CHAPTER SIX
LIZZIE
The area between my shoulder blades tingled again. I’d been feeling that same sensation for the last week. I had the distinct impression someone was watching me, but whoever it was might as well be a ghost because I never saw them. Maybe it was a ghost; maybe it was Brianna. She had said she’d be stopping by often for a visit. The thought made me smile.
I studied my painting. I was behind the cottage and though there were endless images I could have captured—her gardens, the hills, the cottage itself—I found it was the woodpile that stirred my creative juices. The wood was weathered, several seasons from the look of it. Long, green grass grew around it. I guess weed whacking wasn’t big here. And mushrooms, those beige and brown mushrooms that popped up when it was particularly wet, grew on many of the logs. It struck me as whimsical and had I been home I likely wouldn’t have looked twice at the pile, let alone paint it, but in this setting I could imagine the sprites that called the woodpile home. And as I painted, I painted those sprites. Delicate, iridescent wings, long, willowy bodies and bright eyes in colors like purple, pink and green. My work was usually dark, a vein of sadness weaved through the images that though beautiful were also tragic. But this, it was light, almost hopeful. And I realized as I studied the happy image I was bringing to life that the weight of sadness I’d carried since I was a child wasn’t so heavy here.
Birds took flight from within a patch of trees, as if they’d been scared off. Likely an animal, but I was feeling fanciful so I called out. “Aunt Brianna?” It was shockingly easy to hold a one-way conversation with a ghost. “I painted sprites. I don’t paint sprites. My work has always run toward the dark, but not here.” I touched a leaf on one of the trees, emerald green with veins forming a pretty pattern. I’d have to bring my sketchbook out later to capture a few of them. My thoughts turned a bit melancholy. “She was wrong to turn her back on you. She was wrong to ignore your wish to reconcile, but thank you. I’ve never felt home, not anywhere, but I do here. Clearly, since I’m painting sprites. I wish you were really here. That we could actually have this conversation, that I could hear your laugh and see your smile. I missed that, we missed it, but your photos paint your picture so beautifully.” I hadn’t expected the tears. I wiped them away; today was a happy day. “I should probably get back to painting before someone happens along and sees me talking to myself. I’ll hang this painting in the living room, over the fireplace. It belongs here.”
“Miss Danton.”
I jumped ten feet in the air then spun around while cursing, “What the hell.”
The curse ended abruptly when I saw who the intruder was. Brochan McIntyre. What was he doing here? If he was contrite for scaring ten years off my life, I couldn’t tell. He strolled toward me then around me to study my painting. He glanced from the canvas to the woodpile before those pale eyes landed on me.
“Brianna would have liked that.”
I joined him in front of the canvas, studying my work with a critical eye but there was nothing I would change about it. It was different from my usual work, it was enchanting.
My focus shifted to him. “Why are you here?”
His answer intrigued me. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want something to drink? Tea?”
“I never much cared for the stuff.”
“Whisky?”
“That I’ll take.”
We moved inside. He stood by the fireplace in the living room while I got our drinks. After handing him his, I settled on the sofa. “You knew her.”
“Aye.”
“Did you know my mother?”
“No, but I’ve heard stories.”
“You’re wondering which one I’m like.”
He turned to me then. There was absolutely no inflection in his tone. “Her dying wish was that I show you kindness.”
“Why?”
“You were her kin and she was forever seeing more to me than there is.”
Somehow I doubted that. From all that I’d heard Brianna called it like she saw it.
“Knowing my mother, you have to be wondering if I’m here to take advantage. In your shoes, I would be wondering the same.”
“Are you?”
“No. I’m here because I spent my life being alone, so to learn I actually had family who wanted to get to know me. How could I not come?”
“And the inheritance?”
I’d be angry at what he implied, but he was looking out for Aunt Brianna, showing the side of himself that he insisted didn’t exist. “I make a good living. I don’t need her inheritance. I’d have come if she lived in a box by the river.”
