Johansen felt the heavy weight of his brother’s gaze on him and forced a smile to his lips. “Yes.”
Geoffrey entered the room and looked around. “Ah. But she is not currently here.”
Johansen advanced to Geoffrey but halted, leashing his temper; he was in a particularly bad humor that afternoon; nonetheless, he was precariously balanced, walking a thin line now.
Geoffrey, unconcerned, ambled past Johansen, closed the curtains, and turned to the dark corner. “My son, do my eyes fail me?
“No.”
“Do not think that I am unaware of your machinations, Geoffrey,” said Johansen.
“Machinations? I am wounded,” Geoffrey pressed a hand on his chest.
“For a man who has siphoned a considerable amount of money from wealthy, intelligent people and turned some into drugged and degenerate zombies, you should have found her before.” Johansen had no doubt Geoffrey would have no scruples about getting rid of his brother. An overdose would be quite simple to arrange and not difficult to justify, as the tea they consumed was allowed by authorities. Or kidnapping Laetitia, to deliver her into the hands of his brother. He didn’t know what he feared more, and it pained him to recognize it was the latter. His brother’s death would at least be swift. “You should have found her many years ago, actually.”
“My pet . . .” Andrew dragged deep on his cheroot, and a cloud of smoke billowed around him. “If you have her, Johansen, why didn’t you bring her with you?”
“I cannot go kidnapping women in London. Besides, she is living with a man.”
Geoffrey flapped an envelope in the air. “I would go further and say she is in love with him.”
“What?” Ripping the black envelope from Geoffrey’s hand, Johansen felt dread creep under his skin as he took out photographs and a three-page report. “What the hell is this?”
“What you have not been able to provide,” Geoffrey replied.
“You son of a—”
“Silence! Now is not the time for this.” Andrew interrupted his brother. And, waving his cheroot in the air in Geoffrey’s direction, asked, “So, what have you learned about him?”
“Military boy. POW for six months. Smart and fucking rich. Handsome,” Geoffrey offered. “An interesting fellow and an even more interesting family—the MacCraigs.”
“The MacCraigs? For God’s sake. They own The City of London Bank and so many other businesses it’s impossible to keep track of their wealth. One of the most powerful and richest families in Europe.” Johansen paced the room. “And he is a war hero.”
“A war psycho.” Geoffrey allowed himself a smile.
Andrew pulled the smoke deep into his lungs and let it come out slowly. “Arrange some accident.”
“You cannot go around ordering people killed!” Johansen exclaimed irritated. “His brother has enough power to crush you under his thumb, after skinning you alive, if anything happens to him.”
Andrew had never realized he was being manipulated. Of Geoffrey’s many evil traits, one of them was his pathological but cunning mind for engendering plans to fit his greedy purposes, subverting the cult to his own purposes.
“Why should I bother?” Andrew asked, and rose from his armchair. He approached Johansen, stopping a foot away from him, eye to eye. “Look at me, Johansen. I’ve been living in limbo for eight years. Now she is going to pay. Whatever happens after . . . I don’t give a fuck.”
Even after all those years, all that had happened still possessed the power to strike deep at his conscience. “I give up, Brother. You’re on your own.”
When Johansen exited the room, Sinéad was outside. “You should stop him, before it’s too late.”
“I’ve tried.” The old woman lowered her eyes to the floor. “It’s too late.”
Scotland, Highlands, Loch Carron
Craigdale Castle
Friday, October 10, 2014
3:24 p.m.
“There! There!” Gabriela exclaimed excitedly, pointing out of the Range Rover at her grandfather’s estate. “Fairies live here. I’m going to show them to you. They come out at night, and if we’re very quiet, they appear in the garden.”
Surrounded by tall and broad walls, with its very own loch, Craigdale Castle offered one of the most stunning Scottish panoramas. Transformed into a deluxe hotel, it retained its centuries-old appearance and was one of the loveliest spots that Laetitia had ever seen.
Laetitia grinned at Sophia’s enchanting daughter. “Oh, I want to see them. I’ll keep quiet, I promise.”
