43. Envoys and Houses Arrive
Chapter forty-three
Envoys and Houses Arrive
Mrs. MacLeod taps on the library doorway, shawl around her shoulders, face grim.
“A car is arriving,” Mrs. MacLeod says. “I expected it after hearing the bell.”
“Whose car?” Tristan asks.
“MacGowan.”
“That is not the worst beginning,” Duncan says quietly.
“And second car is behind them. Black Bentley, no crest.”
Tristan’s expression closes.
“Sebastian Ashcroft.”
Mrs. MacLeod takes a step forward. “Miss Monroe, you don’t have to meet anyone today.” Tristan and Duncan turn toward her but she only looks at me.
“You own this place now,” she says. “Whatever they think that means, it means something here too. If you wish them kept waiting, we keep them waiting. If you wish them turned away, Lord Sinclair can look terrifying enough to manage it.”
“I can manage more than look,” Tristan says.
Mrs. MacLeod does not glance at him.
The drive curves beyond the courtyard wall. I can hear wheels now. Tires on wet gravel. An engine. Then another.
My pulse picks up. Tristan hears it and his hand at my back goes still.
I draw in a breath and feel terrified.
Yesterday I thought vampire government was a phrase that belonged in a fever dream. Today actual representatives are arriving at my castle because I accidentally bought myself into a supernatural balance of power.
But something else is under fear.
Anger.
Men, vampires, are making decisions around me. Trying to use me as a pawn for their own goals.
I look at Tristan, watching the drive with controlled violence. Mrs. MacLeod, who has flour on one sleeve and steel in her spine. Duncan, pale and precise and worried. Justin and Liam, standing ready somewhere because this house is family and family holds gates. Murphy presses against my leg.
I straighten.
“Fine,” I say. “We receive House MacGowan.” Tristan’s gaze snaps to mine. “But not Sebastian Ashcroft.”
Duncan’s brows rise.
“Not yet,” I add. “He can wait. Somewhere uncomfortable.”
Mrs. MacLeod’s mouth twitches.
“The outer drawing room has terrible chairs.”
“Perfect.”
Tristan looks at me for a long moment. Then something like pride moves through his expression. Dangerous and beautiful.
“As you wish,” she says.
Tristan, Duncan, Murphy and I wait at the entrance of the castle. The first car now appears through the arch.
It’s a sleek dark vehicle that glides over the gravel like it finds roads vulgar. Behind it, the Bentley rolls to a stop near the gatehouse.
Two men step from the first car. One older. Silver-haired. Tall. Elegant in a dark suit. The other younger, maybe thirty by mortal appearance, with a beautiful face and watchful eyes.
Both look at me first. Not Tristan. I don’t like it.
The older man bows. “Miss Piper Monroe.” My name sounds formal in his mouth.
“Welcome to Glenhaven,” I say, because apparently some deranged part of me was raised right.
Tristan’s gaze flicks to me. I don’t look at him.
The older man straightens. “I’m Hamish MacGowan, head of House MacGowan. This is my nephew, Julian.”
Julian inclines his head. “Miss Monroe.”
Charming voice. Careful smile. He’s beautiful in the way knives are beautiful when displayed properly.
I decide immediately not to trust him.
“Lord Sinclair,” Hamish says at last.
“MacGowan.”
“An eventful week, I gather.”
“Uneventful weeks are a luxury.”
“Indeed.”
There is history between them. Everyone here has history except me, and I own the building. Real estate remains a scam.
Hamish turns back to me.
“We request the honor of introduction. We’re grateful you have allowed it.”
“That depends on what you’re introducing me to.”
Julian’s smile deepens. Hamish’s does not.
Tristan shifts slightly beside me. A warning without movement. I feel it. Hamish feels it too. His eyes flick briefly to Tristan.
“We come respectfully.”
“Then you will be received respectfully,” Tristan says.
Nice. Terrifying, but nice.
