Savage: The Awakening of Lizzie Danton

by L. A. Fiore

  “No, wait. You’re supposed to stay here.” I actually jumped in front of them and put my hands up, like a cow was going to know that meant stop. They walked right around me. I dug into my purse for the granola bar I always carried because when I painted, I usually forgot to eat. I ripped off the wrapper. “Want some?”

  All three heads turned to me. It was a good plan until they moved in.

  “Oh crap.” I broke off some and tossed it at the baby. Mommy and Daddy kept coming.

  “Do cows like human?” I called to the man. He appeared, his laughing hazel eyes met mine over the cows’ heads.

  “No. They don’t like human.”

  “I only had one granola bar.”

  “It was good thinking.” He wrapped ropes around their necks.

  “You’re going to get them home by yourself?”

  “Yeah. Thanks for the help. I’m Bruce.”

  “Lizzie Danton.”

  I didn’t think I imagined his easy friendliness turning slightly cool. “Brianna’s grand niece. I went to school with your mother.”

  “By the temperature drop, I’m guessing you had about as good a relationship with her as me.”

  I saw contrition before he said, “I’m sorry, lass. I fear you’ll get that reception a lot around here. With Brianna’s death, Norah is back in everyone’s thoughts. She made it very difficult to like her.”

  “I understand that completely.”

  He studied me for a second. “Sadly, I can see you do.” He offered his hand. “It is very nice to meet you, Lizzie.”

  “And you, Bruce.”

  “Welcome to Tulloch Croft. I better get these three home. My wife was just putting tea on the table.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need help?”

  “Aye, but thank you.”

  There was comfort knowing that Norah was a bitch to everyone. For a minute, I watched as Bruce walked three cows home, definitely not a sight I was used to seeing. Curious if I still had an audience, I glanced over to see the black car driving off. I continued on my walk. I reached the other end of town and intended to turn back, but my attention was drawn to the sight in the distance. The hills were lush and green and centered in the middle was a castle, or what remained. The roof was gone; the stone walls were jagged, like broken bones piercing through flesh. It was grim, bleak, sad and absolutely beautiful. I moved to get a closer look. Green grass grew up through the charred earth. The place had burned down some time ago and still it sat here abandoned but untouched. Why?

  I walked through the rubble, reached what I imagined at one time was the front door. The sun tucked into the clouds when I stepped inside. The temperature dropped. It had been grand once upon a time. I could tell from the furniture, most of which was burnt beyond recognition, but there were a few pieces still recognizable that sat here and there. Paintings hung from the walls, carpets on the floor. Whoever owned this hadn’t tried to save anything and stranger still, poachers hadn’t tried to salvage it. Was it haunted? And if not, what was its story that it kept people at bay? I moved deeper into the castle, toward what had been the kitchen. It had been a grand kitchen. Had they large celebrations for the holidays? Had this space once teamed with staff, pulling the meats and breads from the ovens? Had a crew worked on nothing but sweets—fruited and spirit-laced cakes, fruit and meat pies? The sun moved from the clouds and how the rays shined down on the sad remains seemed almost ethereal. A glimmer caught my eye as the light reflected off something. As I grew closer, I saw it was a small medallion. It was only when I reached for it that I realized it was a necklace. It was charred so I couldn’t see what it was of, but it felt warm against my palm. I didn’t realize tears had gathered in my eyes until one rolled down my cheek. It was sad to see something so thoroughly neglected and to see the hints of life that had at one time existed here.

  I was curious about the ruins, so I stopped at the small library in town on my way back to the cottage. Small was an understatement, with only a few racks of books, most of those being tourist books of the area and another of best sellers from the last few years. The librarian, Mrs. Wilson according to her tag, was an older woman with white hair pulled up into a bun. She glanced up when I approached her desk.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I was taking a walk and saw the castle just outside of town, the one in ruins. What happened there?”

  I thought I saw fear flash in her eyes. She definitely crossed herself. “The McIntyre place. It burned down nearly twenty years now. The smoke from the fire was seen as far as Edinburgh, or so they say.”

