The Presence (8 page)

“It's tough when you're keeping up with too much,” Jonathan agreed. He grinned. “Now, if you were just among the local peasant law-keepers, you'd be here year-round, pluggin' up holes at any given time. So…it seems you're not quite as angry as you were when you first learned about your guests?”

Bruce angled his head slightly as he surveyed his friend. They were close in age, had known each other since childhood. They shared a passion for this little neck of the world, though they didn't always agree about how it should be run. Bruce was the local gentry, as it were, and Jonathan was the local law. But because Jonathan was local, and had always been local, he seemed
to maintain a chip on his shoulder where Bruce was concerned.

One day, maybe, Jonathan would run for the position of provost. As such, he could implement more of his own ideas. Thus far, though, he seemed to like being Constable.

“I've cooled down some, yes,” Bruce said. “Since no one threw them out in my absence, I thought another few days couldn't hurt too much.”

“Ah,” Jonathan teased. “It was the blonde, eh? What a beauty—and what absolute hell on wheels!”

“She does have a way about her,” Bruce agreed. “But this isn't the first time I've heard about this happening.”

“Your castle being taken over?” Jonathan said, puzzled.

Bruce shook his head. “This sort of thing in general. People going through what they think are private enterprises or legitimate rental agencies and winding up in a similar circumstance. I really want to find out what happened in this situation.”

“Like you said, it happens too often.”

“Yes, but
this
time it happened to be
my
castle that was taken over.”

“Come Monday, you can let those folks see all your records. They can bring their documents down, and we'll get someone on it right away. Unfortunately, sometimes—especially in this age of the Internet—people can clean up their trails.” He lifted his hands. “I might have gotten started on it already, but they didn't want to hand over the documents.”

“It's all they've got to prove anything.”

“Great. They don't trust the law.”

“Well,” Bruce said, offering a certain sympathy. “They don't trust me, either.”

“Ah, there we are! In the same boat, as they say.”

“Right. But actually, that's not why I'm here,” Bruce said.

“Oh?”

Bruce tossed the newspaper on Jonathan's desk.

“Oh, that.”

“Aye, oh, that!”

Jonathan shook his head. “Bruce, they're not local girls disappearing.”

“But in the last year, two bodies have been found in the forest.”

“If you haven't noticed, it's a big forest,” Jonathan reminded him.

“Have you had men out searching?” Bruce demanded.

“This girl just disappeared,” Jonathan reminded him. “But yes, I've had men out searching.”

“Right. The last two girls who disappeared wound up in our forest. We should be looking for this latest lass. I'm willing to bet my bottom dollar that's where she's going to be.”

“Careful with that kind of prophecy, Bruce,” Jonathan warned, sitting back. “People will begin to think you know more about these disappearances and murders than you should. They do keep occurring when you're actually in residence.” He raised a hand instantly. “And that doesn't mean a damned thing. I'm your friend and I know you. I'm just telling you what someone else might think.”

“Bloody hell!” Bruce cursed, his tone hard. Jona
than's suggestion was an outrage, and he was both startled and angry.

“Sorry, Bruce, I didn't mean anything by that. It's just that you're getting obsessive. I understand, of course. But you're not what you were, Bruce. Time has gone on. Just because you struck it lucky once in Edinburgh doesn't make you an expert.”

Bruce prayed for patience. “I'm not claiming to be an ex pert. But murdered women being discovered in Tillingham Forest does bother, seriously. And it should bother the hell out of you.”

“I know my business, Bruce.”

“I'm not suggesting that you don't.”

“How can I stop a madman from kidnapping women in other cities? If you haven't noticed, we've miles of dark roads around here, not to mention that whole companies of fightin' men used to use that forest as a refuge! And again, this girl has just been reported as missing. She's an Irish lass, might have just taken the ferry home.”

Bruce rose. “If she isn't found in a few days' time, I'll arrange for a party myself to search the forest.”

“Bruce, mind that MacNiall temper of yours, please, for the love of God!” Jonathan said. “I told you, we've taken a look in the forest. We'll go back and search with greater effort if she isn't found in the next few days.”

“Good.” Bruce rose and started for the door.

“Hey!” Jonathan called after him.

“Aye?” Bruce said, pausing.

“Did you close down your haunted castle tour for this evening?” Jonathan asked.

“Actually, no. I'm joining it,” Bruce said.

“You're joining it?” Jonathan said, astonished. “You've never acted in your life!”

“Well, that's not really true, is it? We all act every day of our lives, don't we?” Bruce asked him lightly.

“Ach! Go figure!” Jonathan said, shaking his head. “It's the blonde.”

“It's the fact that they are in a rather sorry predicament,” Bruce said. “And they did do a damn good job repairing a few of the walls. See you on Monday.”

