He’d drawn back that night, stunned, as if she’d pierced him with that kiss. Awakened him from some bitter enchantment. But he didn’t want to be jarred from that solitary world, Emma had known in that instant. He didn’t know how to be anything but alone.
Captain caught the hem of her gown in his teeth and tugged, even more restless than she was. She leaned down and scooped the terrier into her arms.
“What?” she demanded. “It hasn’t even been an hour since you went outside.”
The little dog planted his paws on the stone ledge and strained his head out the window, his pitiful whine now part of their daily routine. At first she’d just figured he wanted to be part of the action below, like she did. But as the days slipped past she’d realized there was only one person he longed to find. Jared.
Captain worshipped the big Scotsman with the same fierce devotion Davey Harrison did and would struggle madly to get free the instant his doggy nose caught a whiff of the mixture of leather and horse, peat and salt air that was Jared’s own.
Emma figured it would take the dog about three seconds to track Jared down if she was foolhardy enough to go out into the sunshine and walk the length of the ruined curtain wall to where the excavation hummed with activity.
Visitors to the site watched eagerly as Jared’s students worked about three yards beneath ground level, engrossed in whatever cutaway section they were excavating. Emma could feel the intensity radiating from them as the day drew to a close. She spent far too much time ignoring the script she was supposed to be studying, imagining instead what the students said to each other as they bantered back and forth.
The one time she had no trouble translating was when a kid would whoop in triumph. Site visitors would crowd against the rail of the viewing platform built over the excavation, while students in floppy hats and dirt-stained T-shirts abandoned their own square of ground to race over to the location of the new discovery. They’d squabble like a nest full of crows over something sparkly until Jared strode toward them, his long legs so athletic they shouldn’t have belonged to anyone with “scientist” listed after his name.
He’d hunker down, broad shoulders hunching forward as if protecting the find from the polluted modern air and the puppy like enthusiasm of the students. He’d examine whatever the student had found, jotting notes in a book he’d dug from one of his capacious pockets. And Emma would watch, wishing she were studying under a teacher so gifted that every day she admired him more.
Butler never swooped in on his students, swelled with conceit as he took over the “important” part of the excavation. He’d merely observe the process intently, doling out suggestions and encouragement only when needed, until the student managed to free the find from the ground that had cradled it for centuries.
Then, damn if the man wouldn’t smile—that bone-melting, breast-tingling smile that made Emma wonder what it would be like to feel its full force turned on her, without the walls he seemed more determined than ever to keep between them.
She wanted to race down the tower stairs and join the crowd watching so breathlessly. Wanted to be part of the excitement she could feel, even from her tower.
But she wasn’t part of the dig. She was an inconvenience that already dragged Jared away for hours at a time from the work he loved. Even so, it was his own damned fault she was chafing to hear every detail of the day’s work.
From the moment he’d slipped that enameled flower into her hand, she’d felt like a modern Sleeping Beauty, pricked with a spindle that made her burn with curiosity instead of merely snoring away. She wanted to see more. Know more. Touch more. Wanted her hands in the Scottish turf, coaxing out Castle Craigmorrigan’s secrets herself.
Wanted to see Jared Butler’s eyes come alive with magic, the way they had when he’d shared the flower with her, when she’d been as awed by touching a piece of history as he had been.
She’d almost shared more with him than the tale of the antique wedding dress. She’d found herself wanting to tell him about the journal she’d also discovered in the trunk in March Winds’ attic, the stark childhood loneliness she’d filled with a “ghost” named Addy.
Maybe he wouldn’t have laughed at her after all.
But he might have plied her with more questions. Dangerous questions, like the one he’d asked when she’d been trying to make him laugh with the story of her grandfather and the Welshman.
Irish? I would have guessed something more exotic…What about your father?
Captain startled her with a disgruntled yap, as if to say, “Hey, human, when you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go. What do you want me to do? Tie it in a knot?”