  “Is there a reason it hasn’t been taken down and the land cleared?”

  She glanced around before leaning closer. “Only that the laird wishes it to stay as is. A memorial.”

  My heart twisted. “People were killed in the fire?”

  “Aye, the old laird, the current laird’s father. It was the McIntyre ancestral home since the eleventh century.”

  To lose his father and his home, that had to be hard.

  It seemed the old woman didn’t need me for this conversation as she continued. “The young laird is a cold sort. The truth is I don’t believe he feels much of anything. Some even say he was born soulless. Our more superstitious townsfolk think he might even be…well not of this earth.”

  I didn’t like gossip and I didn’t like those who perpetuated it. I realized it was a small town and small towns fostered gossip, but I didn’t have to listen. I was about to excuse myself until she said ‘not of this earth’. What the hell did that mean? “Not of this earth?”

  She leaned over her desk and whispered, “Supernatural.” She then immediately crossed herself again.

  Supernatural? Like what the Winchester boys battled every week? What nonsense and still I queried, “What, like a vampire?”

  “No, a beastie for sure.”

  “A werewolf?”

  “Aye.” She crossed herself again. I entertained the possibility that she was pulling my leg for about ten seconds, but the look on her face. No, she was serious. Okay, so the librarian was crazy. I wondered if the laird knew about the rumors flying around about him and that the townsfolk spoke of him so candidly to strangers.

  “Do you know this laird?”

  “No, of course not. He stays to himself.”

  She didn’t know him and yet she spoke with such authority, going so far as to call him a werewolf. I didn’t blame the laird for staying to himself. If he made too many appearances in town they were likely to hunt him down with pitchforks and torches. “You don’t know him and yet you say he’s cold…a werewolf.”

  She crossed herself again. “Rumors. The town is small.”

  I wanted to educate her on the ugliness of rumors, but she was well into her seventies. She should know better.

  “If he doesn’t feel anything, why keep the castle standing?”

  If she realized I was questioning her ridiculous comment, she didn’t let on. “I don’t know, lass. Maybe he gathers his powers from it.”

  “Powers?”

  “Aye.”

  It was on my tongue to ask what powers did a werewolf possess, but it seemed unwise to challenge her delusion. Was she dangerous or a harmless crackpot? I wasn’t really eager to spend any more time in her company to learn the answer to that. Thanking her was the polite thing to do despite the nonsense she’d shared. “Thank you for your time.”

  I reached the door and glanced back to find her watching me. Perhaps she’d start a rumor that I was a witch or a banshee. I supposed there were worse things to be. Curious I asked, “What is the young laird’s name?”

  “Brochan McIntyre.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BROCHAN

  “It’s done. Wire the remaining funds into the account.”

  “I told you not to call me on this line.”

  Fucking people. “I’ll call you on whatever the fuck line I want. Wire the money. I’ll wait.”

  “I want proof.”

  “I
don’t work that way and you know it. You have ten minutes to wire the funds before I pay you a visit.”

  Fucker was playing in a whole other league. I could hear the fear in his voice when he spoke his next words. “No need for that. One second.”

  The waitress set the highball of whisky on the table. I reached for it, savored the burn on my tongue.

  “It’s done.”

  I checked my offshore account to confirm the transfer was complete then disconnected the call. I leaned back in my chair and resisted the urge to pull a hand through my hair. It was time to retire. I was getting too old for this shit.

  A woman entered the restaurant, led by the hostess. I checked my watch. Punctual. I knew she would be here; it was why I chose the place. Brianna Calhoun’s kin. The town was abuzz about her. I wasn’t sure if she was a skilled actress or really as innocent as she seemed. Knowing how much of a cunt her mother was I wanted to believe the former, but she hadn’t known anyone was watching that day with the cows. She’d been talking to them and when she put herself in front of them and held up her hands, the first real laugh I’d had in years burned up my throat.