Tavish smiled as he watched Gabriela, Ariadne, Sophia, and Laetitia planning an outing, with costumes, for the middle of the night.
They stopped in front of the enormous double doors, and immediately a liveried red-haired man came to open their doors as another took the keys from his hand.
Gabriela hopped on the ground and pulled Laetitia by the hand, showing her the high turrets. “And there is where they keep prisoners who misbehave.”
“Stop that, Imp.” Alistair laughed out loud and picked her up in his arms. “You know there are no prisoners in the towers.”
Gabriela tugged at his long hair. “But you still have to prove me that.”
“I’ll take you there this time, my dear girl.”
Laetitia turned to the new male voice.
It was impossible to mistake Lachlann Aindreas MacCraig as being anything but Tavish’s father. With an easy smile and graying auburn hair, he had the same green eyes, towering height, and width of his sons.
“Good to see everyone together.” He hugged Alistair, pecked Gabriela’s cheek, and crouched to kiss Ariadne. Then he turned to Tavish, who was holding a sleeping Peter in his arms. Lachlann took the baby from him and with unmistaken emotion in his eyes said, “I’ve missed you, Tavish Uilleam.”
“I’ve missed you, too, Father.” Tavish stepped back, motioning with his hand. “This is Laetitia.”
Lachlann kissed both of Laetitia’s cheeks. “Fáilte.”
“Go raibh maith agat,” she smiled and thanked his welcome greeting in Irish.
Lachlann grinned. “Don’t tell me you speak six languages, too.”
“Six?” She looked at him bewildered. “No, just three.”
“Then you have to ask Sophia to teach you—”
“Lachlann,” Sophia tutted from behind him. “Stop that.”
“But you do speak six languages.” He walked to her and delivered more kisses. “I have reserved the Abhyanga massage for you. It’s the least I can do for you for putting up with Alistair Connor.”
Alistair rolled his eyes to the sky, muttered something to Gabriela, who giggled, and ordered Sophia, “Come on, Wife. Get inside and put up with your Lord Husband.”
“I hope you find everything to your liking, my dear,” Lachlann said, walking on the other side of Laetitia. “In the evening, you will find a newsletter on your bed, informing you of the exercise classes, swimming, aqua aerobics classes, and outdoor activities offered—”
“Father.” Tavish shook his head, amused. “Laetitia is not a guest.”
“Aye, I know, but she can use all the facilities as she wishes.” Lachlann had a permanent grin stuck on his face. “The spa has a semi-Olympic pool, a leisure pool with lounges, a Jacuzzi, and an outdoor heated pool.”
“Thank you, Mr. MacCraig—”
“No need for formality with me, my girl. Lachlann is fine. I’m sure we’re going to be great friends.” He climbed the stairs with her, pointing to places inside the hall and continuing his explanations.
Tavish stopped for a second, looked around at his childhood home, and smiled. It had been a long time since he felt so good upon coming back.
11:55 a.m.
Laetitia and Tavish, Sophia and Alistair, Alice and Leonard, accompanied by their children, followed the easy wooded hike and crossed a log bridge over a creek, and after a brief uphill section, they reached a giant oak tree that loomed over and shaded a grassy, level area.
&nb
sp; The gurgling rush of water from the stream above cascading into a large and deep, serene pool made the setting perfect for a picnic.
Tavish watched Laetitia turn in a circle, as if assessing the entire scene. After a moment of silence, she looked at him with a smile that could rival the stars for brilliance. “I can’t imagine a more beautiful spot.”
With you everything is beautiful and perfect. “Nor I.” Doing his best to ignore the effect Laetitia’s smiles always had on his heart and his body, Tavish opened the special blanket they used when picnicking together, and with a practice flick of his hands, it floated in her direction. “Here.”
Catching it, she helped him stretch it so it covered the ground evenly.
Laetitia’s apprehension at having to meet his father and the rest of his family had slowly diminished as the morning wore on. After tossing her shoes off, she kneeled beside one of their baskets—Tavish had brought two big ones—and peeked inside. “What’s for lunch?”
