Draycott Eternal - Draycott Eternal Part 25
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Draycott Eternal Part 25

"You think that-"

Nicholas picked up a Murano glass paperweight. The cold crystal rolled back and forth in his hands. "I don"t know what to think, Duncan. Only that we"d better not make any mistakes. If we do, Jamee Night will be the one who pays." His voice hardened. "Again."

CHAPTER FOUR.

SHE COULDN"T STAY.

Jamee shivered and snuggled closer into the blanket. She hadn"t slept well in years, not since she was kidnapped. All too often, she fell asleep, only to awake naked on the floor, cold and shaking, tangled in a mound of covers. The experts she had seen after the kidnapping had called it the residual effect of her trauma. In her sleep, she relived the hours of captivity, stripping off her clothes and fighting memories that wouldn"t fade.

The last thing she wanted was to wake up stark-naked next to a total stranger. Even in her most far-flung travels, Jamee had always managed to find a room for herself and bolt the door to ward off any humiliating late-night encounters.

But not tonight.

Fine, Jamee decided. She simply wouldn"t go to sleep. She would watch the fire and work on her new designs for Lord Dunraven and his wife. Heaven knew, she had enough yet to do. She sighed, thinking how wonderful a double mocha latte would taste.

Ian was bent over the fire, nursing more heat out of the glowing peat, his face unreadable. As Jamee watched, his features began to waver and blur. He had very nice eyes, the fresh green of summer moss. Though his hands were big, they were strangely graceful as he nudged the embers with a poker.

Jamee blinked and straightened. She didn"t dare go to sleep.

When he had finished with the fire, Ian braced one arm on the mantel and murmured something in soft, rolling Gaelic.

"What did you just say?"

"An old Gaelic phrase."

Jamee sat up straighter as her eyelids began to grow heavy.

"Why don"t you get some rest?"

"I"ll be fine," she said firmly. "Was that some kind of prayer?"

Firelight glinted on Ian"s face, shadowing his chin and cheek. "You might call it that, though it was composed long before kirk or cloister came to these hills," he said gravely.

"What does it mean?"

His voice softened and drifted toward her in a lyrical cadence. "Blaze of sun, flare of moon, glow of fire and burn of lightning. Be you today my strengths."

"It"s lovely," Jamee breathed.

"There"s power in the words, so my mother always said." He pushed away from the mantel.

"You"d better rest. I"m hopeful we"ll have better winds with morning. Meanwhile, we"ll be fine in here."

The soft vowels lulled Jamee while she snuggled back into her blanket and tucked a corner of the lumpy sofa cushion beneath her arm. She wasn"t actually going to sleep, of course. She would daydream a little and think about Scottish sheep while she watched the glowing peat.

Just for a moment or two...

A moment later, her eyes fluttered shut.

DARKNESS PRESSED BLACKand cold at the windows as Ian stirred the fire. Though several hours had passed, the fog had still not lifted. Nor had his mood.

Jamee"s hair tumbled over the blanket as she tossed and turned in her sleep, one hand outstretched. At any moment, Ian expected her to gasp and push to her feet, clawing at her clothes in fear. What would he do then?

He never should have accepted Adam Night"s offer. No amount of money would make up for a careless mistake that harmed a life. Why had he let the man persuade him, especially now?

He squinted at the fire, studying the shifting shades of red and gold. There was no more blurring of his vision, thank God. His color perception seemed true enough. But how long would it stay that way?

Quietly, he turned Jamee"s sweater and his trousers, then stretched them across a pole by the fire to dry. One of the tartan blankets was caught about his waist, pleated with a belt in a creditable imitation of the very first tartans worn by his Highland ancestors. Mel Gibson would have howled. Then again, Mel Gibson would never have gotten himself into such a ludicrous situation, Ian thought grimly.

As the fog grew thicker, Ian slid his portable telephone from its case, but he was answered with static, not an uncommon occurrence in these remote areas. He replaced the wallet-size unit, then turned as Jamee mumbled sharply.

"Ian?" She sat bolt upright. "Ian, are you there?" Her voice rose, edged with panic. She glanced down, then clutched the sheet to her chest with a sigh.

Ian knew what that sigh meant and what had put the fear in her voice. "Right here," he said calmly. "Sleep well?"

She shoved back her hair, light winking and gleaming across the amber strands. "Not really.

What time is it?"

"Nearly ten."

"I slept that long?" She shifted, trying to peer out the window. "Has the fog lifted yet?"

"I"m afraid not." Ian looked away, ignoring how the light played over her bare shoulders.

Trying to, at least.

"I like the skirt." She pointed at his makeshift kilt.

"It"s called a tartan, woman."

"VeryBraveheart. Mel Gibson would be jealous." Jamee"s smile faded. "How do you know the fog is getting worse?"

"Because I just checked."

"Maybe something has changed," she said hopefully.

"In two minutes? I doubt it. Why don"t you go back to sleep?"

"No." Her voice fell. "I don"t usually sleep well."

Ian heard the unmistakable edge of tension in her voice, but knew he couldn"t betray his knowledge of the source. "Is something wrong?"

She tugged the blanket about her shoulders and propped one elbow on her knee. "Nothing I can"t handle."

Ian heard her determination and wondered exactly what it cost her. Her memories couldn"t be pleasant ones.