Emma smiled down at the dog. “Fine. I’ll take you out. But you’re staying on the leash, got it? No making a break for the big guy, no matter how much we both might want to.”
Now there was a thought. Just let Captain slip off the leash, give him a little headstart and he’d lead her straight to Jared as long as none of the students ran interference. Emma was appalled at how tempted she was by the idea.
She fastened on the leash Davey had made out of an old length of rope and with Captain in her arms, headed down the castle stairs. At the bottom, she paused to unhook the thick velvet cord Jared had placed across the bottom, the no-admittance sign supposed to guarantee none of the tourists wandered into Emma’s private quarters. Slipping past the gap in the rope, she refastened it with a grimace, imagining just how long that sort of barrier would keep someone out of her condo in L.A.
She didn’t bother to set Captain down. The moment she did, he’d yank her arm out of its socket trying to haul her off to find Jared. Instead, she wandered the hundred yards to a secluded boulder beside the sea cliff, the terrier’s favorite hydrant spot. It was a good thing Captain had a conniption every time the boulder came in sight since, at the moment, she was so distracted by the bustle around the dig she might have walked straight off the cliff.
The two groups of visitors Jared had told her about during sword practice now wandered the property. A busload from Elderhostel crowded along the rim of the excavation, while a pack of schoolboys, adorable in their blazers, shorts and knee socks, reveled in a day away from the classroom. A smaller cluster of tourists ranged along the curtain wall, taking pictures with the cameras slung around their necks.
But they could wander anywhere they wanted looking at all the fascinating stuff. They hadn’t been officially labeled distractions. Frowning, she turned her back to them, unable to shake the feeling she’d had as a kid, when she was the only one not invited to the biggest party of the year.
She plopped Captain on the ground, but instead of getting down to business, he started scrabbling in the direction of the dig, showering the hem of her dress with tufts of grass. “Jared doesn’t want either one of us down there. Got it?” she warned sourly. “I’m a distraction and you’re the demon digger from hell.”
Captain tilted his head in his best angel imitation.
“An Oscar-worthy performance, dog,” Emma said. “You might even have convinced me if the dirt from your early-morning digging spree wasn’t still sticking to your claws.”
Captain flopped down on the grass in puppy exasperation. He might as well have demanded to know why she’d bothered to bring him outside in the first place if neither food nor jumping on Jared were involved.
“I hear what you’re thinking,” Emma said. “There’s hardly any point in Rapunzel breaking out of the tower if the witch still won’t let her play with the other kids, is there? Although technically, I suppose Jared would be considered a warlock.”
Captain’s button-free ear perked up at Butler’s name. The terrier grabbed the leash in his teeth and tried to pull Emma in the direction of the dig.
“Dumb dog. You think Jared is more like the prince since he rescued you from the dragons. But trust me. I know a thing or two about princes. I used to be married to one. Princes are supposed to be charming. And Jared Butler is way too dangerous and sexy to settle fo
r a glass slipper at the end of the ball.”
Suddenly Captain went off like a string of firecrackers, snarling and yapping at something behind Emma. She wheeled to see what the fuss was about, then stumbled back a step as a barrage of camera lenses were all but jammed in her face. She tried to smile, figuring that the local kids who had pestered her for autographs a few days ago must have shown off their prizes to the folks in the little town she was still trying to con Butler into loaning her a car to see.
Or were these tourists who’d somehow recognized her? Her gaze locked on the mini tape recorders in the intruders’ hands. No. Not fans. Reporters. Her heart sank.
Not yet, God, a voice inside her cried. Not yet. But there was no escape as the cluster of journalists started snapping off questions.
“So, Emma, what’s this about Prince Charming?” a burly man with a shaved head demanded. “Got some new man on the line, eh?”
Emma searched the repertoire of smart-aleck answers she’d grown so skilled at firing back, but came up empty. Knowing these men had overheard her thinking aloud tumbled her off balance. “Sorry to disappoint you,” she said. “But…there’s nobody new in my life except my dog.”