He exited the office, leaving the newspaper on Jonathan's desk. He knew what the front page carried—a picture.

She was young, with wide eyes and long, soft brown hair. She had originally hailed from Belfast, Northern Ireland. Apparently, she'd intended to head for London. But she'd never made it that far, discovering drugs and prostitution somewhere along the way instead. She'd gotten as far as Edinburgh, and been officially reported as missing when a haphazard group of “friends” realized that they hadn't seen her in several days.

News could die quickly, unless it was really sensational. The missing persons report on the first girl had run in the local papers and then been forgotten. Until Bruce had discovered her body in the forest while out riding, facedown, decomposed to a macabre degree.

He'd missed the notice about the second disappearance. But there had been no missing the fact of where the body had been found—Tillingham Forest. Eban had found the second victim there, months later.

Prostitutes. Drug addicts. The lost and the lonely. They'd needed help, not strangulation.

He sat in his car for a minute, staring out the wind-
shield. He was parked right in the center of town, where a fountain sat in the middle of a roundabout. Atop the fountain was the proud statue of a Cavalier. There was no plaque stating his name, or the dates of his birth or death, or extolling his deeds. But the locals all knew who the statue portrayed—the original Bruce MacNiall. And tonight, he'd play his ancestor.

A sudden irritation seared through him. “You'd think they'd give you the benefit of the doubt, old boy. But let time go by and now you're a hero—suspected of killing the love of his life!”

There really was no proof that Bruce MacNiall had killed Annalise, but it made for a good story. And just as some historians saw the Stuart champion as a great hero, others saw him as a fool willing to risk the lives of far too many in his own pursuit for glory.

The idea of Bruce MacNiall having killed his wife didn't sit well with him. And still, he had said that he'd play the part. Life sure had it ironies.

“Well, old fellow!” he muttered, “I've never heard it proved that you did any such thing, but it's entertainment these days, eh?”

He threw the car into gear and started toward the castle on its tor.

Entertainment! Was someone killing prostitutes for fun?

He drove by the forest and slowed the car to a crawl. He knew that to find anything within it, they'd have to delve deep into the woods and the streams.

His heart ached for the girl. He knew she was al ready there, decaying in the woods. And he had known it as a
certainty last night, when he had dreamed about seeing a body floating facedown.

Except…in his dream, it had been the body of Toni Fraser.

“H
ey! What are you doing out here?”

Toni turned to see that David had come out to the stables. She was a little surprised. David liked horses well enough, but usually when they came to him or happened to be where he was. Ryan was the expert rider in their crew.

She had been stroking the gorgeous black nose of Bruce MacNiall's huge Shaunessy. The animal was mammoth and, she was certain, an amazing power when ridden. He was also well mannered and seemed to enjoy affection. Amazingly, he seemed to have nothing against Ryan's gelding—at least, not so far as sharing the same living quarters.

“I was just out exploring,” Toni told David, “and thought I'd come down here. I love that fellow Ryan bought—he's a great horse for the money. But this guy—” she indicated Bruce MacNiall's huge black “—he's really something. Of course, I still love our horse best, but…he is gorgeous.”

“Yes. And imposing, just like his master.”

“The great Bruce MacNiall, who happened to ride in
after
we put our blood, sweat and tears into his place!” Toni commented.

David grinned. “That's
Laird
MacNiall to you, so I understand,” he teased.

She waved a hand in the air.

“Well, the situation is pretty sad,” he murmured. He strode across the stables then, coming to her side. He searched her eyes. “You okay, kid?”

“Well, as okay as any of us,” she told him.

David gave Shaunessy a stroke on his velvet forehead. “Don't feel that you are to blame, no matter what happens. We all rushed into this. And if it seems that we're giving you a hard time, it's mainly teasing—or the fact that it's human nature to want to blame someone else!”

She touched David's face, then gave him a hug. They'd met her first year in college, painting sets for a university production of
Aida.
They'd been best friends ever since. She loved him like a brother.

“Okay, so we came here…only to find out that we've been duped. But seriously, it's not all that bad. We put a lot of sweat and elbow grease into it, but blood and tears? That's a bit dramatic.”

“All right, maybe I am being a bit dramatic. You would have thought that the damned constable would have said something to us, though.”

“Apparently he believed that the great laird had rented the place,” David said. “MacNiall's been out of town. I guess no one knew where to reach him to find out what was up.”

“Don't they use cell phones in this country?” Toni murmured.

“I've gone away without feeling the need to tell anyone where I was going. And I definitely don't give my cell number to everyone,” David said.