  She glanced up at her server; her eyes were as blue as the sky. For someone so young, it was unusual to see the darkness that haunted them. Was it possible she wasn’t like Norah at all and just another of her victims? I sipped my whisky as I watched her. She looked around, but not how most did. She wasn’t checking out who was in the restaurant, she wasn’t comparing herself to the other women in the place. She looked around like she’d just spotted a rainbow or a fairy ring with wonder and a little awe. I couldn’t help throwing a glance around the place but there was nothing spectacular about it. What did she see?

  She studied the menu, her brows furrowing. Her lips were moving; I watched the expressions rolling over her face. Her reactions went from the gamut of interest to gross, her lips even curling in disgust over a few things. I’d never seen anyone so animated over a menu. She settled on Scotch broth. After the waitress left, she reached into her bag and pulled out a pencil and scrap of paper. I couldn’t see what she sketched, but the way her hand effortlessly moved across the paper she clearly had skill.

  I tried to see Norah Calhoun in the woman but all I saw was Brianna, a younger, slightly broken version of her. Her meal arrived. She savored her soup in a way that suggested she had once known what it was like to have food withheld. I’d experienced that enough to recognize it easily in others.

  Despite myself, Brianna’s kin intrigued me. I had said I would show her kindness and the kindest thing I could do for the lass was to stay away from her. I didn’t leave until after she had, and curious I walked passed her table to see what she had been sketching she had left. My hand actually shook when I reached for it because what she’d drawn were the gates to my home. Instinct had my focus jerking to the door. I didn’t believe in coincidences. In my line of work, I couldn’t afford to. She had drawn my home. Did she know who I was to Brianna? Was she intending to cash in on more than Brianna’s inheritance? She was in for a rude awakening if she thought to come at me. Perhaps the apple didn’t fall far from the tree after all. I headed to my car while I reached for my phone to call Gerard. It was time to learn more about Miss Danton.

  “I need you to look into a Lizzie Danton.”

  “Client or mark?”

  “Neither.”

  “So why the interest?”

  “I don’t pay you to ask questions.”

  “I know. You’re getting it for free.”

  He was an ass, but he was the best in the fucking business. “Just the highlights.”

  “Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll email it.”

  Hanging up, I dropped the phone on the passenger seat. I was curious about Miss Danton because there was a look in her eyes that lingered like a shadow or a ghost despite the awe and wonder; a look that once upon a time stared back at me from the mirror. Lost.

  Gerard was fast; the notification of incoming mail came as I parked in the garage. I went right to my study, flicked on the lights and settled at my desk. Pulling up his email, I started to read.

  Rodney Danton made his money in investments, running one of the most lucrative firms in Manhattan. He was a self-proclaimed womanizer, changing up his arm candy like one would shoes. Norah Calhoun. He hadn’t appreciated her cunningness until it was too late.

  I stood and walked to the bar for a shot of whisky. The man had some morals, agreeing to marry the mother of his child, a child brought into the world through deception. Miss Danton. What was life like for her, being the reason a man was shackled? I had been on the other end of it, responsible for the death of someone’s love. She had been the tether tying her father to her mother in a match he didn’t want. And her own mother had done that to her, used her as no more than a pawn. That was cold, even for me.

  I downed the whisky, savoring the burn, and returned to my desk. Rodney dropped a bunch of money on the problem and walked away. Norah kept up pretense for ten years before she gave up and dumped her kid at boarding school. There was very little about Miss Danton during those early years, likely foisted off and neglected. After boarding school, she returned to New York and was accepted into art school. She had a healthy savings and yet she put more into it than she took out. She lived very frugally. There were no friends of note, except her manager who it seemed was her only and closest friend. No boyfriends, no children anywhere. For all intents and purposes, Lizzie Danton wasn’t so much living as she was going through the motions.

  Leaning back in my chair, the anger surprised me. Norah knew Brianna was here, knew she could have foisted her child on a woman who would have loved her, cared for her and given her a life. She had deliberately kept the two apart. And in doing so, she had hurt one of the three people in this world I actually cared about. She’d answer for that.