“You were just telling Fido here you think somebody’s way too sexy. Who’s the lucky guy?”
Emma’s cheeks burned as she scooped Captain up into her arms. “I just told you. There isn’t anybody.” She pushed past them, racing toward the castle as fast as her tangled skirts would let her. But the reporters kept pace, pounding after her, bellowing questions. A shark-eyed man in the lead cut in front of her and shoved his miniature tape recorder at her, keeping his hand just beyond Captain’s snapping teeth.
“What was that name she said, Feeny?” a man with a bulbous nose demanded, looking at Shark Eye as the others tried to block her escape. “It started with a B…Burns? Barry?”
“Butler!” Shaved Head shouted.
“No!” Emma denied, so rattled she knew damned well it had to show.
“Bingo!” the shark named Feeny crowed in triumph. “We’ve got it!”
God, what was wrong with her? Emma thought wildly as she bulldozed her way toward the castle. She was making an absolute mess of this.
“How about an exclusive, Emma?” Feeny urged in an upscale British accent far too proper for a sleazy job like his. “It’s way past time you grant the wishes of men everywhere and put that world-class body of yours back into circulation.”
Emma shoved her way through the castle door, hearing a chorus of oaths behind her as the intruders tried to jostle in after her. She couldn’t breathe. She felt vulnerable, raw. Sick to her stomach as she yanked the velvet cord out of her way and snapped it back in place.
Up the stairs. Just get up the stairs, she told herself. How many times had she sought safety behind closed doors? Put barriers between herself and the clamoring press? Barriers they couldn’t cross. But this time was different she realized as she reached her tower room. There wasn’t a sturdy wooden door to lock. Nothing to disappear behind. Only Jared’s rope with its no-admittance sign at the foot of the stairs. A warning not much different than the one she’d ignored to explore the rocky cliffs on her first disastrous morning at the castle the week before.
A cacophony of disgruntled voices echoed up to her, the journalists grousing in disappointment as their prey vanished. She sucked in a shuddery breath of relief one heartbeat too soon. Heard footsteps approaching.
She groped for composure, struggling to paste a blank expression onto her face. But it was too late. Feeny charged into the room, scenting blood.
Captain’s lip curled, threatening Feeny with those doggy vampire teeth. Love welled up in Emma for the scrappy little dog.
“You’re not allowed up here,” she said, confining Captain in his wooden box. “The castle is private property.”
Feeny smirked as the terrier tried to dig its way through the wood. “Try again, sweetheart. Castle Craigmorrigan is part of the National Trust. It’s open to the public.”
“Parts of it might be. But the door to this tower has a sign saying no admittance.”
Feeny shrugged, pacing toward her. “Funny, but I didn’t see a damn thing.”
“Then I’d advise getting your eyes checked, because—”
More footsteps hammered up the stairs. Emma’s stomach plunged. Oh, God. Were the rest of the reporters following Feeny’s lead? All she’d managed to do by fleeing to the tower was trap herself with Feeny and whoever else was stalking her.
Captain scratched frantically at the edge of his box as broad shoulders filled the doorway—a man, all sinews and shadows.
Jared. Emma’s heart leapt as he charged into the room, his chest heaving beneath his faded blue Celtic shirt, his hair windblown. He must have sprinted all the way from the dig site to the castle. “Emma,” he demanded, breathless. “Are you okay?”
It was all Emma could do not to close the space between them, put Jared’s big body between her and the journalist. Good Lord, when had she turned into such a coward?
“I’m fine,” Emma said. At least I am now.
Green eyes slashed from Emma to Feeny. “Davey said he’d seen some men following you into the castle.” Jared frowned. What were those questions clouding his brow? He couldn’t possibly think she’d invited Feeny and the rest of the harpies to ambush her, could he? “You didn’t mention any press engagements this morning.”
