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.”
She twisted her head. Temper burned behind those eyes now. She didn’t like being told what to do. I almost smiled. “Thank you, but I was looking into staying at the Inn.”
“You’re here already. There’s plenty of room and you want to be here. That…” I gestured to her painting. “Is proof.”
I’d hit it on the head. We both knew it. She got points for not arguing, for not letting pride overrule common sense. “Thank you.”
I turned to leave and winced. My fucking side was on fire.
“Are you okay?”
“Aye.”
She didn’t believe me, but she didn’t push. She got points for that too.
LIZZIE
“I can’t believe she’s doing this. Unbelievable, but tell me what you need.”
Cait wasn’t just my agent; she was my go to for everything. She had contacts everywhere. It would be easy for her to get the info on my father. He wasn’t someone found in the yellow pages. Numbers to his company sure, a direct line to him was harder.
“I want to cover all bases, so I would like to talk with my father.”
“You want his help.”
“Yes.”
“What makes you think he’ll help you?”
“I don’t, but I do know there is no love lost between him and my mother.”
“Fair. Okay, I’ll get you his info.”
Curious as to what was causing the noise in the courtyard, I looked outside. “Holy shit.”
“What?”
The sight that greeted me was completely unexpected as was my body’s response to it. Several places stirred to life, damn near throbbed. Brochan was chopping firewood, but it was the sight of him in his faded jeans and white tank, more specifically the muscles of his shoulders, chest and arms accentuated from his efforts. And I had said the man wasn’t beautiful. He glanced up; I jumped out of sight.
“What is it, Lizzie?”
My heart was pounding and not for having gotten caught staring. It was impossible not to be intrigued by the man. He was so reserved and mysterious and undeniably dangerous. Even knowing better, warning myself to stay away, I was on the slippery slope of attraction. A sure dead end when the recipient was the poster child for unavailable.
“Lizzie?”
“I may have failed to mention I was painting scary, sexy man’s house.”
“No way.”
“Yeah, it’s a magnificent castle, Cait, and the image coming to life on the canvas is my best work yet.”
“I can’t wait to see it, but what does that have to do with your holy shit.”
“I’m staying at his place while I’m working. Convenient, plus now that I’ve been kicked from the cottage, a lifesaver.”
“Unusual for you, but makes sense. Still not seeing the connection.”
“He’s currently in the courtyard, chopping firewood.”
“Ah…that nice?”
“Yeah.”
“Get his picture.”
“We’re not teenagers, Cait, I’m not taking the man’s picture unbeknownst to him.”
“Fine,” she huffed, just like a put out teen. “I’ll get the info on your father.”
“How’s Ethan?”
Her voice went soft. “He’s wonderful. He’s taking me away for the weekend.”
“Oh, well don’t worry about getting my father’s info now then, it can wait.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“As soon as I get back.”
“Where are you going?”
“He’s surprising me.”
“Sweet. I want to hear all about it when you get back.”
“Deal. Talk soon.”
“Have a great weekend.”
I dropped my phone on the table. I tried to resist the urge to look out the window, but I did. Brochan wasn’t alone. A woman stood with him. His household staff was over forty people, though I never saw any of them except Fenella and Finnegan. It was like they moved through the walls or something. The woman was likely one of them, but it was the familiarity between them that suggested there was something more to their relationship. It wasn’t my business, so I tried to put the sight of them out of my head as well as the pinpoint of jealousy it stirred.
The castle was so big a person could seriously get lost in it. I think I was lost. I was exploring because how often does one have access to a medieval castle? I was curious about what Brochan did for a living to afford such a place, hitman and werewolf aside. No one talked about it, like at all; the one time I brought it up, the normally chatty Fenella acted like she’d had her tongue surgically removed. His business trip after I was sick only lasted three days and when he returned he was even more withdrawn than usual. Not that I knew the man very well, but I was an observer and he was a subject I found I couldn’t help but observe.
I found a back staircase, narrow stone steps that spiraled deeper into the castle. I ran my hand along the cold, stone walls to keep my balance. My heart raced because I was envisioning a torture chamber somewhere in the bowels of the castle. Or a dungeon.
The lower I went, the darker it grew. I should have brought a flashlight. I hadn’t thought about electricity but it was unlikely the place was wired down here or if so, very little because who would actually come down to this part voluntarily? I doubted even Fenella’s staff cleaned here.
