Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Collin Menzie stared down the driveway and watched Angus drive the redhead away.
The legend had been true. Criminy. He was sure that the legend had been a lie, perpetrated by whoever had stolen the stone.
The cool breeze that he’d enjoyed earlier caressed his skin but didn’t stop the blood from boiling in his veins.
Why had he been the one to be saddled with the legend and not an ancestor before?
“Looks like the emerald has returned, and under my watch.” McDougall chuckled as he slapped Collin’s back. “If the story stands true, the jewel shall finally find its final resting place among my colors and on her finger.”
With friends like Ian McDougall, a man didn’t need enemies.
The old wives’ tale foretold that a member of the Menzie clan would wed with a part of the stone before handing it back to a McDougall.
Not likely since it had been a peace offering from the McDougall clan to the Menzies, not to mention the thought of putting a ring on the American’s finger.
His fate was his own, no matter what the gypsy had proclaimed.
“Care to consult the paintings to get a fresh perspective of what to expect.”
The infamous paintings depicted a tale of what to expect in the coming days. The so called Savior was among them who’d be changing Collin’s life forever.
“Aye.” Collin spun to find the entire staff waiting. Each held a worried look in their eyes and rightly so. The legend coming to life, and the omen that followed wasn’t something any smart man would ignore. Disease, death, fire, and ruin were eminent if the old tales were to be believed.
“If I were you, I’d have Ramsey hide your gold and monitor the accounts.”
It had been years since Collin had studied the text and the paintings. He’d laughed it off as a cocky young lad, convinced no imaginary redhead from the curse would ever get the best of him. Had he been wrong all these years?
“Shows over.” Collin clapped his hands, dispersing the crowd to lead Ian inside the castle.
The thud of the heavy doors reverberated through the hall as the doors shut behind them.
Ian and Collin had been raised by their fathers to hate each other, but the opposite had happened when Ian returned Collin’s favorite horse, which had taken off from the first of many fires.
He’d since been one of the few souls that Collin trusted, along with Ramsey, Collin’s accountant.
Collin had no more than cleared the door when Margarete came rushing forward.
Her enthusiasm about furniture and décor wasn’t the only thing she wanted within these walls.
Many a night Collin had brushed off her advances, but it appeared as though she had some crazy inner radar to know when he was home.
“Collin. We must talk about the tapestries.”
Margarete was a beautiful woman in her own right.
She was educated and held a regal air of title in the way she presented herself.
She was slender with blonde hair and a stick-straight figure.
Many a man would have been proud if she showed them attention.
Collin wasn’t one of them. Her beauty did little to hide her pretentious attitude toward the staff.
He’d hired her due to her eye for detail in interior decorating.
He hadn’t been expecting her to turn her eyes to him. He should have known.
“No, wench, we have much more pressing matters to discuss,” Ian complained.
“What your brother meant to say was, can it wait?” Collin asked, trying hard to soften Ian’s words.
“Sure.” Her cheeks flushed pink, and she pasted a hardened smile on her face and lifted her chin.
Whenever Ian visited, he managed to piss off everyone in his path, whether he intended to or not.
He’d turned his brash attitude into a game of sport to flirt with the women he encountered.
He had a way with words and with women. More than one of the maids had been found in a closet with her skirt up to her chest. Ian was truly gifted in the art of seduction.
Having Margarete beneath Collin’s roof seemed to only make things worse.
It was as though her presence alone managed to set the staff’s nerves on edge with her constant demands, as if she were the lady of the castle.
Hiring her had been a favor; keeping her content had been the challenge.
She was here to do a job, one that Collin had no desire to perform, and Ian’s rudeness always seemed to aggravate her more.
Restoring and redecorating the part of the castle that had succumbed to fire wasn’t Collin’s idea of a good time. Ever.
He led the way up the north tower where Gwinnie’s ghost was reportedly lingering.
He didn’t believe in such nonsense. Her ghost had never appeared to him, and he was related by blood.
She’d been a new daughter-in-law in the household all those years ago when the emerald had vanished.
It was her mother-in-law, Lady Menzie, who had commissioned the gypsy to paint, based off what the crazy gypsy woman saw in her visions. Not so crazy now, Collin thought.
Using his shoulder, he shimmied open the jammed door to one of the few rooms in the castle that the staff avoided at all cost. The solid wood flew open, slamming into the wall as if an unseen restraint had been removed.
Dust floated in the sunshine coming through the windows that surrounded the empty room.
The paintings had hung in the ballroom as a constant reminder of things to come, until Margarete had started redecorating.
She’d stored them in the tower where they were leaning against the wall and covered in old sheets.
Ian and Collin removed all of the coverings before standing in complete silence, staring at the painting of a woman who looked like Quinn Thatcher.
The resemblance was uncanny, down to the freckles he’d noticed on her neck.
Collin rubbed the stubble on his chin, trying to remember the story that accompanied the paintings. He shouldn’t have bothered. Ian knew the first few lines word for word.
“A woman with hair of fire, and eyes the color of the stolen stone, will descend from the sky.”
Collin’s lips twisted into a nervous smile. Her eyes were the first thing he’d noticed before his gaze lowered to the generous curves of her body and breasts. The mysterious woman was a beauty.
“Her word will carry a bite and sting worse than the fiercest beast.”
“Nailed that one,” Collin grumbled, much to his dismay. She wasn’t timid by any stretch of the imagination, if her actions portrayed her personality. She’d sauntered into the middle of a fight, commanded attention and had managed to bring Ian to his knees. Stronger men had tried and failed.
“Making the lines of past and present blur,” Ian continued.
“What do you suppose that means?”
Ian shrugged.
“What was the rest?”
“Disease will spread; death will follow; walls will crumble, and men will fall.”
“She’s already conquered taking down a man. I suggest you try not to manhandle her, like your other women, until we know what’s going on.” Collin ignored the need to lay a protective hand over his own balls, remembering Quinn’s determination. Pissing her off should be avoided at all cost.
“Friend or foe, it is she who controls the Menzie destiny, and will bring down the deceit of once noble men, making them fall from grace into hell,” Ian said, repeating the last verse of the tale.
Collin ran his hand through his hair, ignoring the other paintings, and moved to the window to look out over the vast land.
On most days, the view of heather-covered braes bathed in sunlight and the distant view of the ocean managed to bring peace to his soul.
Today wasn’t one of those days. An unease he couldn’t explain settled into his bones. A warning of things yet to pass.
“Friend or foe, she controls your destiny. What are you going to do?” Ian asked as Collin rubbed at the stubble on his chin.
That was the million-dollar question. What was he going to do?
He could ignore her, and hope she went away, or press for answers in an attempt to resolve the legend once and for all.
“I guess I donae have a choice,” Collin answered, spinning around. “I’ll go find her and see what else she might know.”
“Are you sure the lass is still here?”
“Aye. Angus told me she’s staying until the morn.”
“Well, she’s got to eat, and we both know they donae serve food at the hotel. It should be easy enough for us to track her down.”
“Go get cleaned up, and I’ll meet you at the pub in an hour.”
A plan formed in Collin’s head, one that had Quinn Thatcher singing like a canary.
Not many women could withstand his charm, but he had a feeling she might be the first. Leading the way out of the old room, Collin walked Ian out of the castle, not giving him any time to pick his next conquest. Stopping in the study, Collin grabbed his cell phone before returning to the north tower.
He snapped a picture of the painting to compare face to face.
The lass would need proof if she were to believe a word he said.