The Presence

“They say he roams his lands still, hunting for his wife, anxious to see her face, filled with love and lust … and a fury seizes him each time he would hold her in all her spectral beauty!”

She glanced at Gina, frowning. Ryan should have made his appearance by now.

Gina looked at her and shrugged, then lifted her hands, indicating that Toni should finish up, however she could manage.

“That night the great laird of the castle came bursting through his doorway!”

As if on cue, a fantastic flash of lightning suddenly tore through the darkness, followed by a massive roar of thunder.

The doors burst open … and a man appeared. Toni inhaled on a sharp breath of disbelief. It wasn’t Ryan. The man was on the biggest black stallion Toni had ever seen. She thought that the prancing animal might breathe fire at any instant.

And the rider … He was damp from the rain, but his hair appeared to be as black as pitch. And though he was atop the giant horse, he appeared massive himself. If his eyes had glowed like the devil’s just then, she didn’t think that she could have been any more surprised. He was the great Laird Bruce MacNiall, the warrior in mantle and kilt, just as she had described him.

Again lightning flashed and thunder rolled and roared.

Toni let out a startled scream, and a collective squawking rose from the audience.

Perfect! Toni thought. It was time to announce that the laird had come home, in all his glory—and wrath. But for once in her life, words failed her. Like the others, she was mesmerized, watching, afraid to breathe, thinking she must have conjured a ghost.

He dismounted from the stallion with such ease that anyone there with a question would still be in the dark as to what a Scotsman wore beneath his kilt. He looked around the great hall with dark, narrowed eyes and a jaw of concrete.

“Who is running this charade?” he demanded harshly.

The spellbound crowd still seemed to believe it was all part of an act.

David, down with the crowd, jumped to life. “The lady at the top of the stairs!” he informed the stranger, pointing up to Toni. Then he did his best to vacate the place as quickly as possible. “And there we are, at the end of the show. Ladies, gentlemen, thank you for your attention!” he said.

The crowd burst into applause, staring at the newcomer as they did so.

The stranger’s scowl deepened.

“Thank you again,” David said. “And now let’s adjourn into the kitchen, where we’ll have the promised tea and scones!”

As Toni watched the crowd disappear, she heard Gina whispering frantically to her. “What is it? What the hell …?” She stepped from the bedroom, moving out on the landing. “Is it Ryan? What on earth has he done now?”

“It’s not Ryan,” Toni murmured beneath her breath. Kevin had followed David and the crowd into the kitchen, but not before looking up the stairs and glaring at her, lifting his hands in a “what the hell …?” motion himself. Thayer must have gone out to help Ryan, since it appeared that Toni and Gina were alone with the irate stranger, who was now slowly striding his way up the stairs.

“Oh, God!” Gina breathed. “You said you made him up!”

“I did!”

“Then who or what is walking up the stairs? Never mind—I can tell you. It’s one very angry man.”

He was angry? Suddenly Toni, who had been so stunned and awed herself, was angry, as well. Who the hell was he, charging in on them? They had a lease option on the castle, and whatever he might be, Great Britain had laws, and he surely had no right here.

“Hello,” she said, determinedly putting ice and strength into her voice. “Can I help you?”

“Can you help me? Aye, that you can!” he snapped. Now that he was close, she could see that his eyes were gray, a dark stormy gray, right now. “Who in the hell are you people and what in God’s name do you think you’re doing here?” If his eyes were a storm, his voice was the thunder that cracked through it. He was a Scotsman, definitely—it was clear from the burr of his words—but his clean, crisp enunciation suggested that he had traveled, as well, and spent a great deal of time in other places.

“Who are we?” she said, frowning. “Who are you?”

“Bruce MacNiall, owner of this castle.”

“The MacNialls are all dead,” she told him.

“Since I am a MacNiall, I beg to differ.”

Behind her, Gina groaned. “Oh, Lord! It sounds as if there’s been some terrible mistake.”

“There’s been no mistake,” Toni said softly to Gina. “There can’t be!” To the stranger who had arrived in perfect theatrical form, she said, “We have a rental agreement, a lease-purchase agreement, as a matter of fact.”

“Whatever you have is not legal,” he said crisply.

“We honestly believe that it is.” Gina stepped forward, smiling ruefully and trying the polite approach. Gina was petite, with a wealth of lustrous brown hair, and green eyes that surveyed the world with intelligence and an easy courtesy. Her forte was public relations. “This,” she continued politely, “is Antoinette Fraser. Toni. I’m Gina Browne. Honestly, sir, we’ve gone through all the right steps and paid a handsome sum for the right to be here. We’re registered and have a license as tour guides. I can’t begin to imagine why you’ve suddenly burst in here tonight. The people in the village, including the constable, know that we’re here. If there was a problem, why are you appearing only now?”

“I have been traveling. The constable didn’t throw you out because he hadn’t had a chance to talk to me, and find out if, for some reason, I had decided to rent the place. I just arrived back in the village this evening, and learned that my home was being turned into the Pete Rose Circus!”

“Oh! Really!” Gina sucked in air.

Toni looked at her, smiling grimly. Gina looked stricken, and certainly she felt the depth of the insult herself. “I quite enjoy the Pete Rose Circus,” she said. Arms crossed over her chest, she turned back to the stranger. “Look, we’re truly baffled by your sudden appearance, especially since we didn’t know that you existed and because we do have legal forms. Perhaps people here keep their own counsel, but surely someone might have mentioned you to us! And … we walked right in here, without even having to acquire keys—we found a set on a hook by the door. Perhaps you’re out of town too frequently, Mr. MacNiall.”

“It’s Laird MacNiall,” he said, his tone dry. “And I could hardly expect to come home and find—”

“Aha!”

The roar of the word sounded along with a new clatter of hoofbeats, cutting off Laird MacNiall. Ryan Browne had at last arrived, sword drawn, risen in his stirrups. He realized almost immediately that the room was emptied of people and filled with a huge black horse. He reined in swiftly, his eyes following the steps until they fell upon the upper landing, and he stared at the three of them.

“The great laird returns to his castle?” he said weakly.

“Where he finds …?”

The black stallion let out a wicked-sounding snicker.

Ryan’s horse, their handsome roan named Wallace, shied. “Another great laird with a bigger horse! Okay … This great laird is leaving,” he said quickly, getting the gelding under control. “But I’ll be back,” he promised.

He turned and left, the roan clattering its way out of the castle.

“I really will have the lot of you arrested,” Bruce MacNiall said. It was more like a growl than a spoken comment. “How dare you burst in here, mocking Scottish history? Americans!”

“Excuse me, I think that we’ve explained all this. We have a lease, a legal document,” Toni said. “And we’re not mocking Scottish history, we’re here because we love it.”

“Listen to me one more time, you addled woman! I own the place, and it has never been for sale or lease!”

It simply couldn’t be, yet his irritated aggression was so vehement that Toni found herself suddenly afraid that something could be really wrong. Gina looked stunned, and equally worried.

Toni stepped up to the plate, ready to do battle. “You’re wrong,” she informed the man claiming to be the living MacNiall. “We have an agreement.”

“The hell you do!”