years to accept the death of the city and its inhabitants. Here you could still imagine that the Scots who’d lived here would come marching down that road that led to the castle or out that gate to do—
Someone was standing by the stable door across the courtyard, looking up at the castle.
MacDuff?
No, this man was slender, almost gangly, and his hair appeared to be light, not dark. Definitely not MacDuff. Yet there could be no doubt of the intensity of his body language.
The man stiffened, his gaze on someone or something on the front steps. Then he faded back into the stable. Who had he seen?
Trevor.
She saw him walk toward the gate. Even after all these years she had no problem recognizing that springy gait. The cars were parked in the courtyard, but he was making no attempt to use any of the vehicles.
Where the hell was he going?
Evidently she wasn’t the only one asking that question. A man in a windbreaker stepped out of the shadows as Trevor approached. One of the guards Trevor had told her about? They spoke for a moment and then Trevor passed him and went through the gate. The guard faded back into the shadows.
The terrain was rough and stark outside the castle and not inviting for a casual stroll. Was he going to meet someone? If he was, they must already have arrived, for there were no car lights piercing the darkness.
And what was he doing going out without protection when he’d told her it was dangerous for her to do it? If Grozak hated him as much as he’d said, then Trevor would be a prime target.
Fear iced through her. She instantly rejected it. Jesus, Trevor wasn’t her concern. If he was idiot enough to go strolling out there in no-man’s-land, then he deserved what he got. He could take care of himself.
And she wouldn’t stand here and watch to see if he came safely back through that gate. She shut the window and drew the drapes. A moment later she was crawling beneath the sheets and closing her eyes.
Go to sleep. It’s not going to do any good to worry about the arrogant bastard. Don’t think about him.
But where the hell had he gone?
7
I went to the village and bought you a perfectly splendid wardrobe,” Bartlett said as he met her at the bottom of the steps the next morning. “Well, perhaps not splendid. The village only has a few shops. Splendid indicates ball gowns and velvet wraps, and I went for slacks and cashmeres. But very fine quality. Though you look much better in our clothes than we ever did.”
“Sure I do.” She wrinkled her nose as she looked down at the loose jeans and navy crewneck sweater she was wearing. “I appreciate the sacrifice but I’ll be glad to get into something that I don’t trip over. Were you able to get my sketchbook?”
Bartlett nodded. “That was a little more difficult. But I found a drugstore and they had a meager supply.”
“I’m surprised you were able to get anything this early. It’s only a little after nine.”
“The lady who owned the clothes shop was kind enough to take pity on me and open early. I guess I must have looked a bit forlorn standing out in front of her window. Nice lady.”
And Jane could see how that nice lady’s heart would have melted enough to open her doors to Bartlett. “Thank you for going to the trouble. You could have waited.”
“A woman always feels better when she’s not at a disadvantage, and most women connect fashion with self-esteem. Of course, you’re not most women, but I decided it wouldn’t hurt.” He turned toward the door. “I’ll go get the packages out of the car.”
“Wait.”
He looked back at her. “You need something?”
She sho
ok her head. “I saw someone standing outside the stable last night. Blond, thin, boyish. Do you know who it was?”
“Jock Gavin. One of MacDuff’s employees. He has a room in the stable and trails around behind MacDuff like a puppy dog. Nice lad. Very quiet. Appears to be a little slow. He didn’t bother you?”
“No, I only saw him from the window. He seemed to be very interested in something in the castle.”
“As I said, Jock isn’t quite there. No telling what he was doing. If he troubles you, just let me know and I’ll have a talk with him.”
She smiled as she watched him hurry out into the courtyard. What a dear man he was, she thought affectionately. There weren’t many people who were as caring as Bartlett.
“Good God, Bartlett strikes again.”
Her smile vanished as she turned to face Trevor. “I beg your pardon?”
He gave a mock shiver. “Just a comment. I wasn’t insulting Bartlett. I stand in awe of his power over your sex.”