This morning… Emma winced in dismay. Perfectly innocent words a reporter could have a field day with.
In spite of herself, her voice wobbled a little. “This gentleman was about to leave.”
But Feeny had used the time Jared was focused on Emma to gain the advantage, insinuating himself deeper into the room—a strategy Emma knew would make it harder for Jared to evict him. “Hey, Emma, is this the guy you were telling me about?” Feeny probed.
Jared rounded on him, glaring. “Who the hell are you?”
“Joel Feeny, Independent Star. And you are?”
“That’s none of your business!” Emma started to protest, but Jared cut in.
“I’m Dr. Jared Butler. I’m the site director here.”
“Well, what do you know?” Feeny’s eyes glittered in triumph as he snapped off a camera shot. “If it isn’t the prince himself.”
“Prince?” Jared snarled, glancing back at Emma. “What the hell is this about?”
Feeny’s busy gaze snagged on the purple glitter frame perched on the table. He picked it up with sausage-like fingers, his eyes raking the picture with rapacious curiosity.
Emma lunged toward him, but Jared was quicker.
He grabbed the frame out of the reporter’s hand, thumping the picture facedown on the table, then turned to collar the man. But with skills honed in countless journalism-by-ambush ventures, Feeny dodged Jared and thrust the whirring tape recorder at Emma. “Hey, Emma, nice family you’ve got there. We never hear anything about your daddy, though. What’s the story?”
Emma pressed her hand against her stomach, feeling like she was going to throw up. “There is no story.”
“Ballocks!” Feeny gloated as Jared grabbed him by the arm and hauled him toward the door. “I know damned well there’s a front page byline in here somewhere! It may be a story about your daddy or it could be Butler, here. You and the doc having a fling, Emma?”
Emma groped for scorn, her scathing ice queen tone. “Give me a little credit for taste! I don’t even like him!”
Jared’s green eyes locked with hers for a moment, turbulent with emotions too fierce, too plain. Surprise? Surely not hurt?
She could explain to him later, Emma assured herself, bile rising in her throat. Explain what? a voice mocked her. How the tabloid reporter would be frothing to cast Butler as her latest lover? That would confirm every reservation Jared had had about opening his precious castle to the media, prostituting the legend he’d spent his lifetime studying.
Don’t let them see, Jared, Emma thought helplessly as the two men
disappeared into the shadows. Don’t let Feeny know my words cut you.
But who was she to be handing out advice? She’d given Feeny plenty to write about in the past few minutes, plenty of dirt to try to dig up. She might as well have pointed Captain in the direction of a T-bone steak.
There’s nothing for Feeny to find, Emma reassured herself firmly. Jared isn’t my lover. And as for my father, the only people who know the truth would never tell.
But since when did the truth have anything to do with tabloid headlines?
Emma flinched, her memory filling with the ominous smack as Drew slammed the latest rag sheet onto their kitchen counter, the headlines blaring—Emma McDaniel: “I don’t want your baby!” Husband shattered, sobbing.
For God’s sake, Emma! Drew’s voice echoed in her head. I didn’t sign on for this. Who in their right mind would?
She crossed to the table in the alcove and picked up the purple frame, carefully smoothing her fingers over the glitter as if to brush away any trace of Feeny’s intrusive hand. She gazed down at the family she loved, their faces frozen in time. Forever happy, their demons laid to rest. So sure they were safe at last.
But the world could change in an instant, secrets spilling out that could never be reclaimed and buried once more like the wedding dress tucked deep in its trunk in the attic.
Emma’s throat tightened as she caressed her mother’s face, sheltered beneath the glitter-speckled glass. Deirdre McDaniel Stone, so strong now, beautiful and fierce with a love Emma tried to believe no blow could ever shatter.
Again.
How can you be sure? a child voice whispered inside Emma’s head. She fell apart when you were ten. And at sixteen when you made her tell you about him…What if the reporters find out because of you? It would be your fault….
The Wedding Dress Page 12