I had just reached the bottom when the hair at my nape stirred. I wasn’t just cold, I felt anguish, as if the cruelties inflicted here lingered, saturating the stone…becoming part of the structure and the legacy. Who had lived here and what unspeakable acts had they performed that it still resonated so strongly all these centuries later?
Then I heard the mournful cry, like an echo from the past. I ran all the way back upstairs.
BROCHAN
I didn’t usually bring work home, but the fucker shot me. I had a gun to his head at the time, but I missed his gun. That pissed me off, more so because I was distracted thinking about a certain houseguest. My next punch broke his nose.
“Dylan Daniels sends his regards.”
The man’s face paled. It should. Dylan’s sister was on life support after this jackass hit her, driving after having consumed his body weight in alcohol. He walked away from the crash without a scratch. Walked out of the trial with a mere hand slap because his father had connections.
I grabbed his hand and broke his finger. “I can’t abide fucking drunk drivers.”
He didn’t look pretty when I was done with him. I reached for the gun from the waistband of my jeans. Leveled it at his forehead. His eyes went wide in fear. I squeezed the trigger.
Pulling out my phone, I called the cleaners. I glanced down at my hands, the bloody and busted knuckles. It wouldn’t do for my guest to see me like this.
Finnegan knocked about twenty minutes later, escorting the cleaners. He gave me not even a glance before he offered, “We’ll handle this. Perhaps you should clean up.”
“Where is our guest?”
“Last time I saw her, she was heading to her room.”
The loch wasn’t too far and the moon was still rather full. “Thank you, Finnegan.”
He nodded then got to work. I never understood why he was so accepting of what I did. Maybe I should ask him. I strolled upstairs and out the door off the kitchen. I moved through the woods, knew the way easily in the dark. I took it often enough. Light from the moon danced off the calm surface. My gut twisted, slight but undeniable…the remnants of abuse lingered decades later. Finlay and his baptisms, it took me years and relentless discipline to overcome my knee-jerk fear of water. He laughed, the asshole laughed as I coughed up the water to open my lungs, but it was the look in his eyes that had been terrifying. He hadn’t wanted me to cough up that water.
I kicked off my shoes and reached for the back of my shirt. A tickle between my shoulder blades told me I wasn’t alone. My pulse pounded and my cock grew hard. Miss Danton. Something about those innocent, wounded eyes and the images she created. She stirred me in a way I never felt before and I was feeling reckless enough to ignore the trouble fucking her would bring. I stripped then turned. I’d been hunting long enough to easily track a prey. My gaze shifted in her direction and for a second I stared into the darkness knowing she was out there watching me. Part of me wondered if she would admit to watching if I called her on it. In my experiences, lying came too easily to people. Honesty was rare and that truth calmed the restless beast that wanted her. And I did want her. I’d be a fool to not admit it. I’d be an even bigger fool acting on it. I dove into the cold water. It felt like thousands of needles pricking me at once. I liked the cold. It reminded me I was alive. I felt when she left. I ignored the persistent whisper in my head that she made me feel alive too.
Returning home, I showered then headed to the library for a nightcap. I expected to see Miss Danton, since she seemed to like the room as much as I did. The library was empty. A fire was roaring. I had Finnegan to thank for that. Moving to the small bar in the back, I poured two fingers of whisky and downed it. I was just pouring another when Fenella entered.
“Would you like something to eat? You missed dinner.”
“No, thank you.”
“Lizzie missed dinner too.”
“Perhaps she’ll want something in her room.”
“I’ll ask her when she gets back.”
I stopped pouring and looked at Fenella from over my shoulder. “Gets back?”
“I was just in her room to turn down her bed and she isn’t there. I thought she might be in here.”
It was cold out and growing colder. I left the glass and headed out of the library. “Get some blankets and hot tea ready. I think Miss Danton is out in the woods.”
“At this hour. What on earth for?”
“She followed me to the loch.”
“In the dark.” She hurried from the library. “I’ll get right on it.”
LIZZIE
I was still shaking when I reached my room. I was being fanciful, but that mournful cry in the dungeon really sounded like a banshee or some other mythical creature. A werewolf? No, that was ridiculous and yet I wasn’t as successful dismissing the thought as nonsense. It was an old castle; who knew what horrors happened in the dungeon back in the day.
I walked to the window and pushed it open. The cold air felt really good on my flushed face. The moon was still almost full, the ethereal light it cast made the forest around the castle seem almost magical. I saw the shadows move; Brochan was heading into the woods. I glanced at the clock. What was he doing in the woods at this hour? More curious than was healthy, I hurried out of my room and down the stairs. Once outside I had to look up at the tower to get my bearings before I followed in the direction he had been going.
