Sizzle All Day, Bad Luck Wedding #4 (Bad Luck Abroad) Read online

  "Very well. First, I want to know—"

  "Wait. You forgot to seal our bargain. A kiss should take care of it."

  Instead of a kiss, she pinched his arm. Hard. "Consider the bargain sealed," she said. "Now tell me who you really are, what has brought you to Rowanclere, and why you were searching our library."

  "You are not a very friendly ghost, lady," he protested. "In Texas our ghosts—"

  "Your true name?"

  "I really am Jake Delaney of San Antonio, Texas." Then he sighed and gave her the truth that had little to do with the questions she wanted answered. "I've come to Rowanclere because I'm a man on the run."

  "From the law?"

  "In a manner of speaking. My mother is the daughter of the Earl of Thornbury. The woman is attempting to use her father's influence to meddle where she shouldn't be meddling. This trip was the best way I could find to escape the... consequences... of her influence."

  "What consequences?"

  Even though Jake intended to use this line of conversation as a distraction, he still found he had to work himself up to say the word. It sounded as sour as it tasted. "Marriage."

  Damned if she didn't laugh. Grumbling, he asked, "Would you untie my right hand, please? My fingers are going to sleep."

  She ignored that, instead asking, "You are betrothed?"

  "No, and I'm not gonna be. It's actually all my sister's fault because she got married last winter and that turned my mother's attention to me. Mother and Thornbury have only recently reconciled after being estranged for years. Therefore, anything she wants, he moves heaven and earth to make happen."

  "She wants you married."

  "And I'm happy as an armadillo digging grubworms being a bachelor."

  "An armadillo digging grubworms?" she repeated dryly. "Lovely. But what does any of this have to do with Rowanclere? With our library?"

  So much for distractions. Now came the time to talk the tightrope between truth and fiction without giving away the game entirely. "That has to do with an Englishman. A baron. Tell me, are you familiar with a fellow by the name of Bennet? Lord Bennet of Derbyshire?"

  All sound ceased and the dungeon seemed to grow even colder. In a thin, thready voice, she asked, "Who?"

  "Lord Bennet. He has an estate called Harpur Priory."

  "Did he send you here?"

  "In a manner of speaking, yes."

  Without warning, she moved. He felt a fast tug at his left wrist, then his left ankle and the ropes fell away.

  She spoke in a voice as flat and chilly as the grave. "Leave Rowanclere today, Delaney. Never return."

  What the hell? Shocked by her response, he was slow to tug off the blindfold. Twisting his head around, he searched for her in the shadows and spied a movement right before the light died, accompanied by the hiss of fire in water. She had doused the torch.

  For the first time since the haunting farce began, Jake felt just a shiver of unease. "Wait a minute. What about our bargain?"

  The burr of Scotland thickened a distant voice trembling with anger. "Take a lesson home with ye from Scotland, Texas. Bargains are like guid shortbread. Baith crumble easily."

  Then she was gone.

  "Damn," Jake said into the silence that lingered behind her. He blew out a long, slow whistle, then picked at the knots in the line binding his right wrist and ankle, pondering what had just taken place. What can of worms had he opened here? What had that bastard Bennet done to the people of Rowanclere Castle?

  Judging by the woman's reaction, it had to have been bad.

  Free now, he felt his way along the cold stone wall toward a door and the corridor beyond, where in the distance, a burning torch cast a faint light.

  One thing was certain. He wasn't leaving Rowanclere. "Shortbread, hell," he muttered.

  Crumbled or not, that gal owed him a cookie. He wasn't leaving till his sweet tooth was satisfied.

  * * *

  "What do you mean you sent him away!" the old man roared, his fist pounding the bed beside him. "You sent him away before I had the chance to meet him? He's a Texan, lass. A Texan! Do you know how long it has been since I visited with one of my own?"

  Lamplight flickered against the painted plaster walls of the small bedroom built high on the castle wall. Gillian gazed at her grand-uncle with love and replied, "Aye, quite some time."

  "Then how could you do this to me? How could you...."