I look toward the second car. Its doors remain closed.
“Ashcroft?” I ask quietly.
Hamish’s expression changes, barely.
“Yes.”
“Did you travel together?”
“No.”
“Good,” says Tristan as he steps forward. “Mrs. MacLeod will show House MacGowan to the south drawing room.”
Mrs. MacLeod nods once.
“And Ashcroft?” Duncan asks.
I look at the black car. The rear door opens. A man steps out.
Sebastian Ashcroft is not what I expected. I thought he would look ancient. Or sinister. Or overly polished in that obvious villain way, all cheekbones and black coats and theatrical menace.
He does not. He looks perhaps thirty. Handsome. Calm. Modern navy suit, no tie. Dark blond hair. A charming face made more powerful by something underneath it. He pauses beside the car and looks at Glenhaven Castle first, not me.
As if admiring an acquisition. Then his eyes find mine. He smiles with fake warmth.
I hate him. Instantly.
Sebastian Ashcroft walks toward us with unhurried confidence.
“Miss Monroe, at last.”
Tristan moves before I think. One step, placing him between Ashcroft and me just enough to make the message clear.
Ashcroft stops. His gaze slides to Tristan.
“Lord Sinclair.”
“Ashcroft.”
“I had hoped to offer congratulations.”
“You may do so from there.”
Duncan makes a very quiet sound. Julian MacGowan looks delighted. Hamish MacGowan looks troubled. Sebastian Ashcroft’s smile does not change.
“Of course.”
He turns his attention back to me as if Tristan is simply scenery.
“Miss Monroe, allow me to say how pleased I am that Glenhaven has found such unexpected vitality.”
“That’s a strange way to congratulate someone.”
“I find ordinary phrases rarely suit extraordinary circumstances.”
Smooth. I understand immediately why Tristan warned me. This man could sell poison as perfume.
“Thank you,” I say.
“I had hoped we might speak privately.”
“No.” The word comes from Tristan and me at the same time.
Ashcroft’s eyes sharpen with amusement. “I addressed Miss Monroe.”
“And she’s had enough shocks for one day.”
“I don't recall asking for your medical opinion.”
I step to Tristan’s side.
“I don’t speak privately with men who arrive uninvited at my house.”
Sebastian Ashcroft’s smile becomes more real. Not warmer but more interested. Sebastian now glances at the leather folder beneath Duncan’s arm.
“I see you’ve been busy.”
Duncan says nothing.
“Say what you came to say,” Tristan tells him.
Sebastian removes his gloves one finger at a time and then looks at me. “There are records older than deeds, Miss Monroe. Claims older than human courts. You may find ownership of Glenhaven is a more complicated inheritance than you ever imagined.”
“I didn't inherit it. I won it at auction.”
Julian MacGowan makes a choking sound that is either cough or laugh. Hamish sends him a sharp look.
Ashcroft’s smile holds.
“Indeed. A most modern miracle. It’s your castle now,” he says.
“The deed says so.”
“And do you understand what else says so?”
Tristan’s voice is lethal. “Careful.”
Ashcroft glances at him. “Always. Sinclair, I almost pity you. You created a Keeper position, a vote, that could not be bought, married, or commanded.” His gaze passes briefly to me. “You simply failed to imagine someone else would ever own Glenhaven.”
Then he looks back at me. Murphy stands beside my leg, watching Sebastian with the deep suspicion he usually reserves for vacuum cleaners and men who smell too strongly of cologne.
Sebastian looks down at him.
“Your guardian?”
“My dog.”
“Often the same thing.”
He takes a breath and looks at me again.
“Now, Miss Monroe, the transfer and sale of Glenhaven triggered the succession clause, as I’m sure Duncan has explained. The Houses are invoking their right to recognize—or reject—the new Keeper and Ninth Seat.”
“I have not claimed Tristan’s position.”
“You own the seat from which it derives.”
“I bought a castle.”