It was cold. I should have grabbed a jacket. It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust and still I wasn’t sure how I managed to walk through the forest and not trip over something. I wasn’t walking long when the trees thinned to reveal a lake. My feet just stopped. There was magic in these woods. It was beautiful; definitely something I needed to see during the day. The moon was bright, reflecting off the surface of the lake, which made it very easy to see Brochan on the other side of it. He kicked off his shoes, reached for the back of his shirt and pulled it forward over his head. I should walk away and give the man privacy, but he dropped his pants and I couldn’t get my feet to move. He was all muscle, like he was carved from marble. It took effort to get a body like that, to keep a body like that. My focus had been on his ass so when he abruptly turned, I got an eyeful as my body warmed and a throbbing started between my legs. He was hard. I thought it shrunk in the cold. I pulled my gaze from his cock to his face to find he was looking right at me. A chill moved through me. He couldn’t see me, so how did he know I was here? For a beat or two we stared across the distance at each other and then he dove into the water. That snapped me out of it and I turned and hurried away. He knew I was watching him. I tried to reason to myself there was no way he knew I was there, but somehow I knew he did. How embarrassing. So distracted getting caught being a peeping Tom, I got turned around. It was cold, I was lost and it was too dark to see anything. Unlike at the lake, the trees blocked out the light of the moon. I couldn’t even see the turrets to the castle because the trees were so tall. I walked around for what felt like an hour but the view didn’t change. Dense woods. Fear stirred because what lived in these woods? My pace picked up as my imagination ran away with all manner of threats, including werewolves. I almost cried in joy when the trees thinned out ahead. Hopefully Brochan was still swimming. I didn’t even care my showing up would confirm I’d been watching him. He knew the way home, but more importantly he was scarier than anything we might meet in these woods. It wasn’t the lake though. I stepped into a circle; the trees had long ago been cut down. What remained were eight stumps about ten feet tall. I approached the closest and saw the carvings. I couldn’t make them out, but someone had done carvings into the tree trucks. It looked to be some kind of ceremonial circle. I wondered if Brochan knew of this place and what it was? Interest shifted to worry because it was really cold; I couldn’t stop my body from shaking. Was it possible I could die out here? Would they even find me before the animals started feasting? Continuing on seemed stupid, so I sat down and rested up against one of the carved trees.
I entertained the idea of calling for help, but the thought of large predators roaming the forest kept me silent. My teeth started to chatter and the shakes now were uncontrollable. I pulled my legs up to my chest. I had read once when freezing it was important to keep your torso warm, to keep the blood flowing. It hadn’t felt this cold earlier. Just how much did the temperatures drop at night?
The sounds of the forest kept me company and I wondered what type of animals or insects made the various noises. There was music in their sounds, a harmonious song that soothed some of the fear away. Until I started thinking about those same insects crawling up my legs, down my back or in my hair. I was too cold to move, but now that I put that unpleasant thought in my head I was certain I felt little legs crawling over my skin. I could be sleeping in that lovely bed right now or in the library curled up by the fire. Suddenly the sounds of the woods silenced as if someone hit the off switch. A predator was out there, and knowing my luck, I was what it hunted. What would it be, a bear or a wolf? What Scottish man-eater was going to feast on me this evening? I should have stayed in my room and even thinking that, a part of me wouldn’t have missed seeing Brochan stripping by the lake. It was a nice way to leave the world, with that image burned into my brain.
Brochan stepped into the circle and I nearly wept in relief. Watching him move, yeah, he was definitely a predator. At that moment, I could even believe he was a hitman. He moved with grace, that long, strong body eating the distance between us. I was happy to see him, but that quickly turned to wary because he looked pissed.
“What the fuck are you doing out here this late?”
Self-preservation screamed that I confess the truth. “I followed you.”
He yanked me from the ground and roughly pulled the jacket on me that he carried, but it was warm so I didn’t protest.
“I saw you from my bedroom window. I was curious.”
He had the most intense glare. It was like kryptonite, I was powerless against it. The truth kept tumbling out. “Before I could make myself known, you started to strip.”
His brow rose.
“I should have left then, but…”
“But what?” Was he enjoying my discomfort? I swear it looked like his mouth tilted up slightly.