“He’s a gentle, caring man.”
“And I suffer by comparison. I accept my lot after being with Bartlett all these years.” He gazed after Bartlett. “Why was he being so protective about Jock Gavin? Did he approach you?”
“No, I just noticed him staring at the castle last night and wondered who he was.”
“I’ll tell MacDuff to keep him away from you.”
“I’m not worried about the poor kid talking to me. I only wondered who he was.”
“And now you know. Breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry.”
He took her elbow. “Then juice and coffee.” He felt the muscles of her arm stiffen beneath his touch and said roughly, “For God’s sake, I’m not going to jump you. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid.” It was the truth. It wasn’t fear that had caused her to tense. Shit, she didn’t want this. She pulled her arm away from him. “Just don’t touch me.”
He took a step back and held up his hands. “Is this good enough?”
No, because she wanted those hands on her again, dammit. “Fine.” She turned and strode toward the kitchen.
He caught up with her as she opened the refrigerator door. “It’s not fine,” he said quietly. “You’re as prickly as a porcupine and I’m—well, we won’t discuss my state at present. But we’d both be more comfortable if we could reach a compatible relationship.”
“I’ve never been comfortable with you.” She took out the carton of orange juice. “You never wanted me to be. You have to know someone to be comfortable with them, and you don’t want anyone to know you. You just want to glide along on the surface and occasionally dip your tail feathers.”
“Dip my tail feathers?” His lips twitched. “Is that a euphemism for what I think it is?”
“Take it for whatever you like.” She poured orange juice into a glass. “It means the same. You want it down and dirty? I can give it to you. Street kids learn every filthy term in the book. As you told Mario, I’m no delicate flower.”
“No, you’re not. Actually you rather resemble that vine that grows down in Georgia. Gorgeous, strong, resilient, and give it a chance and it takes over the world.”
She took a sip of her orange juice. “Kudzu? It’s a nuisance weed.”
“That too. Very troublesome.” He smiled. “Because you’re unpredictable. I fully expected you to go on the attack this morning. You can’t stand anything not being out in the open. But you’re not doing it. You’re drawing back. I had to go after you.” He studied her. “I must have really upset you. You’re not ready. You’re biding your time.”
Christ, he knew her well. “You didn’t upset—” She stared him in the eye. “Yes, you upset me. You wanted to upset me. You can’t stand not being in control and you thought you’d throw me a curve. You were trying to manipulate me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“You didn’t want me to ask questions and it was easier to distract me with—”
“Sex?” He shook his head. “Nothing easy about it. You want to ask questions? Do it.”
She drew a deep breath. “Joe says you’re into something very ugly. Are you?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re not going to tell me what?”
“I will eventually. Any other questions?”
She didn’t speak for a moment. “Where did you go last night when you left the castle?”
His brows lifted. “You saw me?”
“I saw you. Where did you go?”
“The Run.”
“What?”
“It’s better seen than described. I’ll take you there if you like.”
“When?”
“Tonight after dinner. I have work to do today.”
“What kind of work?”
“Research.”
“You said that before. Studying the scrolls, no doubt.”
He nodded. “Among other things. I’m trying to put the pieces together.”
“What pieces?”
“I’ll go over it with you after I have the whole picture.”
Her hands clenched in frustration. “And what am I supposed to be doing until then?”
“Explore the castle, take a walk in the courtyard, sketch, call Eve again and have her tell you what a scoundrel I am.”
“Again? You know I called Eve?”
“You told me that Joe had found out I was dabbling in sin and brimstone.”
That’s right, she had. “But I didn’t tell you Eve called you a scoundrel.”
“She probably didn’t. She likes me. Grudgingly, but the feeling’s there. But I’m sure she felt it her duty to express her distrust.” He tilted his head, studying her expression. “And I assure you that I wasn’t listening in on your call. I don’t care what you tell Joe and Eve.”
