Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
“See? I told you he wouldn’t stay in his room. See? I told you,” Fiona said, pointing to the window.
At first Ceana couldn’t make out exactly what she was seeing: a corner of a curtain, perhaps, or a bit of laundry falling from the window. Then she realized it was a rope made of some material, perhaps sheets. As she watched, two shoes came into view, then a pair of trousers.
“He’s going to the grotto.”
“He’s going to kill himself,” Ceana said, standing and estimating the distance to the beach.
Fiona shook her head. “He’s done it before.”
Just then Carlton’s face came into view. Her nephew grinned at her, an expression reminding her of Virginia’s smile, just before he glanced down and his look changed to terror.
“Where’s the grotto?” Ceana asked, her voice rough with urgency. She’d heard of Drumvagen’s grotto but had never seen it. “Show me, Fiona. Now!”
Her niece slid from the settee, grabbed her hand and pulled her from the parlor, racing down one of Drumvagen’s corridors.
They came to a closed door, but Fiona opened it without hesitation, revealing a library that was probably Macrath’s domain and forbidden to his children. She would have to make her apologies after she’d saved Carlton.
Fiona ran to the bookshelf.
“There’s a latch up there,” she said, pointing to the second shelf from the top. “Can you see it?”
She could.
“Pull it down and then pull the bookshelf out. It leads to a passage to the grotto.”
She turned. “Aren’t you coming, Fiona?”
The girl shook her head. “No, it’s too dark.”
She wasn’t fond of the dark, either, or things lingering there, like bugs and snakes and vermin. But she had Carlton to think of. How horrible would it be for Macrath and Virginia to return from Edinburgh to find she’d been present at the death of their child?
The darkness was nearly absolute, leaving her no choice but to stretch her hands out on either side of her, fingertips brushing against the stone walls. The incline was steep, further necessitating she take her time. Yet at the back of her mind was the last image she had of Carlton, his bright impish grin turning to horror as he glanced down.
The passage abruptly ended in a mushroom--shaped cavern. This was the grotto she’d heard so much about, with its flue in the middle and its broad, wide window looking out over the beach and the sea. She raced to the window, hopped up on the sill nature had created over thousands of years and leaned out.
A naked man reached up, grabbed Carlton as he fell. After he lowered the boy to the sand, he turned and smiled at her.
Carlton was racing across the beach, glancing back once or twice to see if he was indeed free. The rope made of sheets was hanging limply from his window.
The naked man was standing there with hands on his hips, staring at her in full frontal glory.
She hadn’t seen many naked men, the last being her husband. The image in front of her now was so startling she couldn’t help but stare. A smile was dawning on the stranger’s full lips, one matched by his intent brown eyes. No, not quite brown, were they? They were like the finest Scottish whiskey touched with sunlight.
Her gaze danced down his strong and corded neck to broad shoulders etched with muscle. His chest was broad and muscled as well, tapering down to a slim waist and hips.
Even semiflaccid, his manhood was quite impressive.
The longer she watched, the more impressive it became.
What on earth was a naked man doing on Macrath’s beach?
To her utter chagrin, the stranger turned and presented his backside to her, glancing over his shoulder to see if she approved of the sight.
She withdrew from the window, cheeks flaming. What on earth had she been doing? Who was she to gawk at a naked man as if she’d never before seen one?
Now that she knew Carlton was going to survive his escape, she should retreat immediately to the library.
“You’d better tell Alistair his brother’s gotten loose again. Are you the new governess?”
She turned to find him standing in the doorway, still naked.
She pressed her fingers against the base of her throat and counseled herself to appear unaffected.
“I warn you, the imp escapes at any chance. You’ll have your hands full there.”
The look of fright on Carlton’s face hadn’t been fear of the distance to the beach, but the fact that he’d been caught.
She couldn’t quite place the man’s accent, but it wasn’t Scottish. American, perhaps. What did she care where he came from? The problem was what he was doing here.
“I’m not a governess,” she said. “I’m Macrath’s sister, Ceana.”
