Lonesome Rider and Wilde Imaginings Page 12

  She had gone on. Baltimore was a wonderful city, and she had used her love of languages and American history to forge a career as a specialized tour guide in nearby Washington, D.C. She loved her work, loved history and loved the way that the former continually allowed her to delve into the latter. It had been when she was taking a group of new politicians through the White House that she had met Brandon McKee, Kentucky’s newest, youngest, freshest congressman.

  She closed her eyes for a moment. The helicopter crash that had taken Brandon and several other promising young men hadn’t been even three years ago. Sometimes she still felt numb. Sometimes she simply felt as if she had been alone forever. Friends told her she was insane to still be grieving, to be in mourning. It wasn’t that. She knew that she was young, that she had a lifetime ahead of her. It was just that after Brandon, it was so hard to meet anyone she really wanted to become involved with in a romantic way.…

  And so she had been drifting. Working. Fixing up her house. Going through the motions. Then the solicitor had come, telling her about that great-grandfather she had never known existed. Darryl Evigan might never believe it, but she really didn’t care if there was nothing in the will for her at all except some kind of a token, perhaps. Coming here had been important. The questions her mother had left behind had plagued her for a long, long time. She was blessed with many friends, good friends, but her life had still seemed empty.

  The trip here had been like wiping a slate clean and going back to the very beginning, all in one. And it was already proving to be fascinating, she thought with a wry smile. Now the world seemed full of mysteries. Just what was it that Jane Evigan had not been guilty of?

  And who was the handsome villager who had determined to be such an enigma, sweeping her from the station and setting her down at the castle—to Darryl Evigan’s vast surprise?

  She smiled, rising from the water at last and wrapping herself in the giant white bath towel that had been left for her. She stepped before the mirror over the sink, picking up her brush and starting on her wet hair.

  She frowned suddenly, certain that she heard a noise from the bedroom.

  “Who’s there?” she called out sharply.

  There was no answer. She set the brush down carefully and tiptoed into the bedroom, hoping to catch the intruder in the act of intruding.

  But the bedroom was empty.

  “It’s a castle, and it’s a dark and stormy night!” she told herself out loud. Then she dressed quickly, suddenly realizing that she was starving.

  Besides, her long lost and very distant cousin was waiting for her downstairs.

  When Allyssa came down, Darryl was waiting for her. He was sipping a brandy, staring idly at the fire. He looked up and smiled as soon as he heard her coming into the great hall.

  “Well, you look a good deal refreshed. However, you still must be exhausted from the trip. We’ll eat quickly, then you can make an early night of it.”

  “That sounds lovely. Thank you for being so considerate.”

  “Come on, then. I’ll show you the family dining room.” He walked across to where she stood near the foot of the stairway and offered her his arm. She accepted, thinking that she liked the way he was dressed for supper, not fussily, but handsomely, in a tweed jacket and a tailored shirt, but open-necked, and casual fawn trousers.

  He led her into a room that opened off the great hall to the left. It had apparently been a passageway at one time, she decided, but it had been a very broad passage. Now a more intimate table than that in the great hall—one that would seat eight, at the most—had been set near one wall. The decor had been continued from the great hall, though. Swords and coats of arms covered the walls, along with a very old and handsome tapestry between two windows.

  “Well, what do you think?” he asked, seating her.

  “I’m impressed.”

  “And just think, we’re quite small, as far as castles go.”

  He sat across from her at the warm mahogany table. Plates had already been set before them, and even as they sat, Gregory seemed to melt out of the stonework to wait on them. He poured wine, then reappeared almost immediately with serving dishes of fish and lightly seasoned vegetables. The food was delicious. Darryl was tremendously entertaining, describing the building of the castle in the late thirteen hundreds and the life of the village today.

  “It is an interesting phenomenon,” he murmured, sipping his wine. “We Evigans survived off sheep all those hundreds of years ago, and we’re still surviving off sheep. Of course, things were very different then. There were servants by the score, and, I do assure you, the financial possibility of that has long since passed us by.”

