Chapter 8 Tag #2
An hour later, Glenshadow came into view—my family seat rising from the landscape like something from another era.
The stone walls and arched windows of the fifteenth-century monastery my ancestors had claimed and converted had remained mostly unchanged since medieval times.
On the other hand, the interior had been updated on numerous occasions.
The estate spread around it, thousands of acres where I raised cattle and tried to forget that my real work involved killing people for the Crown.
“It’s beautiful,” Leila said quietly, surprising me.
“It’s been in my family for three hundred years. The monastery itself is older.”
“A sanctuary turned fortress.”
“Something like that.”
I watched as she took in everything as we descended—approaches, exits, defensive positions, potential infiltration points. Even exhausted, she was professional. Always thinking, analyzing, preparing.
When we touched down on the east lawn, Mrs. Murray, my housekeeper, stood at the main entrance despite not knowing exactly when we’d arrive.
The woman had an uncanny ability to sense when I was coming home, even unscheduled.
She’d been with my family for forty years and had practically raised me after my mother left.
“Mr. MacTaggert, welcome home,” she muttered in an accent thick with disapproval as she took in our disheveled state.
“Apologies for the lack of notice, Mrs. Murray. This is Miss Nassar. She’ll be staying with us. Could you prepare the Blue Room for an extended stay?”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Leila raise a brow.
“Of course.” Mrs. Murray greeted her with surprising warmth. “You’ll be wanting something to eat after your journey, miss. I’ll have food sent up while you settle in.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Leila said, earning another smile from my housekeeper.
“We’ll be using my study as an operations center,” I said when I saw Douglas, my estate manager and head of security, approach. “We’ll need the historical archives brought up from the vault—everything related to the monastery’s history and regional surveys.”
“Right away, sir.”
“This is Miss Nassar. She and I will be working together for the next few weeks.”
This time, rather than raise a brow, she smirked, knowing full well I’d baited her.
I’d chosen the room I asked be made ready for two reasons.
First, while it was one of the monastery’s original chambers, it had been expanded over time but still maintained its contemplative atmosphere.
It had high ceilings with exposed beams, windows overlooking the loch, and walls that had heard centuries of prayers but now would witness something else entirely.
Second, as was specified in the old architectural plans, it was adjacent to my own suite, connected by a door that hadn’t been opened in decades.
“This is lovely,” Leila said when I led her upstairs to see it. She set her bag down, then moved to look out the windows.
“When you’re ready, my study is downstairs, second door on the right past the main staircase.”
“I’ll need an hour or so to prepare.”
“Take your time,” I said, leaving and heading to my own rooms to shower and change.
As I stood under the hot water, memories of Leila and me in the bath, her naked body relaxed against mine, played in a loop that included the sounds she’d made when we made love, the scrape of her nails on my back, and the hardest part, the way she’d sobbed when I held her in Dunravin’s kitchen.
After dressing in jeans and a thick sweater to ward off the winter chill, I made my way downstairs to my study.
The room was perfect for our purposes—not the grand library with its soaring ceilings and thousands of volumes, but my private space where I handled estate business and the more discreet aspects of my work.
It had a biometric access panel, large oak tables for spreading documents, and multiple exits, including the main door, French doors to the garden, and if you knew where to look, access to the old monastery passages.
I pulled out my mobile and rang Con.
“Tag.” My best friend’s voice came through clear. “How is Nightingale?”
“Making the best of a difficult situation.”
“And you?”
“The same.”
“Christ, mate. You’re both idiots.”
I didn’t dare ask what he meant by that. If I did, I’d be in for a lengthy lecture I was not in the mood for. “I’m aware. Listen, are you and Lex available for a briefing tomorrow?”
“Of course. Lex has been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
“Are Ash, Sullivan, and Gus at Ashcroft?”
“Ash and Sullivan are, but Gus is in Edinburgh. I’m sure he can arrange to be back tomorrow.”
“What about Renegade and Archon?”
“They’re in London but can fly up with Viper. Do you want to fill me in on the short version?”
