by L. A. Fiore
I jerked awake, the scream dying on my tongue. It had only been a dream, but what a dream. My hands were shaking when I reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. Glancing at the clock, the sun would be rising soon. Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I was concerned at how weak I still felt. In my current environment, I couldn’t help but think of those from back in the day without the benefits of modern medicine. A common cold could be deadly.
I showered and changed, then stripped the sheets from the bed and brought them down to the laundry room I had spied the other day. I was up before Fenella. There was peanut butter in the pantry and bread on the counter. The protein would help with the weakness. The mournful cry stopped me mid-smear. At first I thought I had imagined it, but then I heard it again. The nightmare flashed through my head and even knowing I was being ridiculous, I felt a chill as the hair on my nape stirred. I waited, even contemplated following the sound to the source, but silence followed. Feeling a little shaky, and not just from low blood sugar, I stepped outside using the kitchen door and headed to the garage for my art supplies. The key was in the tractor. I had never driven one, but it was very similar to a car. When I reached the lane, I forgot all about the haunting cry because the timing was perfect. The sky was washed with purple and red as the sun broke over the horizon. I brought my phone; I had finally purchased the adapter and good thing I did because I wanted to take a few shots of the sky to capture the colors. Blending took time and I wanted the colors to be exact.
Painting was my release. Stroking the brush across the canvas was the only time when I felt completely at peace. Though seeing this place for the first time had stirred the same sense of calm. Not the inside, that was much like its master…beautiful but cold.
Outside, nature took care of the warmth the inside lacked. The trees, the grass, the sky and clouds provided the backdrop that turned what could have been a monstrosity into a whimsical and magical setting. It really was exceptional.
My cell pulled me from my thoughts. Glancing at the phone, it was Aunt Brianna’s lawyer.
“Hello, Mr. Masters.”
“Lizzie. How are you?”
“I’m painting, so I’m very good.”
“How do you decide what to paint in a place like Scotland?”
“It’s not easy, so I’ll be painting a lot.”
The cheeriness left his tone. “The reason for my call. We now know why Norah is contesting the will. As it turns out the land the cottage is on is not zoned at all, so one could push and get granted the rights to build multi-family residents or even commercial.”
Fury twisted my stomach into a knot. “She doesn’t want it at all, she wants to sell the land to a developer.”
“Yes. The will is ironclad, but she apparently has the money to waste all of our time.” Silence followed.
“There’s something else.”
His exhale was audible. “She is arguing that you staying in the cottage while the will is be contested puts you at unfair advantage. She’s demanding you move out until the decision by the judge is made.”
I was so pissed I almost knocked the easel over in my rage. And despite wanting to scream, my voice was barely over a whisper. “That woman abandoned me at ten and now she crawls out of her hole to try to steal my heritage, a heritage she turned her back on?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“She isn’t going to win.”
“No.”
Brochan had offered me a room while I worked, that was something. “She can’t take Aunt Brianna’s cottage, Mr. Masters.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
“I’m temporarily staying at a client’s residence while I paint his home. I’ll have my stuff out of the cottage by tomorrow.”
“I’ll let them know. This is good, Lizzie, you are showing you are cooperating. It will go a long way with the judge.”
“Just win this.”
“You have my word.”
I almost tossed my cell; what a fucking bitch. Karma better come back around for that cow. It hadn’t yet, not if she was rich enough to toss money around on a lawsuit she likely wasn’t going to win. If I ever saw her again, I was punching her in the fucking face. The mood was ruined, so I loaded my stuff back into the cart. Maybe Fenella had alcohol somewhere.
Fenella hooked me up with a very tasty glass of wine and while she cooked dinner, I kept her company. “Can I help?”
“How are you with peeling potatoes?”
“There is no one better.” She laughed then put the bowl of potatoes in front of me. She didn’t use a peeler; she used a paring knife. A challenge, but I was up to the task.
“How did the painting go?”
“I was set up just as the sun started to rise. The colors were incredible. I took a picture.” I reached for my phone as she walked behind me. “Look at those colors. That’s how I want to capture Brochan’s home. In the shadows coming into the light, the luminous sky, the wash of colors. Makes it seem otherworldly, doesn’t it?”
“Aye.”
“I had to cut the painting short, unfortunately.”
“Why?”
“Actually maybe you could help me. My estranged mother has crawled out of the woodwork and would like to contest Aunt Brianna’s will.” The pan Fenella had been holding crashed to the floor. I jumped up; she turned and I froze. She was livid. “She’s what?”
“Contesting the will. It gets worse. She wants to sell the land to a developer.”
“You’re not kidding.”
“I wish I were. I also have to move out because she made the argument it is unfair for me to be staying in the place, gives me an unfair advantage.”
“’Tis yours to stay in.”
“I know, but I’m going to pack up my stuff tomorrow. I don’t have much, but that leaves me with the dilemma of needing a place to stay once I finish the painting.”
“You’ll stay here.”
“That’s sweet, but I don’t think Brochan would like that.”
“He’ll insist on it.”
“Doubtful. Is there an Inn nearby?”
“In the town, but you’ll stay here.”
