"Ian," she whispered.
He felt the words as her breath feathered his neck. He was fascinated by the sound of his name sliding off her lips. He wanted to hear her say it again.
Slowly. Huskily.
Paper tore beneath his fingers. "Jamee, I-"
A scratching sound came from the rear of the cottage. Jamee stiffened, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. "What was that?"
Ian frowned. "It could have been the wind."
The sound came again, low and hollow, like large nails dragged across metal.
"That wasnot the wind."
"No, it damned well wasn"t." Ian reached for his jacket pocket and felt the comforting outline of his pistol. He had no intention of drawing it in front of Jamee, of course. Not unless absolutely necessary.
Silently he picked up the heavy iron poker. Something soft bumped his shoulder as he moved toward the door. He turned to find Jamee only inches behind him. "What are you doing?"
"I"m coming with you," she whispered.
Ian scowled. He didn"t have time to argue with her, not at a time like this. "You"re staying," he ordered.
"I"m coming. You might need help."
Muttering a string of Gaelic that would have made his mother wash out his mouth with charcoal, Ian anchored the poker in his right hand and yanked open the door.
Darkness seemed to swallow the faint light of the peat fire.
Something rustled close to the ground.
"Come out where I can see you, before I shoot." He itched to cradle his handgun, but experience had taught him that firearms limited one"s choices. He would protect Jamee any way it took, but no bullets would fly until he knew exactly what he was facing.
The rustling ceased, sucked up by the damp mist. Jamee inched closer. "What now?" she whispered.
"Will you be quiet?" Ian raised the poker and inched forward into the mist. "This is the last time I"m going to ask. Who"s there?"
Silence stretched around them.
Ian took another step, and Jamee was right behind him. "They"re not coming out."
Ian glared at the darkness. "On the count of ten I start firing randomly." He pulled out his penknife and scraped the metal of the door handle. It wouldn"t fool a ballistics expert, but to anyone else it would sound as if he were reloading. "One. Two."
Jamee was pressed against his back. "Ian..."
"Four. Five..."
Silence, long and heavy.
"Eight. Nine." Ian"s hand slid into his pocket and cradled the cold barrel of his pistol.
Frowning, he eased the safety free. What kind of professional would make a move in this kind of fog? It made no sense. "Ten. My patience is done. I"m coming after you."
Something rustled in the darkness and Ian heard a faint scrape of metal. A pistol being readied? "Go back inside," he ordered, shielding Jamee with his body.
"Please," she whispered. "Not alone."
Ian heard the break in her voice and for a moment his decision wavered. "I can"t let you go.
It"s too dangerous."
Her eyes darkened. "I won"t get in your way. Besides," she said uncertainly, "you can"t really be expecting trouble. Not out here in the middle of nowhere."
"I"malways expecting trouble," Ian muttered, striding into the mist, careful to keep his body squarely in front of Jamee"s.
CHAPTER FIVE.
IAN VANISHEDafter taking two steps. There was no sound, no shape, only a clinging veil of clouds, which swallowed him up instantly.
"Ian, wait!" Jamee surged after him, her heart pounding.
A hand circled her wrist. "I told you to stay inside."
"No." She stood rigid against his back. The clouds were suffocating, pressing down on her.
Dammit, shewouldn"t shiver. She wouldn"t let herself remember. It was fog, water vapor, and nothing more. Not like then, when she was locked inside a closet with no room to move. "Ian,"
she said tightly, "I want to go with you. Ineed to go."
"Bloody hell. Come on then." Holding her wrist, Ian strode forward.
"Wasn"t that a light?" Jamee asked warily, pointing past his shoulder.
"Where?"
"To the right." Her voice fell. "Ian, I think someone"s out there."
"Stay close, dammit. And be quiet."
The ground angled up sharply, crossing a patch of bare rock. Jamee realized Ian was heading straight toward the light.
Why a light out here? she wondered. Was someone else lost in the fog? If so, why were Ian"s hands so tense? Wouldn"t a lost traveler be shouting for assistance?
As they moved beyond the light from the cottage into unrelenting darkness, Jamee finally acknowledged what she had suspected for long minutes now. Ian was acting as if he expected danger. He was also acting like someone fully prepared to deal with that danger.