“McLaren’s alive, Con. Or at least, someone with her exact knowledge and methods is active.”
There was silence on the other end, then, “Bloody hell. If she survived that explosion—”
“Agreed. Which is why we need everyone here. Tomorrow.”
“Roger that, and Tag?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let Nightingale disappear again.”
“I won’t.” Even if I had to lock her in the Blue Room and stand guard outside her door. Although knowing Leila, she’d find a way out through the windows or the old passages.
I checked in with Typhon first, then Viper. By the time I finished, Leila was standing in the doorway.
She’d changed into dark jeans and a burgundy sweater that brought out the gold flecks in her eyes.
Her hair was still damp from the shower, falling in waves past her shoulders.
She looked young and vulnerable and beautiful, and I had to force myself not to go to her, not to pull her into my arms and promise things I couldn’t deliver.
“May I come in?”
“Of course. It’s your operations center too.”
She moved into the room, carrying her laptop and tablet, choosing the far end of the table—as far from where I stood as possible while remaining in the same room. The message was clear.
“If we’re doing this,” she said without looking at me, “we do it my way. I control the intelligence flow. You want to see something, you ask. No accessing my tablet, no going around me to get information. Understood?”
“I wouldn’t dream of going around you.”
She glanced up then, frowning at my smirk.
“And I need access to your historical archives. Everything about the estates, the tunnels, the connections between your family, Ash’s, and Con’s.”
“The monastery vault has records going back five hundred years. They’re yours.”
When her eyes met mine and lingered, I wondered what she was thinking, what she might say.
“Talk to me, Nightingale,” I finally said when she didn’t speak.
“The investigation is our focus. Once we stop whatever McLaren and Janus are planning, I’m leaving.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” She stood, moving to the window that overlooked the loch.
The water was choppy today, wind-whipped and gray.
“Because tomorrow, this place will be full of people who know us both. Con, who can read people better than anyone. Ash and Sullivan, who just found happiness and will notice our misery. Your team…”
“They care about the same thing I do. Namely, that you’re safe.”
She returned to the table without acknowledging what I said. “Do you want to see what I found about the tunnel networks, or should we wait for the others?”
“I’d love to,” I said, standing beside her, once again wishing I could put my hands on her shoulders and simply touch her.
“I’m convinced these were never random smuggling routes,” she said, pulling my mind back to the investigation. “They’re infrastructure. Planned, maintained, and expanded over centuries.”
There was a knock at the door that stood partially ajar, and I waved Douglas inside. He carried a large box that, when opened, revealed several books containing monastery records.
“What are those?” Leila asked.
“Glenshadow’s history. We’ll have to dig through them, but according to Sullivan, Fallon Wallace found maps showing tunnels that connect this estate to Ashcroft and Blackmoor, including information suggesting they date back to the Jacobite era.”
“How fascinating,” she said, reaching in to pull one of the heavy books from the box.
“Let me get that for you.”
Leila shot me a look that made me laugh, and I held up both hands.
“Apologies. You’re likely twice as strong as I am.”
“And don’t you forget it.” When her eyes met mine, I caught the first sign of a glint.
We spent the next few hours looking through the books that Douglas continued delivering until darkness fell and Mrs. Murray delivered dinner to the study—stew, fresh bread, and wine neither of us touched.
We ate in silence, the only sounds the crackling fire and rain against windows that reminded me so much of being at Dunravin.
“I should review more files,” Leila said as the clock struck twenty-two hundred.
“You should rest. You barely slept last night.”
She didn’t look up from her tablet. “I’m fine, Tag. Stop hovering.”
I wanted to argue, wanted to insist, but I refrained. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”
“I won’t.”
The dismissal was clear. She gathered her things and left without another word.
I remained in my study, alone, looking at the books stacked on the table. Tomorrow, the team would arrive and we’d dive into the investigation.
I reached for my bottle of whiskey when the bitter irony of it all hit me. I’d won the battle—she was here, working with me. But in the end, I’d lose the war. And the enemy was myself.