“Well, whatever, it was convenient,” Toni murmured. “However you want to look at it, we've put an awful lot into the place. The sad thing is, I don't think any of us needs to wait till Monday to accept the fact that we've been screwed royally.”

“Yeah, but MacNiall's being pretty decent now. Hell, he's not just letting us bring in our tour group tonight, he's going to take part in what's going on.”

“Right,” Toni murmured.

“So…?” David's dark eyes were questioning.

She grinned, knowing the look that he was giving her very well. “So…?”

“Come on, kid. Come sit on a haystack and tell Uncle David all about it. Hey, this may be the only time in your life when you're invited to a haystack for purely platonic reasons.”

She laughed and allowed him to lead her to a pile of hay, which David pushed around a bit to create a formation that was almost like a prickly love seat. It was actually rather comfortable.

“It's almost like a shrink's office, huh?” David said.

“I wouldn't know,” she told him. “I haven't seen a shrink—yet.”

“But something is bothering you, and I think it goes beyond being in the middle of financial disaster.”

She shook her head. “David, the thing is, I really thought that I made up my story about Bruce Mac Niall's ancestor.”

He lifted a hand, shaking his head at her. “All right, so you made up something real. Dr. David will work on it. Hmm, let's see. Six months ago, we were here doing an extensive tour. In Edinburgh, we saw that really
beautiful marble tomb built in honor of Montrose—monster to some, brilliant hero to others. We knew that the castle we were renting had been a MacNiall holding. And Bruce is a pretty common name. I don't think there's anything unusual about all this falling into place.”

“Except that I learned a little more about the man—and his wife—from the current Bruce MacNiall,” Toni said.

“He strangled his wife?”

“No—at least, it's not known that he did. She disappeared from history—that's how Bruce described it.”

“Hmm,” David said as he chewed on hay. “Sadly, my dear, many husbands have done in their wives. And many women have disappeared. Things don't really change, no matter where you go. We've got our problems in the States, big time. There was even an article in the paper about women disappearing around here, too.”

“Well, the good thing is, if Lady MacNiall disappeared, she did so centuries ago,” Toni said, but she felt uneasy. She had seen the headlines herself.

“There you go.”

“The bad thing is, her name was Annalise.”

David stared at her, arching a brow high. “No kidding?”

“According to Bruce.”

“You know, Toni, maybe you did hear this story somewhere along the way in life and just don't remember,” he suggested.

She was silent.

“Hey, it's all right. Really. And apparently this guy doesn't have a Lady MacNiall, so there will be no
skeletons in the closet, right. He really is something, though, huh?”

“Yes.” Toni was surprised to feel herself coloring a little.

David smiled, finding another blade of hay to gnaw. “There were lots of sparks flying when you two were arguing last night.”

“I'm known to send off sparks now and then.”

“Usually only when you're defending friends or the downtrodden!” David said with a laugh. Then he looked at her seriously. “You aren't still raving mad about this guy, and we all think that he's right—de spite the fact that we don't want to. So…something else is bothering you.”

It was a simple statement from a man who knew her far too well.

She glanced his way, hesitated, then said, “I had the most awful nightmare last night. And I screamed bloody murder. That's why he and I wound up talking.”

“Okay…” David said slowly. “Talking to him upset you?”

“No. The nightmare upset me.”

“You remember it?”

“Yes, it was terrifying. But the strange thing is that Bruce—or his ancestor—was the nightmare.”

David arched a brow so she continued. “He was just…there. It was as if I had opened my eyes and seen him, huge, in full battle regalia, standing at the foot of my bed. And he was dressed like a Cavalier. He looked like our Bruce, except that his hair was longer and kilted, he had something like half-armor on, there was a sheath of some kind at his ankle with a knife and he was carrying a sword.”

“And standing at the foot of your bed?”

“Yes.”

“All right, let's analyze this. Why was he so terrifying?”

She stared at him. “He was at the foot of my bed!”

“And that's all?”

“Well, what if you woke up and found a ghost at the foot of your bed?”

“I'd wake Kevin, and knowing Kevin, he'd be all ex cited and try to talk to the fellow.”

She knew that he was trying to tease her, to make her feel better. But she knew more.

“He was carrying a sword,” she said.

“Well, if you dreamed about a Cavalier who fought many battles, naturally he'd be carrying a sword.”

“It was dripping blood.”

“Toni, you were a theater major who has written a number of plays. You're imaginative. I'd expect no less from you than a dream in living color with complete attention to detail.”

“You don't understand, because I've never even talked to you about this, but…” She hesitated, staring at him. She saw nothing in his eyes but the deep concern of a very good friend. “Years ago, as a child, I… dreamed things.”

“All children dream.”

She looked across the stables. “No. I dreamed things that had happened, really bad things. Murders. The police would come to my house and grill me about what I had seen. I could describe people, sometimes. And could generally tell them exactly what had happened.”

