The Presence

She groaned, sinking into one of the chairs.

“What? What is that groan for?” Ryan demanded.

“The address was a post office box in Edinburgh,” she admitted.

“Okay!” Kevin said, reaching over to squeeze her hand and give her some support. “That will give the police a trail to follow, at least.”

“It will help the police,” David said softly, offering Toni a half smile despite his words. “But I’m not real sure what it will do for us.”

“Toni, why didn’t you want the constable to take the papers tonight?” Gina asked, frowning. “Wouldn’t it have been better for him to have gotten started on this as quickly as possible?”

“Those papers are all we have,” Toni said. “What if I’m right and this man has lost his family castle yet still has illusions of grandeur in his head? If the constable is his loyal subject, our papers could disappear.”

“She has a point,” David said.

“She has a point, but this fellow isn’t broke. You can’t be broke and own a horse like that,” Ryan told them.

“Sorry, but it looks like we’ll have to suck up to this guy if we want to make it through the weekend,” Thayer said.

“Maybe he borrowed the horse,” Toni said.

“Oh, honey, come on. You’re just getting desperate here,” David said softly.

“Well, hell, it is desperate!” Toni said.

“Everything we’ve saved has gone into this!” Gina breathed, sinking into a chair, as well.

“Maybe we can arrange a new rental agreement,” Toni said.

“With what?” Thayer asked. “We put a fortune into this. Unless one of you won a lottery before you left the States …?”

“No. But I still say we have to have some rights!” Toni insisted.

“The sad thing is,” Kevin told her, “unfortunately, people who have been screwed don’t generally have a right to anything. They’re just …”

“Screwed,” David said.

Toni shook her head, rising. She felt a pounding headache coming on. “I’m going to go to bed. Tomorrow afternoon, I’m calling the lawyer in the States. He can give us some advice, at the very least.” She started toward the door, then turned back. “I am sorry, so very sorry. At best, this is really a mess.”

“Amazing,” Gina said suddenly.

“What?” Toni demanded.

“That he looks just like your MacNiall—the one in your phony family history. I mean … it’s incredible that you could invent a man who existed down to the last de tail.”

“No, not to the last detail. The MacNiall I invented died centuries ago,” Toni said bitterly.

“Yeah, but apparently, there was one of those, too,” Gina said.

“Look, I don’t believe it, either!” Toni said.

“Toni,” Kevin said softly.

“Yes?”

“We don’t blame you just because you were the one who found it on the Internet and got us all going. We all—every one of us—read the agreements.”

She hesitated. They were staring at her sorrowfully. And despite the denial, she felt a certain amount of blame. Sure, they’d all wanted to do this, all been excited. But she’d pushed it. She’d been the one to do the actual work. But what had there been to question?

She bit her lip, feeling a little resentful and a lot guilty. If this really was totally messed up, to herself, at least, she would be the fall guy.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Get some rest. We’ll all get some rest. When we’re not so tired and surprised, we’ll be much better at sucking up!” Kevin said cheerfully.

Toni nodded, gave him a weak smile and departed.

In the great hall, she paused. They had been so happy here. This place had truly been a dream. And they had been like kids, so excited.

She hurried up the stairs to the upper landing. There were rooms on the third floor, as well, but the main chambers were here. Servants had once slept above. Her group had chosen rooms in the huge U that braced around the front entry to the main keep of the castle. Hers was to the far right and she had assumed that it had once been the master’s chamber. It was large, with both arrow slits and a turret with a balcony that looked out over the countryside. After claiming the room she had discovered that it also had the most modern bath, and that the rug and draperies were the cleanest in the castle. Still, she remembered uneasily that her room also contained the huge wardrobe that had been locked tight—something to explore at a later time.

As she walked to the room, she felt a growing wariness. She hesitated, her hand on the antique knob, then pushed the door open.

There was a naked man in her bedroom. Nearly naked, at any rate.

A fire was beginning to burn nicely in the hearth. The dampness was already receding. A reading light blazed softly near the huge wing-backed chair before the fire.

The chair was occupied. Bruce MacNiall was seated, already showered, his hair wet, smooth and inky-black, his form covered in nothing but a terry towel wrapped around his waist. He was reading, of all things, the New York Times.

“Yes?” he said, looking up but not setting the paper aside. “Don’t you knock in the States?” “Not when I’m entering my own room.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been living in here,” she informed him. “But it’s not your own room, is it?” he queried. “So … this was your room,” she murmured. “Is mine.”

Suck up! They had all warned her. But she was tired—and aggravated.

“If you’re the one in the right,” she reminded him, regretting her words at once.

“I do assure you that I am,” he said solemnly.

“At this particular moment, I don’t really have any legal proof that you’re telling the truth, so I’m not entirely convinced that it is your room, that you have the right to claim it from me,” she said. “You’ll note my things at the dressing table. They do look like mine, unless you customarily wear women’s perfume, mascara and lipstick.”

He stared at her politely, and maybe a bit amazed.

“My wardrobe, you’ll notice,” he pointed out. “Since you’re ever so observant, I’m sure you noted that when you came in and made yourself so thoroughly at home, you had no place to actually hang clothing since the wardrobe was locked.”

He had won from the beginning and she knew it. She didn’t know why she was still arguing. She loved this room, though, and she was settled into it.