She didn"t like the conclusion she was reaching. "Ian, I-"
"Shh."
Something rustled in the darkness. Suddenly Jamee was very glad of his hand on her wrist.
He took another cautious step. His boots scraped against a ridge of stone.
Something damp brushed past Jamee"s legs and she yelped.
The fog parted to reveal a sheep, which bleated in fright and charged into Ian, who stumbled forward with a curse. A bell clattered as the bleating animal lurched off into the fog.
"Ian, it was just a sheep." Jamee"s only answer was the sudden splash of water. "Ian, whereare you?"
He caught her outstretched hand. "Right here."
"You"re soaked!"
"I took a wrong turn and landed in the creek." Ian"s teeth were chattering as he stared into the fog, his jaw taut. There had been a light out there, on a slope where no light should be. He had seen its flicker again just before he"d tripped over that wretched sheep. Fortunately, Jamee seemed to have missed the second occurrence. "Let"s get back." If there was one person outside, there could be others, and he wanted Jamee under cover where he could protect her.
He pushed Jamee through the door and bolted it, then took their trousers down from the pole before the fire. "These are dry." He tossed over her clothes.
Jamee stood stiffly. "You were worried by that light, weren"t you?"
Ian avoided her gaze.
"And you knew what you were doing out there."
Ian shrugged.
"Answer my question."
"Would you mind turning around first?"
"Why?"
Ian"s hands slid to his belt. "Because I want to change."
Jamee glanced lower and saw his hand on his belt. "Oh." Blushing, she turned her back to him, then yanked on her sweater and stepped into her well-worn jeans. "There was something out there. I saw it."
Ian pulled on his dry pants, cursing silently. He wasn"t about to reveal his suspicions without a lot more evidence. "A sheep," he said tightly.
"No, before that. I saw a flash of light back toward the cliffs."
Ian found a dry sweater, and the heavy, oiled wool warmed him immediately, taking some of the tension from his shoulders. "Just a sheep."
"I didn"t realize sheep carried lights," she snapped.
"Jamee, you could have imagined the light."
When she spun around, her face was pale. "But I didn"t imagine the look on your face. You were worried, Ian. I want to know why."
She deserved more than lies, he thought angrily. But her brother had made the rules, and Ian had foolishly agreed to them. "I have a suspicious nature. Too much time spent living in cities, I suppose."
Her eyes narrowed. "What exactly do you do in those cities?"
Ian shrugged. "This and that."
"I think you"re a police officer," Jamee said accusingly. "I want a straight answer. Are you with the police or aren"t you?"
Ian slid on his belt. "No."
Not a lie. Not quite. Most of his work was with the government or private security groups.
Jamee glared at him. "Then why do you keep looking at the windows every few minutes? Why have you gotten up to check the door twice since we came in?"
She was too damned observant, Ian thought. He"d have to be more careful in the future. "I noticed that the bolt was stuck. I wanted to make sure the door doesn"t blow open."
"Ihate being lied to."
"I"ll be sure to remember that." Ian stretched out on the floor, his back against a lumpy sofa cushion as he studied the fire.
"Did Adam put you up to this?"
"Who"s Adam?" Ian said coolly.
"You"re not going to tell me anything, are you?"
He worked a blanket beneath his head. "There"s nothing to tell. Now, why don"t you get some rest?"
"I told you I don"t sleep very well." Muttering, Jamee sat on the floor and turned her bag over, dumping a dozen mounds of bright yarn into her lap. After fingering several balls, she picked up a skein of mohair the soft orange shade of a Highland sunset.
"Colorful." Ian wondered how long he had left to appreciate that particular shade of orange.
"What"s wrong? Why are you staring like that?"
"No reason." Ian propped his head on one hand. She was too smart, and he was not going to give her any reason for alarm. "What are you making?"
"A sweater, probably." Jamee"s hands moved with the ease of a practiced knitter. Beneath her needles the thick yarn fell into even rows. "Knitting helps me think."
Ian wasn"t sure he wanted her to think right now. Not until he had some clear answers. He didn"t like the thought of being followed, even though the backup team from London wouldn"t be far behind him.
"Since you refuse to discuss what you saw in the fog, tell me about that description in your notebook."
This was a safer topic of conversation, Ian decided. "My castle, you mean?"