“Did they ever catch anyone because of these dreams of yours?” David asked, his tone grave.

“I believe so.”

“Then, you were doing something good, Toni.”

“Maybe,” she murmured. “But I couldn't live with it. And my poor parents! How they fought over it. Anyway, there came a point where I really couldn't stand it anymore. I blacked out, or something, and wound up in the hospital.”

“And your folks didn't take you to a shrink?” he asked incredulously.

Toni shook her head. “There was a man, a friend of my mom's. He was wonderful. He seemed to under stand exactly what I was going through. When the cops got too persistent, he came in, gentle and quiet, and calmed me down. When I woke up in the hospital, he was there. He seemed to know that my little mind was on overload. I told him that I didn't dream, that dreaming was bad.”

“And then?”

“We moved. And I made it stop.”

“You
made
it stop?” David said.

She nodded. “You don't know what it was like. My parents were torn apart. The dreams were horrendous. David, I could
see
murders—as they happened, after they happened, just before they happened. Then there were those people who found out about it who weren't with the police. They behaved as if I had leprosy. You can't imagine.”

“Yes, actually, that part I can,” David murmured. He picked up her hand. “Toni, I don't think you should worry, not just yet, anyway. Seriously, I'm not insisting that everything in the world has a logical explanation, but we're in Scotland, and we did learn about a very similar history to the one you invented. As for seeing an ancient Scotsman in your bedroom in full fighting re
galia, well, let me tell you, when the modern-day Bruce MacNiall came riding in during your presentation, that was pretty darned memorable.”

“You think I'm being silly?” she asked him.

“I think that you shouldn't worry too much,” he told her. He squeezed her hand. “Bruce MacNiall is still what you might want to call a variable. But don't for get that you are surrounded by friends here, friends who love you very much. It's going to be fine. Trust me. Besides, what can you do?”

“Nothing, I guess.”

“What happened to the man?”

“What man?”

“The man who came to talk to you. The one who apparently controlled things and made you feel better.”

“Oh, Adam.”

“Adam…?”

“Harrison,” she said.

“Is he still alive?”

“Oh, yes. Well, at least he was two years ago. He came to see my show when I was doing Varina Davis in D.C.” She smiled. “He didn't look as if he'd aged a day. He was still and straight and dignified, soft-spoken…very nice.”

“Seeing him didn't awaken anything?” David asked.

“No, seeing him was lovely. He asked me how I'd been, applauded the play and was just as nice as could be. He even gave me his card again and reminded me to call him if I ever needed him.”

“Well, there you go!” David said, as if having someone's card solved everything. “If anything too weird
happens, you call the fellow. Hey, he's not an attorney, or maybe an American ambassador, is he?”

She shook her head.

“What does he do? Or is he retired?”

“He owns a company. Harrison Investigations.”

“Investigations. There you go. He can investigate the scam artist who got us into this!”

“I don't think it's those kinds of investigations.”

“Ah! You mean he's one of those guys who goes into haunted houses with weird cameras and tape recorders and stuff like that?”

She nodded, finding that she had to grin. “Um. I think that's exactly what he does.”

“You don't think that a ghost screwed us all via the Internet, do you?”

Toni had to laugh. “No!”

“Well, then, let's wait and see. Hey, want to take a walk? It's gorgeous around here. Gina was saying that she wanted to go barefoot in one of the trickling streams just below our little hillock here.”

“I think it's going to rain.”

“Then getting our feet wet won't matter,” David said.

She rose, turning back to draw him up. “Sure. Let's go.”

She started to drag him along, but he pulled her back, giving her a hug again. “Hey, I'm here if you need me. Always.”

She stepped back, eyes twinkling, and sighed. “You love me, you're here when I need you and you're absolutely gorgeous. Why on earth couldn't you have been heterosexual?”

“God knows,” he said. “But I do love you.”

“I love you, too. “

“Anyway, let's get the other guys and go for that walk.”

“You're on.”

When they returned to the castle, they found the others in the hall, ready to head out.

Thayer was standing by the main doors, where a drawbridge—long gone now, as long gone as the moat—had once led to the portico entry. He appeared reflective.

“What's the matter?” Toni asked him.

He shook his head. “I was just thinking—we really were idiots.”

“Why do you say that?” Toni asked, suddenly feeling guilty again.

“We didn't question anything. After we signed the agreements, we just accepted the fact that we would get here and get in. And we did, of course, because the door was open. The keys were hanging there, right inside, as soon as we came in! The door locks with a slide bolt, so we've been sliding it at night. Apparently, Laird MacNiall doesn't lock the place up when he's around. What do you think that means?”