He bent and retrieved his shirt from a pile of clothes beside the door, taking his time with it. Shouldn’t he have begun with his trousers instead?
“Who are you?” she asked, looking away as he began to don the rest of his clothing.
She’d had two children. She was well versed in matters of nature. She knew quite well what a man’s body looked like. The fact that his struck her as singularly attractive was no doubt due to the fact she’d been a widow for three years.
“Well, Ceana Sinclair, is it all that important you know who I am?”
“It isn’t Sinclair,” she said. “It’s Mead.”
He tilted his head and studied her.
“Is Mr. Mead visiting along with you?”
She stared down at her dress of unremitting black. “I’m a widow,” she said.
A shadow flitted over his face “Are you? Did Macrath know you were coming?”
“No,” she said. “Does it matter? He’s my brother. He’s family. And why would you be wanting to know?”
He shrugged, finished buttoning his pants and began to don his shoes.
“Who are you?” she asked again.
“I’m a detective,” he said. “My company was hired by your brother.”
“Why?”
“Now that’s something I’m most assuredly not going to tell you,” he said. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Mead. I hope to see more of you before I leave.”
And she hoped to see much, much less of him.
She heard the conversation halfway back up to the library. To her surprise, however, the door was shut tight. At the top of the passage she fumbled in the dark for the latch, wishing she’d made note of it before descending to the grotto.
“If you move,” he said directly behind her, “I’ll open the door for you.”
She jerked, startled by the sound of his voice so close. How had he crept up on her unaware?
“Where do you suggest I stand?” she asked.
His hands on her shoulders surprised her. She almost brushed aside his touch, but he was trying to help, so she allowed him to guide her to the far wall.
The total darkness was disorienting. He smelled of the sea and sun--warmed skin and was entirely too close.
“There,” he said, bending low, so near she could feel his breath on her forehead. “Just stand there for a moment.”
“You’re an American,” she said.
“You sound Irish,” he said. “But if you’re Macrath’s sister you should be a Scot.”
“Would you please open the door,” she said. And move away, please.
He chuckled as if he’d heard her unspoken words, turned and engaged a latch she still couldn’t see.
The door swung open to reveal four surprised -people.
Alistair evidently hadn’t been told where they’d disappeared, Brianag scowled at her, and Macrath and Virginia both looked amazed as she exited the secret passage behind the stranger.
“Ceana!” Virginia reached her and, in a flurry of silk and warmth, enveloped her in an embrace. “Dearest Ceana, what on earth are you doing here and how glad I am to see you.”
The second person to embrace her was her brother. He did so in such an exuberant manner, it left no doubt about his welcome.
“It’s about time you came to Drumvagen,” he said, stepping back. “Where are the girls?”
“I left them at Iverclaire,” she said, knowing she’d have to tell him the whole story. Or tell Virginia, which was the same thing.
“Bruce,” he said, reaching over to shake the hand of the stranger. “I see you’ve met my sister.”
“She’s met your youngest as well,” the stranger said, laughter bubbling up in his voice. “I’m afraid I had to rescue Carlton once again. He climbed out of his window and was heading for disaster.”
Virginia’s hand went to her lips. “Oh no.”
“Thank you,” Macrath said.
“You might want to put an iron bar across the window. Or move him so that his window doesn’t overlook the beach. It seems to be a temptation.”
Macrath only nodded. Bruce left the room, leaving the four of them standing there. Brianag glared at all of them before she, too, departed, mumbling about uninvited guests.
“I should have sent word,” Ceana said.
“Brianag is getting up in years and she’s been testy of late. I apologize for the rudeness with which you were treated.” He glanced toward Alistair, who evidently had told his father about her arrival. “Drumvagen is known for its hospitality, and I’m sorry you weren’t shown that.”
Virginia wound her arm around Ceana’s.
“Let’s go and make sure you are made welcome,” she said. “And then I want you to tell me everything happening in Ireland. And Iverclaire.”
Oh, dear, that would be a tale, wouldn’t it?