Fifteen
“Miss Douglas?”
Tara awoke, blinking up at the housekeeper’s puzzled face.
“Hannah?” Groggy with exhaustion, her neck aching from so long at the odd angle, she eased herself to sit up the chaise. She’d locked the door last night, but of course Hannah had a master key. “What time is it?”
“Just past nine. What are you doing sleeping out here?” Hannah glanced toward the bedroom. “Is there something wrong with the bed?”
“No.” He’d have woken her if he’d returned. “I was—” She cast about, but there were no books nearby that she could claim to have been reading. The breakfast tray Hannah had brought sat on a table nearby. “I just wanted some fresh air. I guess I just feel asleep.”
“I’ll run down and get some honey for your tea.” Hannah shut the window. “What with all the damp night air it sounds like you’re coming down with a cold.”
The hoarseness wasn’t from a cold; likely Hannah knew that too. Tara had to support herself with the door jamb as she headed into the bathroom. She shouldn’t have run all over the house yesterday. But how could she not have?
Her fingers were stiff, shivering she held them under hot water just to get the feeling back. By slow aching movements she got herself dressed in fleece-lined leggings and a long shirt.
She brushed her hair, pulling it up into a ponytail. Her skin was paper-pale, her cheeks and mouth bright with color from the low fever. Purple shadows marred the skin around her eyes but she just didn’t have the energy to apply the layers of concealer and powder it would take to cover the dark circles.
Stopping on the way back to pull a blanket from the bed around her shoulders, Tara lingered at the sitting room windows. The gardens, the woods, the mountains themselves were shrouded in gray mist.
“Hardly looks like spring at all, does it?” Hannah asked, placing the tea cup on the table beside the fainting couch. “Feels like we missed summer and skipped right to fall.”
“Yeah,” Tara murmured, sinking down onto the chaise.
Had so many people at the house made him wary about returning? Or was he somewhere out there in the forest, hurt after all?
The housekeeper brought the breakfast tray, placing it over Tara’s lap.
Hannah lifted the plate’s lid to reveal eggs, biscuits and gravy. “Is it all right? Can I get you something else instead?”
“No,” Tara rasped, wrapping her hands around the cup’s warmth and took a sip of the tea. It helped. A little. “I’m not hungry.”
“You should eat something if you can.” The housekeeper smiled. “What about a biscuit? I brought some plain ones too.”
Likely Hannah would stay, fussing over her, until she ate at least a few bites.
“A biscuit sounds good.”
“Butter and jam? It’s from one of the jars I canned myself.”
Hannah was generous with the perserves, and rightfully proud of it too.
“It’s wonderful.” Tara licked the blackberry sweetness from her lips. “I didn’t know you did canning.”
“William says I should start selling them.” She laughed. “But mainly because I make much more than we can eat.” Hannah hesitated. “It’s all from berries here on the estate—”
“Just send some along for the holidays and we’re square,” Tara assured. “And don’t worry about Brice, he’s the classic example of a dog’s bark and its bite. In fact, I’ve been thinking about the estate. What do you think about turning it into a hotel?”
Hannah was startled. “It never occurred to me that you or Mr. Douglas would want to do something like that.”
“Brice and I couldn’t run it, but maybe with your daughter and her family, you could. If you wanted to.”
“I don’t—” The housekeeper’s brown eyes widened. “I don’t know what to say. Yes, yes, of course we’d want to! In fact, William and I were thinking that once Lydia was here—”
Hannah broke off, her face flushing.
Tara held up her biscuit. “You might want to buy a Bed and Breakfast somewhere?”
The housekeeper gave an embarrassed smile. “I’m afraid you caught us out, Miss Douglas.”
“So that’s what William meant when he said it would be good to have visitors around.”
Hannah gave a shy shrug. “It has always been a dream of ours.”
“I’d like to see that happen here. I’d like you and William to put together some ideas so Brice and I can make a decision soon. What do you think?”
“I think—” Hannah beamed. “Thank you so much for considering us! I’ll go talk to William right away.” She stopped short in the doorway. “Oh—if there’s nothing else, Miss Douglas?”
“Just close the door after you, please.”
“Of course.”
As soon as the door shut, Tara put aside the tray and hurried to the window. She’d seen for herself how Ki’san could melt into the forest, but maybe he had tried to come back. The panel wasn’t opening on this side; maybe it wasn’t opening on the other either.
There was another place inside the house where Ki’san might be safely concealed and waiting for her. But with the panel from her room stuck, the only way she knew to reach that chilling, secret room was from the outside.
She pulled on socks and sneakers and threw on a sweater. She was careful to shut the suite door behind her.
Somehow I’ve got to get hold of Hannah’s master key too.