I wanted to stay here. There was still so much I hadn’t seen, but it was extremely unlikely that Brochan would extend the invitation.
“Perhaps tomorrow I could get a ride to the cottage and then into town to look into a room.”
“If you wish, but you’ll have to cancel the reservation.”
“He’s a rather reluctant host, so I’m curious why you think he’ll agree to this.”
“You’re getting kicked out of your aunt’s cottage, a cottage she wanted you to have. Not to mention that hag is trying to tear down the heritage she walked away from. Brochan will definitely insist you stay here. He’ll want that lawyer’s name too.”
The more difficult this was for Norah, the better as far as I was concerned. In fact, it might even be worth a trip home to see my father. I had a feeling she took him to the cleaners before he was free of her. He might be looking for payback.
The following day, Finnegan dropped me off in town on his way to run errands. I wanted to inquire about a room at the Inn despite Fenella’s insistence I stay at the castle. I also hoped to find art supplies. On my way to the Inn, I almost changed directions when I saw Tomas leaning up against the wall of the pub. My heart hammered because I had intentionally let his truck roll into that mud and though he wasn’t an intellectual giant, he’d know I had. Bright side, we were in the middle of town with lots of people.
He called when I was half a block away. “It took four hours to get my truck out of that mud.” He fell into step next to me. “You let it happen.”
I didn’t confirm or deny it. I hoped he would walk away, I knew better. He was just like Nadine, a bully.
“I heard you were up at Brochan’s place. What was that like?”
The man had an unnatural interest in Brochan; there was a story there.
He only lowered his head and yet it felt like he w
as invading my personal space. “Are you spreading them for him?”
What? Of all the…I stopped walking. “What is your problem?
“What’s it like with a killer?”
Where the hell did that come from? First it was the librarian and now Tomas, spewing nonsense about a man who, from what I’d seen, kept to himself. What was with this town? Engaging a crazy person was not wise. I continued on.
“Do killers fuck like the rest of us or are they rougher…dirtier?”
This dude was nuts. The town had all kinds of theories on Brochan and yet they had a lunatic walking amongst them and no one seemed to care.
“Holy shit. You don’t know.” At my completely blank stare he added, “You’re messing up the sheets with a hitman.”
Why the fixation that I was sleeping with Brochan, I didn’t know, but seriously this dude was whacked. “Have you ever sought help for your condition?”
He was the one with the blank stare now. “What condition?”
“Insanity.”
And it was insanity. Fixated on Brochan and, like the librarian, not shy about dishing out shit on him. It really wasn’t a wonder Brochan avoided town.
He ignored that. A smug smile curved his lips. “You feeling like you need a shower now?”
I didn’t know much about Brochan. He was cool, aloof and standoffish, but he had also extended a room to me during that storm and had nursed me back to health when I was sick. Not one characteristic defined him. The same couldn’t be said of Tomas. He was ugly...right down to the bone.
He wasn’t expecting the smile; it grew even wider at his look of confusion.
“I understand why you’re so jealous of him; sexy as hell, smart, rich. And look at you? Your biggest accomplishment was getting your secondhand truck out of the mud.”
“You fucking cunt.” His hand raised, I leaned in tempting him to do it.
“Go ahead. Hit me. By your own account, I’m fucking a killer.”
Fear joined hatred in his expression. His hand lowered. “Watch your back, bitch. He’s not always around.”
He stormed off and my knees went weak. I shouldn’t have provoked him. He was nasty and crazy. I pulled a shaky hand through my hair and continued to the Inn. I didn’t know which was more unbelievable, Brochan being called a hitman or a werewolf.
By the time I reached the quaint Inn, I had stopped shaking. Pulling the door open, the scent of heather hit me. A roaring fire burned in the fireplace. The reception desk was just to the right of it. A woman, who looked oddly familiar, greeted me.
“Hello. May I help you?”
“I wanted to inquire about a room.”
She looked harder, like she was trying to figure something out. “You’re Brianna Calhoun’s kin.”
“Yes.”
Her voice cooled. “Her cottage is not up to your standards?”
Wow, Norah really had made it difficult.
“Quite the contrary, but Norah has decided to resurface and contest the will. I’ve been asked to vacate until the judge makes his decision.”
Contrition showed now. “I’m sorry, lass.”
“You are not the first person in town to assume I’m like my mother.”
“’Tisn’t right all the same.”
“Knowing my mother, I understand.”
“I do have several rooms available.”
“I’m working on a commission so I have a place to stay at the moment, but I’ll be in touch if I need that room.”
“A commission?”
“I’m a painter, oils mostly.”
“Oh, how lovely. There is certainly a lot to choose from in this town.”
“It’s magical.”
“Aye, it is.”
I offered my hand. “Lizzie Danton.”
“Molly Addison. If you’ve eaten at the pub, you’ve met my daughter Bridget.”
“I thought you looked familiar. It’s nice to meet you, Molly.”
“Enjoy your stay in Tulloch Croft.”
“Thank you.”
I headed for the door and she called after me. “Welcome, Lizzie.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
BROCHAN
Pulling around the drive, the shit from the last three days crumbled away. It was why I bought the place, the calm in the middle of the fucking storm. I drove around back. Finnegan was waiting.
