The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [113]
She lifted her head, determined to hide any trace of her own shame in the matter. “I would have thought you’d be gone by now, after the things you did.”
“I could say the same for you. Have you no pride, woman?”
“More pride than you have shame.”
“Oh aye. So much pride, you cried out in your sleep like an infant, hoping to touch my heart.” He gave a sigh of disgust. “I’ve never been able to deny a weeping female.”
“I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again.” She pushed herself from the chair to escape his gaze and to put some space between them.
Sunlight slanted through the ivy-covered windows. A fire blazed on the hearth. And the whistling sound that had awakened her was a kettle on the stove.
She hurried across the room and lifted it aside.
In the sudden silence she turned to see Jamie standing beside her.
“What is it that troubles you, Mistress Kerr?”
“If you’re a spirit as you claim, why don’t you just read my mind?”
Her snappish attitude had him smiling. “Wake with a bit of a temper, do you?”
“More than a bit. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.”
“As would I. But it seems we both want to be alone in the same place. And since I was here first, Mistress Kerr, by hundreds of years, I suggest you pack up and find something more suitable.”
“I prefer this cottage.”
“I’ve already claimed it for my own. What’s wrong with living in the manor house?”
“I can’t afford to.”
“Can’t afford? The lady of the manor must do without?” He gave a mock sigh. “What’s this world come to?”
“The cost of maintaining the mansion and grounds for the benefit of just one person is unthinkable. There are far too many things in need of repair. Besides, it’s not my style.” She lifted the kettle to fill a teapot and set it on the table, along with a little basket of biscuits and a pot of jam she’d bought at the airport the previous day.
She looked over at him. “Would you care to join me?”
His frown became more pronounced. “Unfortunately, I’ve no need of food.”
“I should think that would please you. No need to shop. Nothing to store or prepare.”
“I used to enjoy a hearty meal.” He stared broodingly into the flames. The tone of his voice had gone from angry to sad.
“Then why did you put the kettle on?”
“I thought you’d want something when you woke.”
Bree was unexpectedly touched. “You did it for me?” She paused a moment, completely taken aback. “Thank you.”
He brushed aside her gratitude. “ ’Twasn’t a kindness on my part. I just wanted you awake and gone. I thought the whistling of a teakettle more effective than breaking another vase. And heaven knows I wasn’t about to touch you again.” He waved a hand distractedly before taking the seat across from her at the table. “Since you don’t want to live in the manor house, why are you here?”
“This land and these buildings are all I have left.”
“Left of what?”
“Of my marriage to Barclay Kerr.”
“Was it a happy marriage?”
She fell silent.
He studied her more closely. “I suppose that’s an answer of sorts. And now that you’re here, what do you intend to do with all this?” His eyes narrowed in sudden understanding. “I see. You’ve come to sell Ravenswood?”
“Not sell it. Use it to earn a living.”
“And how would you do that?”
“I thought I’d restore it to its former glory and turn it into an upscale inn.”
“ An inn? What rubbish.” He pounded a fist on the table and stormed across the room, flitting from doorway to window to hearth like an errant flash of lightning. “You’d bring strangers here to trample the gardens and fish in the lochs? Foreigners who’d filch the silver and mock the hallowed grounds where brave Highlanders shed their blood in battle?”
Before she could reply, his fist slammed again. “Never! By heaven, I’ll burn every inch of it to the ground and, for good measure, plunge my dagger through their black hearts before I’ll let that happen.”
Bree could see that he