  Hands clasped behind her back, she listened silently as her granduncle continued his scolding. It took all her discipline not to betray a silly grin, so pleased was she to witness the improvement in his spirit. It appeared that this latest attack of the rheums was done. Gillian prayed it stayed that way.

  Then a breeze swirled around Gillian's ankles, reminding her of the drafty nature of this chamber. She shivered and wished for at least the thousandth time that her beloved Uncle Angus were not such a stubborn man.

  The Crow's Nest bedroom was Angus Brodie's way of keeping the vow he'd made upon leaving Rowanclere shortly after his father's death fifty years ago. During the falling out with his elder brother who had inherited tide, castle, and control over Angus's trust fund, Angus swore never to sleep another night beneath Rowanclere's roof He held to his promise even when John Brodie died childless and the castle came to him. One thing about Uncle Angus, he always kept his word, despite the potentially harmful consequences.

  When he paused for a breath, she seized her chance. "Uncle, I am sorry you did not have the opportunity to discuss Texas with that man, but if you will allow me to explain, you will see why I thought I had no other choice."

  "No choice?" Angus frowned. Narrowing his eyes, he gave the collar of his nightshirt a sharp tug, then folded his arms and studied her. "Explain."

  Gillian returned his look, noting the way the furrows on his brow had deepened with concern. She wanted to reach out and smooth them away with a gentle touch.

  She also wanted to throw herself into his arms seeking comfort like a bairn.

  She settled on exhaling a weary sigh. Such was the way of their relationship at this time of their lives. Sometimes Gillian was still the child; more and more often she played the role of parent. It was a difficult adjustment for them both.

  She and Flora had been seventeen when their parents were killed in a carriage accident. Nicholas was gone from Scotland and his whereabouts were unknown, so the sisters, along with two-year-old Robyn, were sent to live with less-than-loving Clan Ross relatives. After six months of misery, their grand-uncle Angus swooped into their lives and rescued them from their mean existence.

  From that moment on, the grandest of all uncles had served the girls in the role of adoring father. Now in his eighties, age had finally caught up with the brave, braw man. His body was failing him. Pain in his knees and hips made it impossible for him to walk more than a few steps at a time. His hearing had weakened, and his lungs proved susceptible to every ague that came along.

  But for all his body let him down, Uncle Angus's mind was still sharp as gorse. "What happened, lass? Did he insult you? Did he hurt you? Do I need to kill the limmer?"

  She couldn't help but smile. She needed only to nod and, crippled or not, the stubborn Scot would do his best to see Jake Delaney's life brought to an end.

  "No, Uncle. He did not harm me. However, he did lie to me."

  Angus waited expectantly, obviously not impressed by that bit of news.

  "I spied on him after Flora left him alone in the library. He searched it, Uncle. Thoroughly."

  "He was looking for hobgoblins."

  "No. He went through the books. He pulled them one by one from the shelves, then flipped through them, searching for something."

  Angus's entire demeanor changed, going from dismissive to suspicious in a heartbeat. "What?" he demanded.

  "That's what I attempted to find out." She outlined how she'd drugged him and led him to the dungeon room a long-ago laird of Rowanclere had furnished for romantic assignations. When she repeated th
e part about the spiders, his bushy white brows arched and he snorted. "It was a good thought, lass, but I am not certain spiders were the best source of torture. You know one of the storerooms down there is filled with devices designed for such a purpose."

  "I could not actually hurt him," she replied. "Besides, I did convince him to talk. He brought up a name. Uncle. It is why I sent him away, although I wonder now if I might have been a bit hasty in the doing of it. I reacted emotionally." She took a breath, then exhaled in a rush. "You see, he said he was sent here by Lord Bennet."

  "Bennet!" Angus gasped and struggled to sit up. Forty years in Texas drowned the Scotsman in his voice as he spoke through gritted teeth. "This Delaney fellow is in cahoots with Bennet? Holy hell!"

  "You see why I reacted as I did."

  Angus scowled and nodded. "He's used that dog of his to befriend Robbie. That's how the Englishman got what he wanted, befriending the lass. Where's Robbie? Has she sold him our china for a pork roast or two? Has she traded something of value for the price of a two-legged dog? Get me my canes and my gun, Gilly. I got me a varmint to kill."