Tavish dropped down across from her. He really couldn’t remember what he’d put in there.
“A little bit of everything.” Sophia came to his rescue. From inside her and Alistair’s baskets appeared two iced bottles of Krug champagne, along with crystal flutes.
“He must’ve been very, very hungry, Laetitia,” teased Leonard, opening his and Alice’s basket, from where popped up mini sandwiches, pastries, cakes, and juices. “Yours are the biggest baskets.”
Aye, I was ravenous, but not for food. “Then you don’t get to eat them, Leo,” Tavish answered, as he took out two still-hot, scent-wafting pies and pots and pots of all the different vegetarian salads he could devise with the chef. He raised the two bottles of Chateau Lafite in his hands. “But I’ll share these with you.”
“Hear, hear!” Leonard exclaimed with a big smile. “Laetitia, you’re turning this rude man into a gentleman!”
The three couples had everything arranged in minutes, and, along with the children, bantering and laughing at the funny stories being shared among them, ate the whole feast and piled everything back inside the huge wicker hampers the feast had come in, to make space for them to lie on the blanket comfortably.
Tavish stretched out beside Laetitia, but before he could pull her to him, Alice said, “Let’s show Laetitia the fall.”
Sophia rose from her place. “Sure, it’s beautiful down there.”
“Nae, you stay,” Alistair said, grabbing the rim of Sophia’s trousers.
“Lord Neurasthenic! Let it go.” She looked down at him and wiggled her leg. “It’s a short walk. I’m pregnant, not sick.”
Laetitia stopped in the middle of standing up, unsure.
Tavish tutted from his place. “Alistair Connor, donna be such a bore.”
Alice whistled between her fingers, calling the kids, who were playing a distance away. “We are going to the fall.”
Alistair looked at Sophia, with a frown marring his forehead. “Be sure to stay on the dry rocks and away from the edge!”
“I promise.” Sophia blew him a kiss. “Come on, Laetitia.”
Tavish grabbed her and planted a kiss on her lips. “I know you are a sprite, but the water’s freezing cold there.”
“I don’t have the least intention of entering,” she told him over her shoulder, to which the children booed in chorus. “I don’t know how to swim.”
A collective gasp followed, to which she lifted her shoulders gracefully.
“I taught all the kids to swim. I’ll teach you, too.” Alice passed her arm through hers. “Let’s go.”
Tavish watched her from his place on the blanket. She was fluid and quick. He could see the muscles on her thighs and her round buttocks rippling through the material of her trousers. It was hard not to appreciate her form: both her physical body and the way she moved.
Leonard chortled. “Oh, man, he has it bad!”
“He does,” answered Alistair, snickering.
“Glad you are finding it funny.” Lying down on the pillows thrown on the blanket, with his long legs stretched out, Tavish breathed the cold air of the last autumn days. He rested his head on one palm and sighed. He felt light, happy, free.
“She is nothing like Johanna.”
Nae, she isn’t. He looked up at the darkening gray sky. Memories of Johanna and her almost-contrary and always-dangerous behavior floated inside his mind, as the bloated black clouds floated above, promising storms, shadowing the afternoon, the sunlight warring to pass in shafts like knives slashing their way through darkness.
Now he wondered how he had loved her feisty carelessness. His lips compressed into a thin line; gravity was pressing down on him.
“And way more polite,” Leonard said, not noticing his sudden gloomy mood. “Who could guess Tavish Uilleam would get such a lady?”
Alistair laughed. “She doesn’t even curse!”
“Sophia also doesn’t curse, Alistair Connor,” Tavish muttered, picking up a crispy brown-red leaf in his fingers.
Once, twice, three times he twirled it around, and his mind strayed away, taking him back and forth from past to present, like a small boat on a revolting sea, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on what his brother and brother-in-law were saying. The seconds turned into minutes, time passing ever so slowly without Laetitia by his side.
2:22 p.m.
Coming back from the walk, Laetitia admired Tavish’s huge body all encased in black, lying on the brown blanket, twirling a fallen leaf in his long, large fingers.