  “I really hadn’t thought about it,” Allyssa murmured. “It must be difficult to keep the place up.”

  He shrugged. “In past years, we sold off land when the going got rough. But we’re coming to the end of that option, if we want to stay in business at all.”

  Allyssa edged a piece of broccoli around on her plate. “Did changing times bring all this about? Or was Paddy a poor businessman?” She set her fork down and leaned across the table. “Was he a tyrant? What was he like? Whatever happened that made my parents leave this place and never even mention that it existed?”

  He lowered his lashes quickly and seemed to be fighting some inner struggle. Then he stared at her hard across the table. “Yes! Paddy was a tyrant. He wanted to dictate to people, and he never wanted to give them anything. He could have turned the estate over to your father—or to mine!—but no, he couldn’t do that, he had to hold on to power, and to whatever money there was. It was his way of keeping people in line.”

  Allyssa lowered her lashes quickly, startled by his outburst, and torn by it. She was sorry for Darryl, living beneath the iron-fisted rule of a dictator.

  But she was sorry for her great-grandfather, too. Had no one been with him to love him when he died?

  And what about her mother’s dying words?

  She sipped her wine, trying to sound as casual as she could. “Why did my parents leave? Do you know?”

  “I wasn’t even ten years old when they went,” he said softly. “And you—you were just a little bit of a thing. Just turned three. Even then, you had your own little pony. I remember you on it. You were just as stubborn as you could be, and everyone in the place bowed down to you almost as deeply as they bowed to Paddy!” He smiled, taking the sting away from the comment. “You were beautiful then,” he said softly. “But you’re far more beautiful now.”

  She flushed uneasily. The compliment had been spoken with a deep sincerity. “Thank you. That was very sweet.”

  “You don’t remember being here at all?”

  She shook her head. “Not a thing.”

  Gregory materialized again, bringing them coffee and delicate little cakes. Allyssa chewed gingerly on hers, not hungry anymore, but fascinated to learn whatever she could from Darryl.

  “So I lived here until I was three?”

  “You did.”

  She smiled. “Were we friends?”

  “The best. And you didn’t even recognize me.”

  “Did you recognize me?”

  “I must admit, I did not.” He smiled, his fingers curling over hers where they lay on the table. She felt a sense of warmth enveloping her. It was comfortable.

  But just a little bit uneasy, too.

  She withdrew her fingers and sipped the last of her coffee. The caffeine wasn’t doing a thing for her. “Will you tell me more tomorrow?” she asked him.

  “Whatever you want to know,” he assured her. “But you had best go up and get some rest.” He stood, then came around politely to pull out her chair before offering her his arm again.

  “You know,” she murmured, “you really don’t have to see me upstairs.”

  “I’ll just see you to the stairway, then.”

  And he did. He walked her to the stairway, then touched her chin lightly with his knuckles, raising it. “Welcome home, cousin.
It’s good to have you here.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  His lips just brushed her forehead. She turned from him then and hurried quickly up the stairs to her room. She entered quickly, closed the door behind her and leaned against it, eyes shut, breathing deeply. He was a very handsome man, and a charming one. She had been hurting for so long, and now she had come here, to a strange country, where it was so easy to accept the comfort he was offering. It felt nice, but she didn’t really want more.…

  How could she know what she wanted? She’d only been here one evening.

  “Ah, girl! ‘You were beautiful then. But you’re far more beautiful now.’ What a crock, I daresay!”

  Allyssa’s eyes flew open in amazement as she heard the words.

  Dear God. He was there. The impostor who had swept her up from the train station on his black steed to bring her to the castle.

  There! Right there in front of her. Casually stretched out on her bed, his arms behind his head, fingers laced together, while he relaxed comfortably on a pillow. Thick, inky dark hair slightly askew and rakish over his forehead, black lashes heavy over the half-closed eyes with which he observed her.