“Is the room ready?”
“Aye.” I popped the trunk, the man twisted and strained against his restraints.
“You’ll die for this motherfucker,” he snarled.
“No, you will.” A punch to the face silenced him. Throwing him over my shoulder, I carried him to the refitted dungeon. I tossed him into the cell, and then kicked him for good measure. “No food or water until I say.”
“Aye.”
I drove the car around the front, parked then grabbed my bags and headed inside. Laughter greeted me. Miss Danton.
I forgot I had offered her a room while she painted. I only had because she hit a nerve, picked at a scab left well enough alone. That wasn’t entirely true. I wanted her to paint my house. If anyone could capture the mystery of this pile of rocks, it was her. Her work was both haunting and inspired. Darkness existed in her, the colors, the harsh brush strokes, and the images. I suspected her darkness came from abandonment and abuse, but her renderings tainted by that darkness were magnificent.
Reaching my room, I dropped my bags and headed to the shower, stripping on the way. My side ached. Washing the dried blood from my body, I replayed the events leading up to me taking a bullet to the side. It only grazed me, but it still hurt like a bitch. It had all gone exactly as I planned, right up until the end. I had been distracted and that almost cost me. Drying off, I pulled on a tee and some sweats then rubbed my hands over my face. In a few days, I’d visit my guest. Torturing someone was exhausting.
Fenella was preparing breakfast when I entered the kitchen, but it was the coffee I was after. I never took to tea; I preferred strong coffee.
“Morning, Brochan.”
“Fenella.”
“Is everything okay?”
She hated what I did, I knew she hated what I did, but that was just her way. She cared. I wouldn’t go into detail because I didn’t want to upset her.
Instead I asked, “Where’s our guest?”
“Painting.”
My focus instinctually moved to the windows. I’d like to see her work, watch as she conjured the images that, unlike most things in my life, actually stirred something in me. My attention shifted to Fenella because she was fidgety. That meant she had something on her mind.
“What’s wrong?”
Her head snapped up like she was shocked I could read her so well. I’d known her my whole life, why the hell wouldn’t I know her moods.
“Lizzie won’t mention it, I’m sure, but I feel you need to know.”
This is why I didn’t socialize. I couldn’t fucking be bothered with other people’s problems. I really just didn’t give a shit. Fenella on the other hand, like Brianna, made it her mission to help everyone. Bloody annoying.
“You’ve a mind to say it and I’m standing here so spit it out.”
“Norah Calhoun is contesting the will.”
My coffee mug stopped halfway to my mouth. “Come again?”
“Lizzie heard from Mr. Masters. Her mother is contesting the will and more, they made her move out of the cottage until a verdict is reached.”
I went cold as ice, my fingers curling into the mug. “Why?”
“I don’t know all the details, but needless to say Lizzie is really pissed.”
I slammed the mug down on the counter and went in search of Miss Danton. By the time I reached the lane, I was seething. Then I saw her. Mist curled at her feet, like a fairy popping up from the world beneath ours. I shook my head; where the hell had that come from? Maybe it was blood poisoning from the gunshot, but dressed in sweats, a tee and riding boots she looked ridiculous and oddly sexy. My cock stirred at
the sight of her. Clearly it had been too long since my last fuck. My gaze moved to the canvas and that sense of peace I felt whenever I came home, hit like a punch to the gut. It was my home and yet it felt alive. The stones pulsed with life and evocative as if the Highlanders would at any minute appear over the rise, returning from raiding and warring. It was dark, romantic and poignant.
She didn’t hear me approach and jumped a bit when I said, “Miss Danton.” She had paint on her cheek, but it was the dreamy look in her eyes that caused my blood to heat. She was painting what she saw in her head, the images evoked by my home. It would be fascinating to spend some time in her mind, to see the world as she did. She wasn’t a dreamer, ugly had touched her too, and still she could create heartbreakingly beautiful images like the one on that canvas.
“Welcome home.”
I tipped my head to the canvas. “Magnificent.”
Her lips curved up even as her cheeks turned pink. “It’s a work in progress…” Her focus moved back to the canvas. “But it is my best work without a doubt.”
Remembering what brought me out here, my tone went hard when I said, “I heard Norah is contesting the will.”
Her fingers tightened on the brush. “She’s a bitch.”
“What do you know?”
She put the brush and palette down and walked from the painting. My guess, she didn’t want the emotions fueled by thoughts of her mother to compromise it. “She wants the land. It is not zoned so she’s hoping to sell it to a developer.”
“Motherfu—”
“Mr. Masters assures me the will is ironclad, but it is infuriating that when there is something in it for her, she resurfaces. The ironic part, Aunt Brianna would have left it to her had she shown any interest in her family.”
“Aye, but had she shown interest she wouldn’t be inclined to tear it all down.”
“True. I’m contemplating a trip to New York. My father never cared for her, hated her actually. I’m guessing she did a number on him before she moved on. He’s a very powerful man in his own right. He might be interested in helping to squash this. He’s certainly vindictive enough.”
How had this woman come from such parents? “You’ll stay here until this is resolved.”