She believed him. “I came here because I want answers. I’m not going to stay if I don’t get them. Two days, Trevor.”
“Ultimatum?”
“You bet your life.” Her lips twisted. “Does that phrase stimulate you? You like to gamble. You love the tightrope. For years you made a living counting cards in the casinos, didn’t you?”
“You always stimulate me. Are you coming to the Run with me tonight?”
“Yes. I want answers and I’ll get them any way I can.” She put down her glass in the sink. “Which is why I’m not going to go for a walk in the courtyard or explore the castle.” She turned toward the door. “I’m going to see Mario and see if he’s willing to be any more communicative.” She looked over her shoulder in sly satisfaction at his reaction. “Want to bet on that, Trevor?”
“No bet.” He met her gaze. “But you might remember that I’ll hold him responsible for any fall from grace and act accordingly.”
Her smile faded. Bastard. He couldn’t have said anything that would have been more likely to deter her. “What if I said I didn’t care?”
“You’d be lying.” He added curtly, “Run along. You’ve gotten the rise you wanted out of me. I’m sure Mario will be ecstatic to see you.”
Yes, she’d gotten the response for which she’d aimed, but she felt no triumph. She’d wanted to get her own back, anger him, pierce that cool, smooth facade. She’d done it, but he’d managed to turn victory into a stalemate.
“What did you expect?” Trevor’s gaze was on her face. “I’m not one of the boys you fool around with at Harvard. You play for high stakes, you should be ready to have your bluff called.”
She looked away from him and headed for the hall. “It wasn’t a bluff.”
“It better be.”
His soft words trailed after her as she started up the staircase. She wouldn’t look back. She wouldn’t let him see that his velvet threat disturbed her. Not frightened. Disturbed. There was an excitement, a tingling awareness of uncertainty and danger that she’d never experienced before. Was this Trevor’s tightrope? Is this what he felt when—
Forget it. Shrug it off. She’d find out what she could from Mario w
ithout making trouble for the boy, and tonight she’d find out more from Trevor.
The Run . . .
No, put Trevor aside, don’t think of him, smother this eagerness. Concentrate on Mario and Cira.
Keep Jock Gavin away from Jane,” Trevor said as soon as MacDuff picked up the phone. “I don’t want him near her.”
“He won’t hurt her.”
“Not if you don’t let him within a hundred yards of her. She saw him last night and asked about him.”
“I’m not going to pen him up like an animal. He’s a twenty-year-old boy.”
“Who nearly killed one of my security guards because he thought he was a threat to you.”
“He startled Jock. He shouldn’t have been in the stable. I told you that was the only place in the castle that was off-limits to you.”
“You didn’t tell me you were keeping a pet tiger there. He had a garrote around James’s neck in two seconds, and if you hadn’t interfered, he’d have been dead in another three.”
“It didn’t happen.”
“And it’s not going to happen to Jane MacGuire. She has damn good instincts. If she asked about him, she must have sensed something wrong.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“See that you do. Or I will.” He hung up.
Dammit to hell.
MacDuff stuffed his phone into his pocket and turned and strode through the stable to the potting shed Jock had created in one of the back stalls. “I told you to stay away from her, Jock.”
Jock looked up, startled, from the gardenia he was transplanting into a terra-cotta pot. “Cira?”
“She’s not Cira. Jane MacGuire. I told you that I wasn’t upset with her. Did you try to go to see her last night?”
He shook his head.
“Then how did she see you?”
“They gave her the room you usually use. I could see her standing at the window.” He frowned. “They shouldn’t have done that. It’s your room.”
“It’s fine with me. I don’t care where I sleep.”
“But you’re the laird.”
“Listen to me, Jock. I don’t care.”
“I care.” He looked down at his gardenia. “This is a special gardenia from Australia. In the catalog it said it’s supposed to be able to stand very harsh winds and still live. Do you think that’s true?”
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