He drank the whisky in one long swallow then placed the glass on the table. “I’ve kept you long enough.” He started for the door but stopped when he reached it. I thought he intended to say something else, but he didn’t. I sat on the sofa as the door closed quietly behind him wondering what the hell that had been about.
Danny from the auto shop gave me a loaner car. It had been two weeks since I arrived in Scotland. I spent part of the day working, the light had been perfect, but I couldn’t get those gates out of my head. There was something about them, mysterious for sure, but also forlorn. Were they once the grand entrance to a castle that now lay in ruins while Mother Nature reclaimed her land? I hoped the gates were open so I could find out. Halfway to my destination, the loaner car started spilling out black smoke, the engine started knocking then it just died. My cell had died; I had forgotten to get the adapter. I sat in the car and watched as gray clouds came rolling in. There was nothing to do but walk. I hoped the weather held out until I reached my destination. The words were barely out of my mouth when lightning flashed then thunder rumbled seconds before the rain. I was soaked to the skin almost immediately, but I was drenched when I reached the black iron gates. They were open. Dense woods lined the long drive, with some trees so tall they would have blocked out the sun had it been visible. The canopy provided a relief from the rain. The lane widened and my feet just stopped. It was dark, the rain was coming down in sheets, and still I had never seen a more beautiful sight. Tucked within the pine trees that surrounded it was a castle, one that was definitely not in ruins. It felt as if I’d stepped into the pages of a fairy tale, as if the castle had sprouted up right along with the trees. I had never seen anything more beautiful. The stone was red, like the color of faded terracotta. Hundreds of glazed windows, chimneys and turret towers came together in stunning harmony. My feet propelled me forward, but it wasn’t shelter and a phone that motivated me, it was awe. There was a cobblestone path that wrapped around the castle, right on the edge of the forest. The back was whimsical with the castle and its surroundings blending harmoniously together, the front was landscaped and meticulous, the wild vegetation tamed back. Emerald green lawns stretched out in the distance and a circular drive, with a stunning marble fountain, greeted visitors. A turret that was only missing Rapunzel rose up to the clouds. Two urns, larger than me, spilling over with flowers, flanked an exquisite mahogany door. It was the most welcoming entrance I’d ever seen. What looked like newer construction sat on the far side of the courtyard, a twelve-car garage that I had no doubt was filled because why else build it. The design kept to the original style of the castle and blended in beautifully. I fell in love. I knocked, I needed to call for a tow, but I wanted to see the inside. Would it be as magnificent as the outside?
An older man pulled the door open. Dressed formally in a black suit, I had the distinct impression he was the butler. He glanced at me, then behind me at the rain before he stepped back. “Come in.”
As soon as I stepped inside, my breath caught in my lungs; it was even more beautiful on the inside. A small staircase brought you down into what I could only assume was the great room. The intricately detailed plastered ceiling was three stories up, the walls were a muted gold on top and a patina cherry wood on the bottom. The floors were the same cherry, more brown than red and old. Chunky furniture was arranged around the enormous space creating little clusters. The floors were partially covered by old rugs in bold colors. Massive crystal chandeliers ran down the length of the room. A grand staircase rested against the right wall.
I realized the butler stood stoically as I gawked. I pulled myself together. “My car broke down and I don’t have a cell. Could I use your phone?”
A woman wearing gray trousers and a pale pink sweater set appeared from one of the halls. “You are soaked to the bone, you poor dear. You need a shower and some hot tea or soup.”
What? No. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary. Could I just use your phone?
The butler hadn’t moved. The woman pushed past him. “Finnegan, make yourself useful and put on the kettle.”
On second thought, tea sounded nice. Something warm; I was quite cold.
“The laird.”
The woman turned to the butler and put her hands on her hips. “Do you think he would rather she die from a cold on his front steps.” She didn’t wait for a reply, escorting me toward the grand staircase. I wanted to see more of the castle, but I was a stranger. They were strangers.
“I’m sorry for intruding. It wasn’t my intention. I drove by the gates when I first arrived in town and I was very curious what lay behind them.”