Not that his interest was personal. Jamee Night was his business now. Anything that affected her also affected his ability to protect her, and that included any problems she might be having.

But he wasn"t thinking about problems or business as firelight gilded her expressive mouth and unbound hair. Muttering, he pulled a notepad onto his lap and began to write.

"What are you doing?"

"Writing."

"What kind of writing?"

Ian flipped a page. "Nothing important."

Jamee"s blanket rustled. She hitched it back over one shoulder. "You can tell me." She spoke quickly, as if searching for distraction. Any distraction. "Is it a novel? Poetry? A Ph.D. thesis on the evolution of Scottish sheep?"

Ian hid a smile. "Go back to sleep, Jamee."

"I told you, I wasn"t really sleeping."

"Then go back to whatever it was you were doing."

"I was thinking." Jamee"s blanket rustled again. "I thought I saw a strange light back there on the cliff. At first I thought it was another car. But now I think it was them."

"Them?" Was she aware she might be followed? Had Adam let something slip about the possibility of another kidnap attempt? "You mean, someone you saw on the cliffs?"

"No, I mean, aliens." She spoke very deliberately, watching for his reaction.

Ian blinked. "I beg your pardon."

"They"re here, you know." She hunched forward conspiratorially. "All around us."

"Illegal aliens? You mean people from Albania and Argentina?"

"I mean, people from a whole lot farther than that." Jamee studied the fire, her face grave.

"Like Australia?"

"No, like the Horsehead Nebula."

Ian frowned, his writing forgotten. She couldn"t be serious. "Fascinating theory," he muttered.

"Oh, it"s no theory." Jamee wiggled closer. "There"s all sorts of concrete proof, from records of thousands of alien abductions to implants of strange technology. Even crop circles. They"ve been here for decades, maybe for centuries, but our governments don"t want us to know." She gave a disgusted sigh. "Sheesh, where have you been for the last decade, McCall?"

Ian slapped down his pen and met her gaze. "Living a nice, logical life, Ms. Night."

"With your head buried in the sand? I can see I"m going to have to take you on a vacation to Area Fifty-one," she said firmly.

Ian blinked again. "I don"t know what you"re talking about."

"Unbelievable. The biggest government cover-up of the century and the man"s never even heard of it." She shook her head. "Wait until I tell you about the cow mutilations," she said, turning so quickly that her blanket gaped.

Ian forced his gaze away from the long arch of her creamy neck. "Now, just a minute-"

Abruptly her hair spilled forward, distracting him. She yanked the pad from his lap. "Got it!"

Jamee danced to the other side of the room, scanning his lines of handwritten text. "Scottish castle, fifteenth century. Grade One listed, in a peaceful setting with full views of the Outer Isles. Remnants of moat intact." She looked up, frowning. "What doesthat mean?"

"Give me those papers." Ian spoke with soft menace as he pushed to his feet.

Jamee pulled the pages out of reach and picked up where she had left off. "One thousand acres, including salmon stream and grouse hunting. Sweep netting rights. Grouse shooting, deer stalking and loch fishing." She lowered the pad and stared at him. "This sounds like a real-estate description."

Ian made another grab for his papers. Jamee twisted away, ignoring him. "Working hatchery, deer larder. Separate stone-built farmhouse and five estate cottages. One thousand forty-one ewes and fifty-six cows." She tilted her head. "Do you write travel guides?"

"No, I donot, " he growled.

Jamee stayed carefully out of range. "Then what is this?"

"Something that is none of your business." He was coldly precise in his fury, watching for his moment to strike.

"Touchy, aren"t we?"

Ian lunged. He pinned her to the wall with one arm across her waist while he grabbed for his papers. The contact brought them flush, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh.

The peat in the fireplace whispered. Jamee"s body stilled, her eyes filled with amber light. She flushed as his thigh wedged between hers. "One thousand forty-one eyes?"

He didn"t move, didn"t smile.

She swallowed. "That was supposed to be a joke, McCall," she said unsteadily. "A joke-as in laughter. Because if we don"t laugh," she said softly, "in a few seconds we"re going to do something very...stupid."

Stupidwas far too polite for the thoughts Ian was having. He made a rough sound, staring at his hands buried in her hair and his thigh braced between hers. Her blanket had slipped again, revealing too much creamy skin.

"I know that you saved my life on the way up here," Jamee said huskily. "And all I did was act angry." She glanced down at the pad locked between their bodies, but Ian thought she was seeing something else entirely. Something that wasn"t pleasant. "I"m sorry for that. Being angry was easier than..." She shook her head, shivering. "What I mean is, I should have been thanking you."

"There was no need," Ian said hoarsely. "I was in the right place at the right time. Simple luck, that"s all."

She tilted her head and studied his face. The force of her gaze made Ian wish they weren"t nearly so close.

"I"ve never been a believer in simple luck."

Ian took a sharp breath and pulled the papers out of her suddenly unresisting fingers, trying not to notice her pallor. Shadows played through her indigo eyes and suddenly the memory of Adam Night"s video unreeled in Ian"s mind.

What was he doing? This woman was plagued by nightmares, haunted by memories of men who had torn away her freedom and her dignity. He had no right to touch her or crowd her in any way.

Unfortunately, his body did not quite agree.