CHAPTER SEVEN
BROCHAN
My hands fisted in the pockets of my trousers as I watched Lizzie Danton walking down the drive. Fuck. Damn that fucking conscience. I didn’t need it, didn’t fucking want it. I wanted to turn my back, but I could hear Brianna and Fenella, even Finnegan, in my head. “Fucking hell.”
Fenella was just entering the library as I was leaving it. She was giving me her stink eye, that frosty look that condemned without her needing to speak a word. What the hell did she want? I let the woman sleep here, fed her, and clothed her. It was the clothes, or lack of them, that stirred something left well enough alone. “Our guest is walking home.”
“I saw.”
“I think she’s coming down with a cold.”
“Fucking walking in the rain will do that.”
“Not her fault the car broke down.” She narrowed her eyes at me before she added, “And it’s not her fault she’s kin to Norah Calhoun. Remember, she’s kin to Brianna too.”
I didn’t pay my staff to lecture me. They weren’t staff; they were family, but I ignored that. I was halfway down the hall when Fenella called after me, “She wants to paint your home.”
That stopped me, my head swiveling to her. “She said that?”
“Yes. Said you could Google her to see her portfolio and that she would gift you the painting.”
I didn’t need to Google her. I was familiar with her work. But after my interrogation last night, why the hell would she offer that? “Why?”
“Because the sight of the castle from the lane took her breath away, her words.”
It was the view from the lane that sold me on this place; more specifically the feeling of peace it evoked, a foreign, but not unpleasant feeling. Fucking hell.
There were a few broken branches blocking the drive. By the time I got the Range Rover out of the garage, it had been about an hour since Miss Danton left. Halfway back to the village, I saw the body on the boulder. My chest grew tight thinking harm had come to her; the unwanted sensation annoyed the hell out of me. Pulling over, I climbed out to hear Lizzie Danton talking to herself. She had a bizarre habit of talking to things, like those cows and Brianna’s ghost. Her words that day had lingered because despite the shit she’d seen, she still had it in her to paint fucking sprites…to try for happy. I couldn’t decide if she was the most well adjusted person of my acquaintance or the craziest. I wondered if she’d spent any time in a mental facility.
I couldn’t make out what she was saying, didn’t really care. My goal was to get her ass back to the cottage. That would ease the nagging from my fucking conscience. I stepped closer, to peer down at her, her eyes went wide then she screamed. She jumped off the boulder like it was on fire.
“What the hell! Didn’t you ever learn not to sneak up on someone resting on a rock?”
I ignored that ridiculous question. She was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. “You don’t look so good.”
“Nice. Scare the shit out of me and then insult me. Seriously, charm school was completely lost on you.”
She had the oddest way of communicating. More surprising was the urge to grin at her nonsense. “I’ll give you a ride to the cottage.”
“No, thank you. I wouldn’t want you thinking I was after your car, or your house and heaven forbid, you. I’ll walk.” She started walking away but stopped and turned back. “And why assume I was like my mother? You knew Aunt Brianna, but you interrogated me like I was after something. Never mind. I don’t care what you think.”
She did care. I saw how deeply it cut her to be compared to her mother. Another unfamiliar sensation curled in my gut. Guilt. I shook it off. “You can barely stand.”
Temper burned behind her eyes, but she acquiesced. “Fine.”
She didn’t wait for me and walked to the car in much the way a child in temper might do. She yanked open the door and dropped into the seat. I climbed in, felt her eyes on me, but when I looked over her focus was out the window.
“How many cars do you have?”
“Eight.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
She muttered something then asked, “Why are the villagers freaked out by you?” She turned in her seat to face me. “They think you’re a werewolf.”
I’d heard that rumor. Was actually rather fond of that one. “Maybe I am.”
I glanced over at her and she was contemplating the real possibility that I was a werewolf. Damn, if I didn’t want to grin.
“I don’t think so, but I’ll be sure to stay inside on the full moon. Can I ask you something else?”
“You can ask.” The implication that I probably wouldn’t answer was clear.