  Gillian took a seat in the chair beside her grand-uncle's bed. "I spoke with Robyn right away. Jake Delaney didn't ask her for anything and besides, she learned her lesson after the debacle with Lord Bennet. She'll not sell any property of yours ever again, no matter the price. No need to worry over that. Also, now that I've had the opportunity to reflect on matters, I do not believe Jake Delaney is Lord Bennet's minion. I cannot picture the man using that dog to take advantage of Robbie. You should see him with Scooter, Uncle. He is terribly sweet with her, even when he thinks no one is watching."

  "I have seen the bick. Robbie brought her to me. She's a pitiful but brave wee beastie."

  Gillian nodded in agreement. "It speaks to character, does it not? If Delaney were a wicked man like Lord Bennet, would he be so caring of a crippled dog? No, I don't believe he is working for the Englishman. He may, however, be working for himself."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He was looking for something he might expect to find hidden in the pages of a book in the library at Rowanclere castle. He's from Texas and he has had some sort of dealing with Lord Bennet. What is the obvious connection?"

  Angus Brodie's gaze shifted to meet Gillian's, then together they looked toward the framed document hanging on the wall opposite the bed. "Of course," he said. "I should have realized it immediately. The pieces fit together too nicely to ignore."

  Grim faced, he added, "I treasure it, you know. My best friend gave it to me as he lay dying on the San Jacinto battlefield. I was born a Scot and I'll die a Scot, but a part of me will always be Texan."

  "I know, Uncle Angus."

  "Of course you do. It's why you took it upon yourself to go to Bennet's estate and retrieve my treasure for me after he swindled it away from Robbie. You were right to send this Delaney away, love. As much as I'd like to swap stories with another Texan, it's not worth the price of giving up my copy of the Republic of Texas's Declaration of Independence."

  Chapter 5

  The castle clocks struck three a.m. as the figure stealthily made his way up the servants' staircase. The twisting, narrow passage was pitch black and drafty with cool night air, and the slightest scrape of foot against wood magnified a hundredfold to the intruder's ears. As a result, he took extra care to remain quiet. He hadn't hidden in the cold, damp forest half the night to get caught now. No, he was the one out to do the catching.

  Jake Delaney had come to call on his ghost.

  He hadn't anticipated anything quite so much in months.

  Following the incident in the dungeon earlier that afternoon, Jake had been escorted from the premises by a burly stable hand and the barrel of a pistol. The fellow gave him money for the horse he'd ridden to Rowanclere, then tossed Scooter and the rest of Jake's belongings into the bottom of a rowboat. After insisting Jake man the oars and row across the loch to a village on the post route, the man paid for Jake's ticket, then watched until he'd boarded the coach. He'd added to the insult by grinning and waving a salute as the stage rumbled out of town.

  Of course, Jake had talked his way off the transport before the second curve in the winding road. He'd used the horse money to rent a boat, then rowed back across the loch. Hiding out in the ruins of a watchtower a short distance away, he'd settled in to wait, dozing off and on into the evening. He'd wanted it to be good and dark before he made his move, and being this far north, that meant the middle of the night.

  The castle wall had been relatively easy to breach, despite the presence of a watchman. He had not noticed the guard previously, and he wondered if the watchman was present on account of him. Did I spook you, princess?

  He grinned at the thought.

  Finally, he reached the landing that led to the guest bedroom he had occupied. He cracked open the door and listened hard for a good half-minute before concluding the room was unoccupied. Then he slipped inside.

  His first task was to find and light the lamp. He felt safe doing so because the room faced away from the main body of the castle; therefore the risk of discovery was slight. That accomplished, he reached into the front of his jacket and removed the extra weight he'd carried with him through the castle. He held Scooter up before him, then gazed into her eyes. "I'll take the muzzle off, but you have to promise to be quiet. Is that a deal?"

  He then removed the strip of cloth he'd tied around her snout. The first thing she did was lick him. "Hmm..." he murmured. "First you tolerate a muzzle, then you give me a kiss. Scooter, you are the perfect female."

