The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [109]
She’d barely begun when there was a puff of smoke. She looked up to find that the fire had gone out again.
She felt the quick shiver of a breeze and checked the windows. All were latched. Puzzled, she held a match to more kindling until the fire was blazing. Then she made her way to the parlor, only to find that the fire there had gone out as well.
Again she felt the breeze against her cheek, and hurriedly checked the windows and front door. They were securely latched.
Annoyed at the waste of her precious time, she repeated the process of restarting the fire, using more kindling. When the flame was strong and steady, she returned to the bedroom, where she continued unpacking.
When she turned away to hang a blouse, she heard a rustling sound, as though a sudden windstorm had stirred up a pile of autumn leaves. Turning back to the suitcase, she found her things scattered about the floor.
She must be more tired than she’d realized. Annoyed, she retrieved everything and hung the clothing quickly before stowing the empty suitcases on the floor of the closet.
Just as she finished, the storm began in earnest. Wind and rain pelted the roof and rattled the windows as she closed the closet door and turned.
A man was standing across the room, scowling at her. He was tall, at least six feet, with dark hair that brushed the collar of a saffron shirt. His legs were bare beneath a length of plaid. Muscular legs, Bree noted. He looked every inch like those contestants she’d seen in the airline’s magazine article about the Highland Games.
Startled, she shrank back against the closet door. “Who are you?” The words were out of her mouth before she even had time to think.
“I would ask you the same, madam.” The voice, deep and rich, was thick with Scottish burr.
“I am Brianna Kerr. Now you will tell me your name and why you are here.”
“I am Laird James Kerr. Jamie, to those who know me. This is my land. It has been in my family for more than five hundred years, madam. And I do not recall inviting you to share it with me.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. “You will leave this place. Now.”
Bree’s gaze swept the room, looking for something with which to defend herself. Was this the man who terrorized guests in the night? Ghost indeed. He was nothing more than an actor. And not a very good one at that. There was nothing otherworldly about him. He didn’t shimmer or glow. Nor did he weave and float about the room. He was flesh and blood, firmly anchored to that spot, and giving every impression of a man about to do battle.
“I was told that I am the last remaining heir to the Kerr line.”
“Then you were told an untruth, woman. I am here, and here I remain, to make a lie of whatever you may say.”
She drew herself up firmly. “Duncan will be here any minute with the rest of my supplies. I’ll have you deal with him.”
A smile tugged at the corners of the man’s mouth. “I’ll give you this. You’re quick-witted. But not a very good liar, madam. The old servant has been here and gone.”
She bristled at his archaic term. “There are no servants here. Only good people who earn an honest day’s wages for an honest day’s work.”
His smile widened. “Those good people of whom you speak are terrified to come near this place after dark.”
“Then I suggest you leave before I call the authorities.” While she spoke, Bree dug into her pocket for her cell phone.
“ ’Twill do you no good.” He shot a quick glance at her pocket and the phone seemed to leap from her hand to the floor.
“How did you do . . . ?” She visibly paled. “What sort of trick was that?”
“I need no magician’s parlor tricks.” He pointed. “That thing you were clutching is useless here. Didn’t the old woman, Gwynn,