  I understood now the haunted look in Lizzie Danton’s eyes. What it didn’t explain was why of all the things in the area to sketch—Tulloch Croft had countless sights more interesting—she chose my unassuming gates. It was careless to leave questions unanswered. I wasn’t careless.

  LIZZIE

  Brianna’s grave was in a small cemetery in town. Heather grew wild around the stones. Hers was a simple one with bright green young grass sprouting up through the dirt. A large bouquet of flowers rested across her grave. My guess, Fergus had been by.

  I knelt in front of it. I wasn’t even sure what to say to her and yet she had been family, blood, and I had found her too late. Emotions, I hadn’t realized were so close to the surface, had tears filling my eyes.

  “Hi, Aunt Brianna. It’s Lizzie. I don’t really know what to say, but I do hope you can hear me. Thank you for bringing me here and giving me a chance to see where I come from, to learn more about my family. I’m an artist, oils and watercolors mostly. I’m not married and I don’t have children. I’d like to one day, but I’ve never met anyone I wanted to step into all of that with. I’ve spent much of my life alone. I guess you grow used to your own company when it’s all you have. Your home is beautiful. I’ve gotten so much inspiration being here. I can’t wait to set up an easel. I met your Fergus. He misses you; he helped get me settled. I do intend to stay for a while and I hope I do see you on the moors. I love you, Aunt Brianna. I know we never met, but I feel it. I don’t know how that’s possible but it is. I guess I should mention that Norah is contesting the will. I’m conflicted with your generosity aimed at me, but I absolutely will not allow her to get her hands on your legacy. Our lawyers are confident the suit will be squashed. You didn’t miss out on anything, Aunt Brianna. Believe me, your life was much better off without her in it.”

  A twig cracked, my head snapping in the direction to see a man standing not far from me.

  “Sorry to intrude.”

  So why was he?

  “You’re Brianna’s kin from the States, aren’t you?”

  He was being rude interrupting me, but I didn’t need to be. “Yes. Lizzie Danton.”<
br />
  Extending his hand, he stepped closer. “Tomas O’Connell. You’re from New York City. This must be a change for you.”

  “Yes, but a good one.”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “She left you everything. What are you going to do with it?”

  I realized it was a very small town and everyone knew everything, but even for a small town he was out of line. Not even Fergus had asked me that and he was Brianna’s other half.

  I had no intention of answering him, so I stood. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I’m expecting a call at the house. It was nice to meet you.”

  His eyes narrowed. I hadn’t fooled him, but I didn’t care. It was more than a little creepy that he approached me in a cemetery and peppered me with questions he had no business asking. I didn’t wait for him to reply and hurried from the cemetery. As I was leaving, Fergus arrived.

  “Hey, lass. I was going to check in on you after I visited Bri.”

  I didn’t realize how hard my heart was pounding. Seeing Fergus, it started to slow. “I was going to grab a bite at the pub. If you want, I’ll wait for you there.”

  “I’d like that.”

  I expected the scrutiny of those in the pub when I entered. It was a small town; I was sure everyone knew everyone’s business. Not to mention Bruce had warned that Norah had not been liked and I was her daughter. They didn’t start throwing things at me. That was a surprise.

  “Sit anywhere,” the bartender called from behind the counter, an older gentleman with a shock of red hair and a generous belly. A waitress, no older than eighteen, strolled immediately over but more out of curiosity than efficient service.

  “Can I help ye?”

  “Please. Do you have coffee?”

  “Aye.”

  “A cup of that please.”

  “And to eat?”

  There was a board behind the bar that listed the dishes offered. I hadn’t a clue what any of them were. “I’m not familiar with the menu.”

  She flashed me a smile, the meaning was clear, ‘no shit’. “We can do a Scottish breakfast of eggs, sausage, black pudding, beans. Or Cullen skink, a soup of haddock, onions, potatoes.”