“You bought the only neutral territory in vampire law.”
“By accident.”
“The law rarely concerns itself with intent.”
Duncan’s mouth tightens. “That is exactly how this was arranged.”
Sebastian turns toward him. “You’ve discovered that much.”
“I’ve discovered enough.”
“Have you now?”
Duncan steps closer. “Three Houses helped finance the sale.”
“Indirectly.”
“Someone among the Houses wanted ownership transferred.”
Sebastian Ashcroft says nothing.
“Mrs. MacLeod,” I say, keeping my eyes on Ashcroft, “please show House MacGowan to the south drawing room.”
“Yes, Miss Monroe.”
“And Mr. Ashcroft can wait in the outer drawing room with the terrible chairs.”
Mrs. MacLeod’s face remains perfectly blank.
“Yes, Miss Monroe.”
Ashcroft looks amused. “Terrible chairs?”
“I’m told they build character.”
“I have a great deal of that already.”
“Then you’ll survive.”
“It won’t be necessary to show me anywhere. I’ll take my leave. But Sinclair,” he says, turning to Tristan, “do not let a single vampire taste her blood.”
The words are cold and absolute. Tristan’s voice lowers to something barely human.
“Why?”
Sebastian says, “No one knows what happens if a human Keeper or owner enters the Convocation carrying the mark of a vampire. It could be disastrous.”
For the first time, Tristan makes a sound beside me. Ashcroft notices. His eyes move between us. Something calculating passes through them.
There. There it is. Not charm or polish. The predator beneath. He’s seen something. I have no idea what. I only know I shouldn’t have let him see it.
“My lord,” Duncan says quietly to Tristan, “another car approaches. Most likely the envoy.”
Hamish MacGowan sees the car. “That,” he says quietly, “is not exactly House protocol.”
The bell tolls again, apparently announcing the envoy. Every vampire in the courtyard goes utterly still including Sebastian Ashcroft.
The sound rolls from the stones and dungeon beneath us, low and ancient, and the windows of Glenhaven Castle tremble faintly in their frames. Murphy growls. I reach down and touch his head without looking away from the drive.
A black vehicle emerges from the mist. Older than the others. It moves slowly.
Tristan goes pale.
“Tristan?” I whisper.
His eyes are fixed on the car. Duncan swears under his breath. I’ve never heard Duncan swear. Mrs. MacLeod crosses herself.
The car stops at the edge of the courtyard behind the others. For one suspended moment, nothing happens.
Then the rear door opens.
A woman steps out. She appears no more than thirty. Tall. Severe black hair drawn back from a face so striking it almost hurts to look at. Bright red lips. She wears a long ivory coat and gloves the color of bone.
Behind her emerges a man with white hair and a silver cane. Neither looks at Ashcroft or the MacGowans or Duncan.
They look at Tristan and then at me.
The woman inclines her head.
“My Lord Keeper.” Her voice is soft and every vampire in the courtyard lowers his head. Tristan does too if only slightly.
I remain standing there like the lone idiot at a very dangerous church service. The woman’s gaze moves to me.
“Miss Monroe.”
“Yes?”
She smiles faintly. It does not reach her eyes.
“We have come on behalf of the Council.”
Duncan takes one step closer to me and Tristan. The white-haired man with the cane reaches inside his coat and removes a narrow black case. From it, he withdraws a folded parchment sealed with red wax.
Real parchment. Because apparently vampire government committed fully to aesthetics. He holds it out, not to Tristan or Duncan, but to me.
I don’t take it. Not yet.
“What is that?” I ask.
The woman’s smile fades.
“A summons.”
My mouth goes dry. Tristan whispers something in Gaelic. It doesn’t sound like a prayer. The woman steps closer, slowly and terribly.
“My Lady,” she says, and the title lands on me like a chain. The bell tolls again from somewhere deep inside Glenhaven Castle.
“The Council officially requests the presence of the new Ninth Seat.”