Don’t say it. Don’t say it. “I’ve only painted a few nudes, but your body is definitely one I’d love to paint. You’re exquisite.” My shoulders slumped. I said it. I blamed the cold.
He didn’t reply, but he did lift me into his arms effortlessly. He was strong, but he was also warm. I curled into him.
“You just got over the flu. Are you trying for pneumonia?”
“I got turned around.”
“Easy enough to do.”
“What is this place?”
He didn’t even glance around as he headed out of the circle and back into the woods. He also didn’t answer me.
“Do you often skinny dip at night?” And if so when and what time? I wanted to add that to my calendar.
“Yes.”
“It’s kind of cold to go swimming.”
“It’s a form of discipline.”
“Is that important to you, discipline?”
“Yes.”
“The woods stopped talking.”
He glanced down at me like I’d lost my mind.
“Before you showed up, there were sounds from animals and insects but they stopped when they sensed you. I’m not convinced you’re a werewolf, but you are definitely the scariest predator in these woods.”
Why the hell did I say that?
His reply was so low I almost didn’t hear it. “You would do well to remember that.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
Those pale eyes landed on me, but what brew behind them I couldn’t say.
“You’re scary, intimidating too, but I know a kindred spirit when I see one. Life hasn’t been very kind to either of us.”
I was feeling tired, so I rested my head on his shoulder. Maybe I was imagining it, but he seemed to hold me closer. The rest of the walk back was in silence.
Fenella was waiting for us in the library. Brochan set me down on the sofa and taking the blanket from Fenella, he roughly wrapped it around my shoulders. I smiled at the gesture. He glared then walked to the bar in the corner.
“Oh dear. You’re an ice cube.”
“I got lost in the woods.”
“Why were you in the woods?”
“I followed Brochan. I was curious what he was up to so late at night.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Did ye think he was going to shift into something?”
“I wasn’t sure. That or maybe he was offering a sacrifice.”
She chuckled, “The town is filled with superstitious nitwits.”
Brochan returned and pushed a glass filled with an amber liquid in my hand. “Drink.”
I blamed the cold, it froze the section of my brain that handled impulse control because I took the glass from him and said, “You aren’t going to get me drunk, big boy. I can hold my liquor.”
Twenty minutes later I was seeing double. Fenella brought in a tray of hot soup and tea. Brochan sat in the chair across from us, staring into the fire. He was sexy and that feeling I was trying to run from grew stronger.
Fenella handed me a cup of soup. I asked, “There’s a circle in the woods. Do you know what it is?”
“A circle? Oh with the trees. No, I don’t.”
“There are all kinds of mystical things here, aren’t there?”
“Many, though some are imagined,” Fenella replied.
“Like werewolves?” My eyes darted to Brochan, who was now looking at the whisky in his glass.
“Yes, like werewolves.”
Thanks to the alcohol, I had a loose tongue and I almost mentioned the conversation with Tomas, but talking about it gave it more meaning.
“Well, I’m off to bed.” Fenella practically jumped from the sofa. I wasn’t the only one to find her departure sudden because Brochan looked up at her too. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” She all but ran from the room.
“That was weird.” I glanced at Brochan who was watching me, but I didn’t know what he was thinking. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the setting, most likely it was the man, but I was feeling a little reckless. Don’t go there. I stood. “I think I’d like a book.”
I strolled around the library, chancing glances at him. He had reached for his own book, one that was on the table by the fire. Looks were deceiving because he appeared both calm and at ease, but I’d bet money he was like an engine revving, just waiting to take off from the starting line. He wore power and danger like a second skin.
I found a book, flipped to the end but didn’t like it, so put it back and reached for another. I read the endings to four books before I found one I liked.
“What are you doing?” Brochan was no longer reading. The book rested in his lap and his focus was on me.
“Reading the ending.”
“Before you read the book?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“If I don’t like how it ends, why would I waste my time reading the whole book?”
“If you know the ending, why bother to read the story?”
“Because a book is a journey. The ending is only part of that journey.”
His brow rose.
“What? It’s like life. Where you end up isn’t as important as how you got there.”
“I have never before heard that logic used for books.”
“But it makes sense. Doesn’t it? You’re thinking about reading the ending to that book…” I gestured to the one on his lap. “Aren’t you?”
“I already know the ending.”
“Ha! See.”
He lowered his head but not before I saw the grin. My heart stopped, what a sight. We spent the next few hours reading…together, sort of. It was nice.