Brice wasn’t usually an early riser. He preferred to stay out half the night and get up around noon. It was a lucky break to find his door open and the gentleman’s suite unoccupied at nine-thirty in the morning.
Tara closed the doors to the hall behind her and crossed lightly into the bedroom. From above the mantle, the hunters and their hounds bore dispassionate witness to her frantic attempts to pry the panel open.
“Come on!” She hit the wall with her fist, her throat catching in a sob. “Come on!”
“Tara?”
She spun, quickly wiping at the wetness on her face with the back her hand. She hadn’t even heard the doorknob turn. “Hey, Brice.”
“What are you doing in here?” Her brother took a few steps closer, frowning. “Why are you pounding on my bedroom wall like that?”
“I—” She pushed down the impulse to ask Brice to try. “Nothing. I’m not doing anything.”
“Okay, that’s it. Tell me what the hell’s going on.”
“Nothing! I’m just—”
I have to look for him. If he comes up to Rose’s room while I’m out, he’ll see my things there. He’ll know to wait.
“Just getting a little cabin fever from being in the house.” She straightened. “I’m taking a walk in the woods. I’ll be back in about an hour.”
“An hour?” His eyebrows drew together. “You want to walk around, alone, in the woods, for an hour?”
“A drive then.” She rubbed her temple. "I’ll take a drive around the estate.”
“Fine. I’ll get the keys.”
“I don’t need a chaperone!”
“And I don’t need my car wrapped around another tree.” His jaw hardened. “Up to you. We can go walking together or I’ll grab my keys.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “Get your keys.”
He picked up a jacket that had been lying across the chair there and rummaged in the pocket, then held up the set. “Let’s go.”
“You okay?” Brice asked.
Her brother drove slowly along the tree lined dirt roads of the estate. At this speed it would take a good half hour to get all around and back to the house.
“Fine.” She looked out her window toward the woods, watching for some movement, some sign. All at once hopeful and fearful.
Maybe he saw us go. Maybe he’ll know it’s safe to get back into the house now . . .
“You look kind of pale.”
“That’s always been my thing—pale.”
He sighed.
I should distract him, get him talking about something other than what the hell we’re doing out here.
“How was the Hamptons? You never said. And are you still seeing the model?”
He chuckled. “Which one?”
“You should think about finding someone you can get serious about.” She glanced at Brice. “Someone you could marry.”
“Someone I could—What’s with you? Open a hotel, bang on the walls, ready, aim, throw rice at me—”
“I just thought you might want to find someone special.” She tightened her sweater around herself. “Make a home for yourself.”
“We have six.”
“We have six houses, Brice. A house isn’t a home.”
“Book me a suite in Cannes any day. And why are you suddenly obsessed with the caretakers and their family having a home, me having a home, when you’re busy doing a lock-and-load on your passport?”
“I just want you to be happy. You know, carry on the Bryson name.”
He threw her a baffled look. “Who the hell are the Brysons?”
“We are, remember? Our great-grandfather appropriated ‘Douglas’.”
“Sorry, all my shirts are monogramed for ‘Douglas’. Besides, ‘Brice Bryson’?” He grimaced. “Forget about marriage, I’d never get another date. Hey, would you come back from Bora-Bora for the ceremony? I think Cara did a shoot for one of those bridal—”
“Stop! Stop the car!”
Brice slammed on the brakes, the Mercedes skidded to a halt on the dirt road. “What? What’s the matter?”
“I have to—” Tara threw off her seatbelt. “I’m taking a walk.”
“A walk? What the hell is—”
“I’ll be right back.” She opened the door with trembling fingers. “Stay here.”
“Fine,” Brice was already unfastening his own seatbelt. “If you want to walk, we’ll—”
“Goddamn it, I’m your sister, not your child! I just want a few fucking minutes alone!”
She slammed the door shut and threw a quick glare over her shoulder to get Brice, red-faced, to settle back into his seat.
Tara plunged into the woods, her footfalls dampened down by the mist. She ran at the hill straight on, throwing her hands in front of her to grab at the trunks of trees, at branches to haul herself upwards. The chilly air burned in her lungs and she was forced to stop, bent over, coughing until she was lightheaded.
She forced herself on, the blood rushing in her ears as she reached the top.
“No . . .”
Tears burned her eyes as she scrambled down the hill, sliding, catching herself, scraping her palms on the rough bark.
It’s camouflaged. It has to be—
“No, please . . . No . . .”
Her legs heavy, she stumbled across the gray hollow. She knew this gorge, was certain of the hill around it. The ground was hard-packed, utterly untouched. The fallen trees were different; these bore no sign of burning or splintering. They looked as if nothing had disturbed these woods in centuries.
Her knees buckled, the fog muting her sobs as she curled up on the cold earth where his ship had once been . . .