She continued up the stairs. “The white room is the closest. You can shower there.”
A shower? Getting naked in a stranger’s home? She didn’t know me, why would she offer that?
“I’m a stranger off the street. I could be a serial killer.”
She stopped midway up the stairs and turned to me. “Are you?”
“No…are you?” It was reasonable to ask because she was being awfully nice about it, almost luring me in with kindness. Was there an elaborate torture chamber in the basement, complete with a creepy man in black leather and a mask? I almost turned and ran down the stairs.
“Not the last time I checked.”
“Is it like a national custom to invite rain-soaked strangers into your home for a hot shower and tea?”
“If it isn’t, it should be. You’ll catch a cold if you don’t warm up.”
She had a point. “You’re very kind. Thank you.”
Pleased that I acquiesced, she continued up the stairs.
“How many rooms are in the castle?”
“One hundred and forty-five.”
A hundred and forty-five rooms, imagine the heating bill. “Are they all named?”
“No, but the name is fitting for this one. ”
She pushed open a pair of hand carved wooden doors. She was right; it was fitting. The white room was stone, a pale stone made up the walls, the vaulted ceiling and the floor. In the middle of the room was the largest bed I’d ever seen. The bedding was white, the window treatments were white. The bedside tables were white. The only color came from the paintings on the walls, bold and stormy paintings.
“I feel like I’ve just stepped into a fairy ring, it’s too beautiful to be real.”
“It’s real all right. Takes forty of us to keep this place going.”
“Are you sure about me taking a shower? I don’t want to get you in trouble with your boss. I can call for a tow and wait with the car.”
“He’s not home and even if he were, he wouldn’t turn you away on a night like this. You just worry about getting dry and warm. I’ll worry about the laird.”
“Thank you. I’m Lizzie.”
“Fenella, ’tis nice to meet you, Lizzie. There’s a robe in the closet. When you’re done, leave your clothes in the bath, one of the parlor maids will retrieve them. The kitchen is at the other end of the great hall.”
The door closed behind her and for a few seconds I didn’t move. I was standing in a Scottish castle, in a room fit for a princess. I wished I had my phone. Cait was never going to believe it. I moved to the window, the rain pelting against them, and caught a glimpse of the almost full moon in the early evening sky. I thought of Brochan. If he were a werewolf, his night was coming. I smiled at my silliness then felt the chill so hurried to the bathroom. Stone sinks, pewter faucets, a huge glass shower and even a crystal chandelier, elegant yet modern. I peeled my clothes off and climbed under the hot spray. It felt so good. I hadn’t realized how cold I was until the soothing heat touched my skin. I could have spent an hour in the shower, but I kept it to a few minutes. After I dried off and donned the robe, I made my way to the kitchen. The scent of something delicious wafted down the hall. Fenella looked up when I entered, but she frowned instead of smiled.
“Your face is flush.”
“It’s colder than I’m used to.”
“Let’s get some warm soup into you.”
“It smells delicious.”
“Potato, leek, mushroom soup. I also have tea.”
“You’re very kind.”
“Highland hospitality,” she said with a smile. “Where is your car? I’ll call a tow truck.”
“About two miles toward town, a green car. I don’t know what kind.”
“I’ll be right back. You finish your soup.”
She returned shortly after. “Your clothes will be dry soon enough. Would you like to see the library? It is one of my favorite rooms.”
“Can I help with cleaning up?” She looked horrified, like my offer was a scandal. “Absolutely not. While your clothes dry, you can curl up in front of the fire and read.”
That idea sounded lovely. “Thank you.”
I could live in the library, two stories of books wall to wall on three of the four walls. A spiral ladder to get to the second level, library ladders to reach the higher shelves. The windows went from floor to ceiling; a huge stone fireplace that was large enough for me to stand in took up the fourth wall.
“I would never leave this room.”
“Aye, it’s beautiful. Keeping the books dust free is a never-ending job. We’ve one parlor maid whose only job is this library.”
I supposed that made sense because once she finished the room, the books she started with would be dusty again.