“Why don’t you tear down the castle on the other end of town?”
The only sign I showed that I’d heard her was the slight tightening of my hands on the steering wheel. “How do you know it’s mine to tear down?”
“The town librarian. She’s very free with information on you, even when she’s making it up. She was the one to inform me of your werewolf tendencies.”
“It’s a memorial.” That was the reason the town came up with. I let them believe it because the truth was harder to hear and would only confirm I was the monster they already believed me to be. I liked seeing my father’s legacy burned to the ground. I liked knowing there was nothing left of him or his ancestors. I was responsible for the extinction of a clan…my clan.
“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t the apology for my loss that stirred something in me; it was how she offered it, like a person who had known true loss. The only one in her life worthy of that kind of emotion was Brianna. A woman she never knew and yet she felt her loss as poignantly as I did. If I had a heart, it would break at the evidence of just how lonely Miss Danton was. Rejected, abused, abandoned for the curse of being born. I knew how that felt all too well.
I pulled up in front of the cottage. The car hadn’t even come to a complete stop and she was out of it. She was halfway to the door when she called from over her shoulder, “Thanks for the ride.”
She had just unlocked the door when I called back. “You can paint my house.”
Her head twisted and I didn’t miss the joy in her expression before she wiped it. “Thank you. I won’t get in your way. I’ll work on the lane. If the lighting is good, I’ll start tomorrow.” Then she disappeared into her cottage.
The knife didn’t hit dead center. I blamed the lack of aim on Miss Danton. Reaching for another blade, I emptied my head of everything but the target and the cold steel between my fingers. The second when the blade took flight, the soft hiss as the knife displaced the air and the decided sound of it hitting its mark was a kind of music. Dead center. I reached for my Auto Mag and spent the next hour hitting the same hole on the cardboard cutout, but I was distracted. It had been three days and Miss Danton had not returned. I cleaned my gun and stored it away then went in search of Fenella. She was in the kitchen making lunch.
“Have you heard from Miss Danton?”
“No. I was going to ask Finnegan to check on her. She was coming down with something. The idea that she is alone in that cottage fighting a cold breaks my heart. The poor dear.”
“I’ll go.” Her smile had my hands curling. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“I didn’t say a thing.”
“You’re thinking it loudly enough.” I grabbed my keys. Fucking women.
The cottage was quiet when I arrived. I parked and climbed from the car, taking a moment to look around. Memories tried to surface, I pushed them down. I knocked. No answer.
I knocked harder. Nothing.
Something was wrong. I picked the lock. It was subtle, but I recognized the scent of sickness. The cottage had stunk of it at the end with Brianna.
“Miss Danton,” I called as I moved through the living room to the bedroom, where the smell was the strongest. For a second, it wasn’t Miss Danton but Brianna that last day. I shook it off. She was breathing, I could hear her from the door, but it was labored. Closing the distance, she was pale, yet her cheeks were flushed with fever. I brushed my fingers over her forehead; she was burning up.
“Miss Danton.” She stirred, her eyes opened.
“Why are you here?” A little fire, a good sign.
“I’m taking you back to the castle.”
She brushed my hand away. “I’m fine. I just need sleep.”
“I’m not asking.”
“You don’t want me there anymore than I want to be there.”
“You’re sick. Fenella is an experienced healer.” I didn’t wait for a reply as I lifted her from the bed and carried her to the car.
LIZZIE
I woke in the middle of the night shivering. My throat was on fire and I ached everywhere. I didn’t even have the strength to climb from bed. I curled deeper in the warmth and hoped in the morning I felt better.
I woke when voices entered my room. Why were there people in my room? My eyes were open and yet I had trouble focusing. I was so cold I couldn’t stop shaking. I tried to talk, but no words would come out.
“Hush now, dear. She’s burning up with fever.” That sounded like Fenella. Why was she at the cottage?
A deep voice said, “Get the doctor.” Finnegan? He was here too? A warm hand touched my cheek. It felt so good, I moved into it and fell back to sleep.