  Setting the dog on the floor, he said, "Now, let's get to work."

  Jake's plan was to find the hidden entrance to the room, then track down the spirited specter. This old fortress was bound to be riddled with hidden passageways, which explained how the woman had accomplished her tricks. She would have left signs of her passing—like maybe an extra head or pouch of feathers—and he would use them to trace her to her lair. After that... well... "You reap what you've sown, lady."

  He searched for twenty minutes before he found the concealed latch, and even then he'd have missed it were it not for Scooter. While dragging herself toward the meat pie he'd set down for her in an effort to keep her quiet, the dachshund managed to hang herself up on the small lever cleverly disguised as an andiron.

  "Remind me to swipe you a bone next time we wander through the kitchen," he told her as the hidden door yawned open.

  Jake tucked Scooter back into his coat, lifted the lamp from the bedside table, then stepped into the passageway. A damp, musty odor hung on air that felt cold enough to hang meat. Jake grimaced and thought longingly of a warm bed, warm blankets, and warm fire in the fireplace. One more thing you owe me for, sweetheart.

  He couldn't wait to collect his due.

  Because of the darkness in the narrow corridor, the going was slow and the tracking difficult. A short hallway led to a staircase that took him down to the main floor. There the hallway widened slightly before splitting off in three directions. Jake scowled. He'd expected cobwebs and footprints in the dust to lead him to his quarry.

  Instead he found dust rags and a broom. Actually, the broom found him when he stepped on the bristles and the handle conked him on the temple.

  "Ouch," he muttered. Hell, what kind of woman cleaned a secret passage, anyway?

  One who was afraid of spiders. Jake rubbed his sore head, his lips twisting in a rueful grin. Helluva way to confirm he was on the right track.

  He eyed the three corridors. "Well, Scoot, what do we do? Which one do we choose?"

  Because she'd brought him luck earlier, he decided to follow the dog. He set her down, withdrew her sling from his jacket, and passed it under her lame hindquarters. Scooter took off.

  She chose the center hallway and followed a twisting and turning path for almost five minutes before careening to a halt at the foot of a staircase. Jake took the hint, carried her up, then set her down at the top. Sh
e was off again.

  They passed a dozen doorways before she finally stopped. Jake would have bet his favorite hat that they stood outside young Robyn's sleeping chamber. He doused his lamp and cracked open the door. Peering into a moonlit room, he spied a small lump lying crossways across a wide bed, hands hanging over the side. Who else but Robbie would sleep with a fishing net clasped in her fist? He wondered what she dreamed of catching.

  Using his foot to block Scooter's attempts to get inside her buddy's room, Jake silently closed the door, then bent down and muzzled poor Scooter once more. "Sorry, sweetheart," he whispered. "But if this is the family area of the castle, we have to be extra quiet. Don't want to wake the 'dead' before we're ready, now do we?"

  His gut told him his prey had Brodie blood. No servant would be so bold.

  Jake moved to the next door in the corridor. Cautiously, he cracked it open and peered inside. His heart jumped and lodged in his throat.

  Mrs. Dunbar was awake and pacing the room, rubbing the small of her back with one hand, the bulge of her belly with the other. She looked tired and achy, but beautiful enough in her plain white nightgown that Jake wondered why her husband had let her out of his sight.

  If he were Mr. Dunbar and he caught someone spying on his wife in her bedroom, he'd kill the sonofabitch.

  Uneasy with playing the Peeping Tom, Jake stepped back and closed the door, then continued his search for the wrathful wraith. The room next to Mrs. Dunbar's proved to be uninhabited, as did the four he checked after that. Anticipating the confrontation and ready to find a fire to warm his bones, Jake's patience wore thin.

  A canine whimper reminded him he wasn't alone. He looked around to find that while he'd been searching the empty bedchambers, Scooter had dragged herself on down to the end of the corridor where another, extremely narrow staircase spiraled up into the darkness. The dog whined again. "You think she's up there?"

  Jake shivered as a draft of cold air swirled around him. "Or, are you cold and you just want me to carry you around? No offense, Scoot, but I prefer a different sort of female to cuddle up with when I'm trying to keep warm."