“Enjoy,” Fenella said before she disappeared.
Discomfort faded as I walked the perimeter on both levels; it was an eclectic library of rare books, classics, textbooks, how-to books and best sellers. I selected a current New York Times best seller I’d been wanting to read and curled up on the sofa. I lost track of time. A sound from the hall startled me. Glancing up, I was surprised to see it was dark outside. My clothes still weren’t done. It wasn’t just the heavy footsteps approaching, but the warning that moved down my spine and froze me in place. A large shadow appeared in the doorway and I gulped down a cry of panic. It moved farther into the room and I realized it was a man, a very large man. With how the room was laid out I didn’t have a great view of him, but I could see he was dressed in a tuxedo. He headed for a small bar set up at the far end of the library as he pulled his tie off and flicked open the top few buttons of his stark white shirt. Pouring two fingers of something, he studied the liquid in his glass, and then he emptied it in one swallow. He placed the glass on the table and started walking out. Recognition hit even before those pale eyes turned to me. Of all the castles in the entire world, I found myself in his library. What were the odds? I didn’t gamble, not ever, but maybe I should.
“Lizzie Danton. May I ask why you are in my library?”
I stood, clutching the book like a lifeline. “I passed your gates when I first arrived and I had to see what was beyond them.”
“Why?”
It was a simple enough question but outside of curiosity, I didn’t know why his gates in particular held my interest. “I honestly don’t know.”
Those pale eyes moved down my body taking in the fact that I wore only a robe. “Where are your clothes?”
“Drying. The loaner car from the garage died halfway here. Then it rained.”
“The rental car died too?”
“Yes, I’m a car killer.” He had a reaction to that, but what he was thinking I couldn’t say. Again he didn’t move and yet something in his expression seemed to soften. I put the book on the table and hurried to the door. “I’ll get out of here.”
“Fenella will have already prepared a room for you. The lane will be impassable with this rain.” Said with the same amount of enthusiasm one would have when going in for a colonoscopy. He didn’t want me here. I couldn’t really blame him. I was the crazy lady who danced on the side of the road and spoke to cows—the woman related to Norah—so seeing me curled up in his library was surely not a sight he liked.
I thought he was leaving but instead he turned and pushed his hands into his pockets. “Why are you here?”
“In this library or Tulloch Croft?”
“Both. Did someone send you?”
“No, well Mr. Masters told me of Aunt Brianna, encouraged me to visit.”
Temper flashed in his eyes. “Doesn’t explain why you’re in my library.”
“I explained that.”
He pulled something from his pocket and slammed it down on the table. “Explain that.”
Fear trickled down my spine. Had Tomas been right about Brochan not being right in the head? The man was acting crazy. I looked down at what he demanded I explain. Fear gave way to curiosity. I drew that, the gates to his home. My eyes jerked to his face. “How do you have that?”
“I watched you draw it. Why the fuck are you drawing the gates to my home? Who the fuck sent you?”
He might be crazy, but he was pissed too. Did he think I was here to steal from him? Or lure him in with my charms so I could get my hands on his home? That was insulting, but I was here uninvited and he knew enough about my mother to wonder if I was like her. “I didn’t know you lived here. Like I said, I saw them when I first arrived and they caught my attention. I’m an artist. I paint. Those I want to paint.” More curious than was wise I added, “Why do you have that?”
He didn’t answer and instead asked, “You mentioned you didn’t know you had an aunt. How is that possible?”
“My mother is a vindictive bitch.”
“She’s a cunt.”
“You do know her. I didn’t know I had an aunt because my mother dumped me at boarding school when I was ten so she could move across the country and start over. She only had me to get to my father, when that failed she cut her losses. I’m sure it never occurred to her to ask Aunt Brianna if she wanted me. Or maybe it did and she is just such a bitch she wanted us both to be alone. I really don’t pretend to understand Norah.”
His lips formed a frown. “And your father?”
“She trapped the man into marriage by getting pregnant. What kind of relationship do you think we had with me being the child that bound him to her?”
