The Presence Part 9

"Hardly an estate, and totally a crumbling castle," Bruce said, taking a seat. "Actually, the more I walk around the place, the more amazed I am. They've taken care of a ton of minor things that I've put off for years."

"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 pa.s.sion 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 h.e.l.l 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 circ.u.mstance. 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 doc.u.ments 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 doc.u.ments."

"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 la.s.s. 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 d.a.m.ned thing. I'm your friend and I know you. I'm just telling you what someone else might think."

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!" Bruce cursed, his tone hard. Jonathan'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 expert. But murdered women being discovered in Tillingham Forest does bother, seriously. And it should bother the h.e.l.l 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 la.s.s, 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 G.o.d!" 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 d.a.m.n 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 prost.i.tution 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.

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

He sat in his car for a minute, staring out the windshield. 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 prost.i.tutes 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 already 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.

*5*

"Hey! 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 d.a.m.ned 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. h.e.l.l, 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 p.r.i.c.kly 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 MacNail'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.