Then he turned; his eyes bore down on hers. My Little Elf, my Snowdrop.
Hey, barbarian Highlander. She smiled at him as she sat at his side.
He frowned at the leaf and crushed it in his hand.
She took his hand, opened it, and blew the small pieces away, and he entwined their fingers and smiled back at her.
Their gazes locked, their emotions naked in their eyes.
Intense lightning crisscrossed the sky and hit a tree on the other side of the creek. It exploded into half, and the following thunderclap boomed over them, shaking the ground with its force.
All hell broke loose.
CHAPTER 39
It was as if watching a slow motion slapstick show: Alistair, Sophia, and Leonard saw Tavish fling himself over Laetitia, burying her under his body, as he shouted for them to take cover.
Air blew from Laetitia’s lungs when Tavish’s full weight bore down on her. Her head hit something hard, and a bright star flashed in the darkness, which overcame her eyes.
Nae, nae. Facedown, with his arms covering his head, Tavish was in a world faraway, where cries ensued from people hurt and dying from a bomb, with children screaming and women and men shouting. Louder sobs and a constant cry embroiled his mind—a hellish world of roaring shouts and cracks, which announced destruction, and the smell of burning flesh and blood.
His whole body shuddered under the next blast of thunder.
His breath came faster and the smell of smoke hit his nostrils. He put a hand over Laetitia’s face, pushing her harder under his body and against the ground.
Mind-numbing terror gripped Laetitia in a tight vise, as air began to falter. She tried to wiggle herself out from beneath him, just to hear Tavish shouting, “Stay down!”
“Don’t!” Alistair jumped up, in time to stop a shocked Sophia from rushing to Tavish’s and Laetitia’s sides. “Tell Alice to take the kids to the car.”
She looked bewildered. “But—”
“For once, do as I tell you,” he spit out, and motioned to Leonard.
Alistair spoke in a steady, soft voice. “Laetitia, can you hear me? You need to talk to him.”
Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, and it was only through sheer force of will she began to speak as though to a stallion that had been startled. “It was just a thunderbolt. You’re OK. We are OK.”
The muffled, soothing cadence of her voice penetrated the devil’s unyielding hold and reached him through his tortured remembrances, wrench
ing him back to reality. Focusing on his breathing and heart beating, he forced his arm to move and, rolling to his back, released Laetitia from his grip.
Witnessing his stoic mask slip and his soul bare, she wanted nothing more than to cradle him in her arms and take away his fear—make it her own.
Her fingers reached for him; however, in his haste to be free of the nightmare still unfolding in his mind, he recoiled, flinging an arm over his eyes. “Give me a minute, please.”
Panting, Laetitia sat by his side, speechless and stunned by the whole situation.
Warm drops slid over the back of Tavish’s hand. You made her cry, you idiot.
“Good Lord,” Leonard whispered, at the same time Alistair exclaimed, “Fuck!”
Tavish’s arm fell from his eyes and he gazed up.
It was not raining, nor was Laetitia crying. There was a small rivulet of blood tracking down one side of her face and dripping from her chin.
Jesus! He jackknifed up to a sitting position and pulled Laetitia’s hand away from her brow; however, startled by the sudden movement, she flinched.
“Give me a napkin, Leo.” Alistair pulled Laetitia into his arms and put his fingers over the cut. “I’ve got her.”
Tavish jerked his head in understanding, an acid feeling cutting his guts. “Let me see how bad it is.”
“It’s nothing,” she breathed, accepting the napkin from Leonard and cleaning the blood from her face. “Just a scratch.”
The minor cut just above her eyebrow he could bandage easily, but the hurt inside her eyes was something he didn’t know what to do with. He cleared his throat. “Put some ice, too. Keep the pressure. I’ll get a better look at it at home.”
They had walked to the cars in a heavy, electric silence of the thunderstorm bearing down, which was only broken when they arrived at the castle, as Tavish requested his first aid kit.
Even as he apologized and helped her shower and change into clean clothes, Tavish couldn’t—wouldn’t—meet her eyes or touch her more than necessary to apply a butterfly bandage over the cut.