“Why did you let Tomas’ car slide down that slope?”
The swift subject change was dizzying and for a second I was confused until I remembered he had been there. He would have seen me staying silent as Tomas’ car rolled into a situation that took several hours to remedy, or so I heard. Not my finest moment and yet I had no guilt about it. I wasn’t sure I liked what that said about me. To him I replied, “I’ve had a lot of experience with bullies. He was being one.”
“Bullying you?” His voice was clipped, as if he was angry.
“No. You. The town talks about you. I’m sure you know that, most just curious and a little afraid. They have the oddest notions, so ridiculous they’re comical, but Tomas was being cruel. He called you touched. I absolutely cannot abide bullies. He deserved to have his truck caught in that mud.”
“What else did he say?”
It was how he asked that, like a snake toying with his prey before he went in for the kill. Fear bloomed again. “That I should stay away from you.”
“You should stay away from me,” he warned before he walked out of the room.
He was probably right and yet I found myself intrigued. From all accounts, Brochan McIntyre was a loner and yet I was standing in his castle, invited, however reluctantly, by the werewolf himself. Yes, I was definitely intrigued.
I returned to the white room to find a nightgown resting on the bed along with a new toothbrush. I changed, brushed my teeth, then pulled back the heavy comforter and climbed in. The bed was comfortable and warm. I fell asleep instantly.
I didn’t know what woke me, but the navy sky was turning purple and red as the sun started to rise. I dressed and went in search of Fenella. She was in the kitchen, the heavenly scent of something wafting toward me.
“Morning, lass.” She turned then frowned. “Are you feeling okay?”
I wasn’t. My throat hurt and I felt a little lightheaded. I was coming down with something. “I’m okay. Thank you so much for letting me spend the night. I’m going to head back.”
“I’ll let the laird know. He can give you a ride.”
Despite my feelings from last night, reality returned with the sun. I was a stranger in the man’s home, one that was fed and given a room. I still couldn’t believe how kind they had been about it. I didn’t think the same hospitality would be extended in the States, but maybe I was wrong. Either way, I was a little embarrassed to be here and I definitely wanted to be gone before the laird stirred. Not to mention, I had the sense he thought I was my mother’s daughter and that pissed me off.
“No, that’s okay.”
“It’s a long walk.”
“I like walking.” And I did. It helped me think and it brought inspiration.
“Will you have some breakfast first?”
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.” I glanced around the modern kitchen of a medieval castle and couldn’t help the smile. “It really is a wonderful place.”
“Maybe you’ll come back.”
“I’d like that.”
She wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m sorry for your loss, lass.”
“You knew Brianna?”
“Aye, she was a good woman.”
“Brianna knew Brochan, didn’t she?”
“Aye, one of a very few that did.”
There was a part of me charmed that the stoic Brochan hadn’t been able to resist Aunt Brianna’s charismatic personality, but there was another part of me irritated because he knew Aunt Brianna, so why did he assume I was like my mother and not her? Whatever. Curious though I asked, “Did you know my mother?”
“Aye.”
It was how she said it, yep she definitely knew Norah. “The expression the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, that doesn’t apply to Brianna and Norah.”
“Nor you and your ma from what I can tell.”
The smile lit up my face. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
She laughed; she thought I was joking. I wasn’t.
“I’ll show you out.” She gestured to the door. “There is more to him than meets the eye.”
I suspected that was a huge understatement. “I have no doubt.”
We reached the door and she held it open for me. “Enjoy your walk.”
“Thank you.” I crossed the threshold but glanced back at her. “I’d love to paint this castle. Maybe your laird would consider it. I’d gift the painting to him. I have a website, some of my portfolio is on there. He can also Google me.”
“Why would you do that?”
I glanced out at the woods that hugged the property and the juxtaposition of the tamed and tended gardens that butted up against that wild beauty. “Because when I walked down that lane yesterday it quite literally took my breath away.”
“I will pass on the offer.”
“Bye, Fenella.”
“See you soon, Lizzie.”