Chapter 6

Chapter Six

“ I trust you are feeling better, Miss Lockhart.” Derrick McRainey met Gwen at the bottom of the stairs as she descended from a short nap, his hand outstretched. She accepted his assistance, and when their hands touched, a strange stirring shook her. If he noticed her slight flinch, he didn’t give any indication of it.

Entering the sitting room, she glanced about. They were alone. Edith must have gone out.

After he motioned to a narrow couch, Gwen sat, and Derrick joined her. The proximity of the man was a bit too familiar, their knees almost touching.

When he turned to open a briefcase on the table in front of them, she was able to shift away as much as she could without it being obvious.

“This photograph of Tristan McRainey’s portrait was kept at my mother’s house in case of a fire, for insurance purposes, of course,” he told her, pulling out the picture and handing it to her.

Gwen’s heart skipped seeing the photo. It was the apparition. The man who’d come to her had been Tristan McRainey.

She schooled her features, keeping her expression purposely blank as she studied the picture. Tristan stood beside a huge black stallion, his eyes looking to the distance, his features set impatiently, as if hating to be still. In the portrait, his hair was longer than the two times she’d seen him, flowing past his shoulders, a thick mass of dark brown waves. The way he held the hilt of his sword was familiar to her, his fist relaxed on it.

Even in the photograph, his good looks were hard to ignore. The man was gorgeous.

“Speechless, Miss Lockhart?” Derrick asked her, his voice tight. “Attracted to a dead man?”

Gwen fought not to roll her eyes at him, she arched an eyebrow at him. “Threatened by a dead man, Lord McRainey?”

“Touché.”

She shrugged. “According to your aunt, he is very much alive.” Gwen lifted her eyes from the picture in her hand to meet Derrick’s.

He gave her a droll look. “I cannot fathom how a woman like Aunt Edith can believe such nonsense.”

“I take it you don’t believe that he is trapped in an enchantment”

“Not at all.”

She studied him as he began to rummage through the briefcase. His aristocratic demeanor did not distract from his looks. Derrick had definitely inherited his height and physique from the McRainey side of the family. Unlike Tristan, Derrick was fair, with light brown hair that barely touched the collar of his shirt. When he turned to hand her a miniature portrait, she noted that his eyes were dark brown, not green like his ancestor’s. They seemed too dark for his coloring, his penetrating gaze unsettling.

“This miniature was done for his future wife. According to family legend, he killed her before they could marry.” He watched for a reaction.

Gwen gasped, reaching for the miniature slowly. “Why did he kill her?”

Derrick shrugged one shoulder dismissively. “If one is to believe those things, it’s said that he killed her after he caught her consorting with his worst enemy. Some local man.”

Gwen didn’t reply. She studied the miniature, this time a younger Tristan. He looked to be barely a man, perhaps nineteen, however he did not have the carefree expression of youth. Instead, his brow remained pinched. He definitely did not like having his portrait done. She held on to the miniature and the photograph. “Can I keep these?”

“Of course. I have another copy of the photograph. The miniature is very old, so take care with it.”

He gave her a questioning look. “Well? Is he the same man that appeared to you yesterday?”

For an inexplicable reason Gwen did not feel inclined to trust Derrick. She’d been hired by Edith and would much rather talk to her first. “I’m not sure. The apparition was hazy, translucent almost. I hope when he appears again I will be able to get a better look and compare him to these.” She looked down at the miniature on her lap to avoid his eyes.

“Very well.” Derrick didn’t seem altogether convinced; he watched her closely for a moment before continuing. “Would you like a tour of the lands? I would like to show you the estate and perhaps take you into town—you’ll enjoy the shops there.”

Gwen hesitated, unsettled by his invitation. “Will Edith be joining us?”

“She’s already in town. We’ll probably run into her there.”

Despite her misgivings, Gwen enjoyed the tour of the McRainey lands with Derrick more than she expected. He proved to be an excellent tour guide, pride in the family estate evident in his voice, a smile constantly playing on his lips as he described his childhood there. They stopped many times as he regaled her with stories of his youth and the history of specific areas and buildings.

Derrick drove slowly stopping frequently to point out different flora native to the land. He astounded her with his knowledge of it.

Finally, they stopped atop a small hill, and he climbed from the vehicle, making it obvious she was to do the same.

When she stood to look out, he waited in silence, allowing her to take in the view. She looked down to the large, proud, grey stonewalled home, the lavish gardens surrounding it, and the aged but well-kept stables. She couldn’t help but wonder. How different was it from when Tristan McRainey lived there so many years earlier?

Pointing toward the ocean, Derrick got her attention. “Over there, the large area between the stream and the shoreline is the perfect setting for a championship golf course.” He didn’t wait for her opinion, but instead pointed in another direction. “We’ll build new stables in this area below to allow plenty of room for riding trails into the wooded area and along the opposite bank of the creek.” The expectant look on his face told her, he wanted a reply this time.

“The land is beautiful. You’ll have to clear a lot of trees for a golf course,” she told him, looking towards the area he’d pointed to earlier. “I’m always saddened when trees are cut down, the victims of modernization.” She sighed and looked toward the stables. “I love the old stables; they are very old are they not? Can’t you just fix them?”

“Yes.” Derrick’s answer was terse. “But they’re hundreds of years old and require constant repairs.”

His face brightened as he motioned toward the home. “The main house will only require minor upgrades, as it must remain true to its history. To attract the right people, of course.”

“Of course,” Gwen replied, a forced smile on her face. What did he mean by “minor upgrades?”

Derrick stepped closer, abruptly changing the topic of conversation, catching her off guard. “You are a beautiful woman, Miss Lockhart. Your coloring is quite unusual. Very appealing.” His dark eyes lingered on her lips just a bit too long for comfort.

With a step back, she hid her uneasiness by turning back to the view. “My father is Native American. I get my olive skin and black hair from him.”

“Ah.” He moved closer again, a slight curve to his lips. “Which tribe?”

Damn it, he was trying to seduce her! “Choctaw… you’ve probably never heard of them.”

“I have. I studied in America—they are traditionally from the southeastern portion of the United States,” he said, reaching to touch her hair. “Lovely.”

It wasn’t anything new. Gwyneth knew she was an attractive woman. Through the years she’d become proficient at avoiding men’s advances. Pretending not to notice his hand on her hair, she swung away and headed toward his car.

“We better get a move on. I am anxious to see the Culross. We can’t be too long. I really do have to get back here to work.”

The drive into the small town gave her another opportunity to study the lush landscape of Scotland. The shades of green pulled at her heartstrings, impressing upon her how easy it would be to fall in love with the country.

When they arrived at the small town on the shores of Fife of Furth, the car bounced along the narrow cobblestone road until Derrick found a parking spot and pulled into it.

“This town is so pretty,” Gwen exclaimed, watching a woman pushing a stroller, shopping bags hanging from it, a small dog trotting alongside.

“Look at that,” She pointed out a small white building with a shingle hanging on the exterior wall. “That’s City Hall? How quaint is that!” Derrick nodded, smiling at her enthusiasm.

They walked to a café marked with a kettle-shaped sign that read Bessie’s Café . The interior was awash in white with wooden crossbeams overhead. Gwen took in the details, unable to keep from grinning. What was it about this country that every place brought delight?