Heather Graham - The Presence

“Stupid idea,” he murmured hotly, looking at the fire again.

“It’s not a stupid idea!” she protested. “You saw how the people came.”

“The locals will never enjoy such a spectacle.”

“Maybe not, but the shows aren’t intended for the locals. They will help the economy all around, don’t you see that? People who come to the castle for the history, the splendor or even the spectacle will spend money in other places. It will be good for local stores, for restaurants … for everyone around.”

“I don’t agree,” he said, fighting the rise of his temper again.

“Then you’re a fool.”

“Oh, really?”

“Indeed, a blind fool!” She turned toward him, no longer ashen, passion in her voice, fire in her eyes. “You saw those people when they left here! They were thrilled. And they loved Scotland. Don’t you want people to love your country?”

“Not a mockery of it,” he told her.

“I told you, we’re not mocking it!” She shook her head, growing aggravated. “Others give tours of the closes and graveyards in Edinburgh. People are fascinated. We like to think that we’ve come far from doing horrible things to one another, even under the pretext of law. We’re not saying that the Scots were especially brutal, we’re explaining that it was just a different time!”

“Voyeurs!” he said roughly, waving a hand in the air. “And that’s Edinburgh. A big city. We’re talking about a small village here.”

“It’s hard these days to buy a castle in the middle of town,” she said sarcastically.

“Many people don’t want to be reminded of mayhem and murder,” he said.

She let out a sigh of exasperation. “Don’t you ever do anything for fun?” she asked him. “Have you ever seen a movie? A play? Gone to the opera?”

He looked at the fire again. “The point is, this is a small, remote village. It could be a dangerous place for tourists to wander.”

“Dangerous!” she said dismissively.

He felt tension welling in him.

“There are forests, crags and bogs. Hillsides. Crannies and cairns. Places where the footing is treacherous at best,” he said. “Places that are remote, dark and, aye, believe me, dangerous.” His own argument sounded weak even to him.

Maybe he was a fool for being so suspicious, wary … when he need not be. But the lasses were gone, were they not?

Gone. Two of them. Found dead. Here.

“What are you talking about?” she demanded.

He had no intention of trying to explain what had happened, or why he was so concerned. Even Jonathan Tavish thought it was a problem for others, for big-city authorities. After all, the women had not disappeared from here. They had just been found here.

“Antoinette Fraser,” he said suddenly, determined to change the subject. “So … your father was Scottish, or Scottish-American?”

“He was half, but born here. His dad married during the war. On his side, my grandmother was French. My mother was Irish.”

“Was?”

“I lost her my first year of college.” “I’m sorry.” “Thanks.” “And your father?”

“I lost him, too,” she said softly. “A few years ago. His heart gave out. I think that he missed my mother, actually.”

“I’m sorry again.”

“Thanks.” She hesitated, then asked, “If you are the laird, then …?”

“Indeed, my parents went together. An automobile accident in London.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“Thank you,” he acknowledged. “It was over a decade ago, now.”

“You still miss people,” she said.

“Indeed, you do.” He didn’t want the two of them growing morose together, so he brought a small smile to his lips. “Still …” he murmured.

“What?”

“You couldn’t have bought a castle in Ireland, eh?”

She halfway smiled, but her eyes flashed. He realized that he had been breathing in her scent. She really was a stunning woman. Brilliant as an angel one second, claws extended, blue fire in her eyes the next.

She shouldn’t be here.

He looked at his brandy glass again and swirled the liquid. “The truth of the matter is, I didn’t rent this castle to anyone. I do own it, and you are trespassing.” He added the last very quietly, and swallowed more of his brandy. The warmth was delicious.

She was quiet for a moment, then said, “I’ll admit to having the sinking feeling that we were taken by a British scam artist.”

“Might have been an American. They are here, you know, in vast numbers.”

Ah, yes, that goaded her temper again. Was he doing it on purpose? Enjoying the rise of her breasts, the flash in her eyes? Wondering what it would be like to suddenly strike a bargain for total peace, draw her in front of the fire and find some real truth in those generous, sensual lips?

“If something was pulled off, it was done by someone over here,” she said vehemently.

He realized that he was actually enjoying watching her trying to control her temper.

“You’ve got to understand! We’ve sunk a fortune into this!” she told him.

“Aye, that I do believe. I’ve seen the work.”

She frowned, staring at him. “How do you know exactly what I made up?” she demanded. “You didn’t ride in until … well, it was almost as if you’d ridden in on cue!”

“I’d meant to stop it before it started,” he told her. “Eban had heard you rehearsing, and though he was pleased with all the work being done, he wasn’t pleased to hear the family slandered.”

“But you said the story I made up was true!”

“I never said that Bruce MacNiall strangled his wife.”

“She did disappear.”

“She disappeared from the pages of history.”

Lightning suddenly filled the sky again, followed with rocketing speed by thunder that caused the castle to shake. Startled, Toni let out a little scream, jumping to her feet. Seeing him, she flushed, lost her balance in her attempt to regain her seat quickly and toppled over—directly into his lap.

Long elegant fingers fell against his bare chest. The silky soft sweep of her hair caressed him. Warm and very solid, her scent, that of lavender soap and femininity, caused an instant physical reaction in him that he prayed wasn’t evident through the sheer fabric of his pajama pants.

“Oh, God! I am so sorry!” she swore, struggling to get up. Trying to brace against his knee, she missed. Her flush deepened to something of a painful crimson, and her apologies came out in a garbled stream.

“It’s all right!” he expelled, plucking her up, setting her on her feet and remaining vertical himself. “It’s very late. If you’re sure that you’re fine …”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she said, looking toward the window. He had the strange feeling that she was expecting to see someone there. Or that she was afraid that she would.

“You know, I’m not exactly tired, but I can see that you are. Go to sleep. I’ll get the newspaper and study the pages here, in this chair. That way, if you have a nightmare about me being in your room, you won’t panic, because you’ll know that I’m here,” he said.

“I’m a big girl. Really,” she told him.

“I’d rather read the paper than fall asleep to another scream,” he told her.

“It’s all right,” she said, tossing back a length of hair. “I don’t want you to feel that we’re any more of a burden than you already do.”

“So go to sleep,” he said.

“I won’t scream again, really.”

“I’m going for the paper,” he told her.

When he returned, she was still standing there uncertainly. There was a conflict of emotions in the deep blue of her eyes. She obviously wanted to tell him to jump in a lake, but she was doubting her own rights. For her own sake, and that of her friends, she didn’t want him as angry again as he had been when he had first arrived.