The weight of my suitcases caused my arms to ache. I didn’t even like her and yet my heart was breaking. She was leaving me; I was unlovable. No one would ever love me. Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone. I can try to be lovable.
“Lizzie, sleep.” I felt heat on my cheek; a soothing stroke that lured me back to sleep.
I woke again. That same deep voice said, “You need to drink water.” A strong hand wrapped around my chin. “Take a little.”
It was cold and felt so good sliding down my throat. “Not too much.”
“I’m thirsty.”
“Sleep.”
It was dark outside when I woke again. I was disoriented and so weak. I tried to climb from bed. “You aren’t ready for that.”
My head jerked, which brought on a wave of dizziness. Brochan sat in a chair across the room. I wasn’t at the cottage. I pinched myself hard. He was still there.
“How am I here?”
“You never showed to paint. I went to the cottage to find you burning up with fever.”
“You went to the cottage. Why?” He didn’t answer. “You were quite determined to see the last of me. Did you heal me so I was of sound mind and body for when you toss me from the window?”
“I’ve spent the last three days keeping you alive, so tossing you out the window is counterproductive.”
The deep voice, that soothing voice was Brochan? What the hell had I said to him in my delirium? “Wait, three days?”
“We didn’t want to give you antibiotics because we weren’t sure if you were allergic, so you had to fight it off.”
I didn’t understand why he was the one caring for me, but he was. “Thank you.”
He studied me for a few seconds before he added, “You remind me of Brianna.”
Was he making amends? Putting us back on even ground? That didn’t seem to fit with the man everyone believed him to be.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“A little.” He stood and stretched. “I’ll have some soup brought up.”
“Why are you helping me?”
“Because Brianna would want me to.”
“Who was she to you?”
“My conscience.” He walked out before I could ask him to clarify that odd comment.
Fenella brought me the soup. I didn’t eat much before I fell back to sleep. When I woke in the morning, I was still weak but I felt much better. She settled next to me on the bed and handed me a cup of tea. “You look better.”
“I feel better.”
“I Googled you. Your work is beautiful, but haunting.”
“A little piece of me is in my work.”
“I think I’m sorry to hear that.”
I sipped on the tea. “Brochan cared for me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I think you remind him of Brianna.”
He had said that. Then it dawned. “Brianna died in the cottage, didn’t she?”
“Aye. Brochan was there.”
“He loved her.”
“He did, but he would never admit it. He believes emotions are a weakness. He doesn’t like having weaknesses.”
“Where is he?”
“He postponed a job to care for you. He left a little bit ago. I don’t expect him back for a few days.”
“What does he do?”
She grew oddly quiet. “I don’t rightly know.”
She knew, or suspected, but she wouldn’t share. That was interesting. It definitely wasn’t a nine to five job. I was curious.
“He said I could paint.”
“Yes. He had your supplies brought over. They’re in the garage, in a cart attached to a tractor to make it easy to get to and from.”
That was unexpectedly thoughtful.
“He offered you this room while you’re working.”
“I’m going to take him up on that. The mood strikes at odd times, it will be nice to be here to work when it does.”
She took the cup from me. “You look like you could use more sleep.”
“I’ve been sleeping for days, but I am tired.”
“The flu can do that. Rest, lass.”
I settled back under the covers as my eyes grew heavy. “Thank you.”
“Sweet dreams.”
My bare feet made no sound on the stone floors as I ran, my heart pounding behind my ribs. I glanced back feeling him growing closer even as I pushed myself to move faster. Fear trapped the scream in my throat. I ran, but I went nowhere. There was no escape. I was going to die. He made no sound, but the hair at my nape stirred. He had found me. I turned to face him, to force him to look me in the eyes. He was clenching a knife so tightly in his hand the knuckles were white. Blood was smeared across his cheek, soaked into his sweater. He moved with slow but determined strides as he closed the distance between us. Those pale eyes were lifeless when he lifted the knife.
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 was 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.”