  Later she would tell herself that she should have had the good sense to be frightened, except that she was instinctively certain that he did not intend to harm her. She strode over to him, fists clenched tightly at her sides, and stared at him.

  “Who the hell are you, and what in God’s name do you think you’re doing in my bedroom?”

  His wicked hazel eyes opened wide. “Your bedroom?” he inquired politely.

  “While I am a guest here, this is my room!”

  His eyes narrowed again quickly. “I warned you. You must take great care while you’re here.”

  “And I’m warning you—you had better get out of my room before I scream. Loudly!”

  He smiled, and she backed away just a bit as he coiled his taut-muscled form and prepared to rise. She really wasn’t afraid of him. It was just that he was awfully good-looking. Wickedly so. Like a pirate from an old-time movie. He certainly had the power to mesmerize her, because she should have screamed by now.

  And yet she hadn’t.

  He stood before her, his hands on his hips once again.

  “Out!” she commanded.

  “Ah, yes, Allyssa, my love! I’m—”

  “I’m not your love. And you’re a deceitful wretch, whoever you are! If I catch you in here again—”

  “What?” he asked, taking a step nearer.

  She lowered her voice to a warning tone. “I don’t know what your game is! Do you work for Darryl? If so, be warned! I’ll tell him—”

  “Alas! So you’ve come so close to him so easily! ’Tis true—there’s no fool like a woman!”

  “Thank you. Thank you very much. You’ve called me a fool and laughed at the idea that I might be beautiful. If you’ll just—”

  “Oh, no!” he said softly, huskily, coming closer. He took her hands in his, and still she didn’t scream. She merely stared into the glittering hazel of his eyes as he murmured, “I didn’t laugh at the idea at all. I find you very, very beautiful! I’m dismayed that you fell so easily under the spell of a man such as Darryl, that and nothing more.”

  She pulled her hands from his quickly. “Out!” she whispered. She couldn’t listen to such things, not when she was living in her distant cousin’s household, not when he had been so kind. She really didn’t know why she didn’t scream and have this offensive charlatan thrown out of her room.

  Maybe because she doubted whether anyone she had seen in the castle—including Darryl—would be capable of throwing him out.

  She rubbed her wrists, staring into his eyes. Then she hurried past him, walking toward the bathroom. “I don’t know who you are or just what you’re after, but I want you out of my room. Now!”

  She stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her, then stood very still, listening. But she didn’t hear anything.

  Damn! He’d looked very casual and comfortable on her bed! And to think the English were supposed to be more conservative than Americans!

  Comfortable …

  And dry, she thought. How curious. He hadn’t changed clothing, but his hair and clothing had dried after the rain and the mist had dampened them both.…

  Well, she had left him quite some time ago. He must have spent his time in front of a fireplace.

  Right. Hers.

  No, he had spent some of his time spying. He had repeated Darryl’s comment to her, word for word.

  And he wasn’t leaving! She hadn’t heard a sound, not the opening of a door, not the closing of it—nothing.

  She threw the bathroom door open. This was it. He could leave or she would have him thrown out, even if she had to phone the police herself!

  But when she threw the door open, she discovered that he had gone. Silently.

  She walked across the room uneasily. Yes, she was alone.

  Still uncertain, she threw open the doors to the armoires. She looked under the bed, then sat on it, baffled.

  He was really gone.

  She leaped up and ran to the door, bolting it securely. Then she changed for bed and crawled in beneath the cool clean sheets and warm down coverlet. Who was he? What was he doing …?

  The question would plague her forever, she thought.

  But in fact it wouldn’t. Jet lag very quickly got the best of her, and she slept.

  She awoke to the loud and discordant strains of an argument. A fierce one.

  For a few minutes the noise was only an undercurrent in her sleep. Slowly the sound became more definite, and she realized that she wasn’t dreaming, that she was really hearing voices.

  She leaped up and unbolted the door, opening it a crack. Yes, she could hear the argument. Darryl was involved. So was someone else. A male someone else, judging from the deep, husky tones that drifted her way.

  She bit lightly on her lower lip, trying to make out their words. Despite how loudly they were fighting, she couldn’t quite do it.

  Then the noise level suddenly dropped. They were still arguing, but someone must have reminded them that she was sleeping upstairs. The argument was still going full steam ahead, just at a lower level.

  She closed her door thoughtfully, trying to remind herself that she didn’t really have anything to do with this place.

  But she did. It held the answers to the haunting secrets of her past.

  She rushed into the bathroom, quickly brushed her hair and teeth and applied a lick and a promise of makeup. She slid into her blouse and skirt, then hopped across the room in her hurry to slip into her shoes. She threw open the door quickly, hoping that the argumentative stranger would still be there.

  He was. The argument was ensuing. It had something to do with sheep and land and the historic trust, she thought, hurrying down the stairs.

  They were both at the table in the great hall. Darryl was at one end, facing her. She quickly saw that his handsome face was taut with anger.

  She couldn’t see the visitor at first. He was standing at the other end of the table, staring at Darryl. All she could see was a set of very strong, broad shoulders and a cap of ebony dark hair. And she could hear his voice, strong and irritated.

  “It’s not half so difficult as you imagine. It’s the way of the new world, and if we can’t be reasonable and rational and get with it, it will all be over for everyone involved!” the stranger stated angrily.

  “I want no part of it!” Darryl retorted. “How much plainer can I be?” He must have noticed Allyssa then because his eyes were suddenly riveted on her, and he pushed back his chair, standing. “Allyssa. Well, we did manage to awaken you. I’m so sorry. But now that you’re up, you might as well meet Brian Wilde.”

  “Brian Wilde?” she murmured. She remembered the name. Brian Wilde. Along with Darryl and herself, he was the last of Paddy’s surviving kin. But he didn’t live in the castle. The solicitor had told her that he l
ived in a hunting lodge not far away.

  The man at the end of the table moved quickly and impatiently to meet her. “So you’ve come back, Allyssa,” he said. Then he was staring at her, and she gasped softly. He was the man who had come for her last night.

  He was the dark, haunting stranger at the train station.

  The man who had been in her room—and on her bed.

  “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” she whispered.

  He frowned, staring at her. “What?”

  “Why didn’t you—” she began, then stopped, staring at him in return. He was going to deny that he had met her anywhere, she realized.

  “Why didn’t I what?” he demanded.

  What was he doing? For the moment she would play it his way, but she meant to find out what was going on.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  He stared at her as if she were insane, his hazel eyes very intense, golden in the firelight. “Everything must be a question to you,” he said. “I’m sure you can’t remember very much. You were what? Three?—when you left here, and now Darryl has reintroduced us. All these years. Imagine. Not a word from you. But now you’re here. For the reading of the will. How lovely.”

  He thought it was anything but lovely, from the sound of his tone. She almost felt as if she had been slapped.

  But he didn’t give her much time to reply. “I am truly sorry to have awakened your guest, Darryl. I’ll leave you both to your happy reunion. I’ve work to do.” He started out the door, pausing, his eyes raking her up and down. Then he walked past her and was gone, slamming the door sharply behind him.

  “Allyssa, his behavior is atrocious. I can only apologize for him—” Darryl began.

  But Allyssa shook her head, already in motion. “It’s all right. Just a moment. I have a word to say to him myself!”

  She raced after Brian Wilde, catching him just before he could mount a tall roan horse awaiting him on the old bridge.

  “Wait!” she commanded, running up to him. She must have done so with a certain authority, because he stopped, watching her darkly as she approached. “You son of a bitch!” she snapped. “How could you do it? Last night, picking me up, appearing in my room—and then pretending you’ve never seen me before.”