Authors: Mackenzie Crowne
Something
had changed. She’d visited the stone ring often during her summer here, and had
stood at its center a thousand times in the dreams. Other than a few stubborn
blades of crabgrass, nothing ever grew atop the ancient mound, much less a
healthy rosebush. And the weeping... Not once, in all her visits, had she heard
a single sound within the ring. It was as if nothing could penetrate there—not
the chirp of crickets, not the sweet notes of birdsong, not even the whistle of
the wind.
Who
had been weeping, and where had the rosebush come from? What did it mean?
Donovan
bounded by her, his long legs eating up the dirt path zigzagging toward the
cliffs, his nose to the ground. He paused occasionally, racing back to circle
her as if to hurry her along, before dashing off again. The Door, seven pale
pillars in the early morning light, came into view as she topped the rise.
Donovan’s head lifted to greet her with a whining bark before dropping, once
again, to continue his scenting of the rocky soil surrounding the ring.
Anticipation
flooded her as she closed the distance, her eyes straining to see what she had
in the dream. She came to a stop, leaning breathlessly against the closest of
the stones with an outstretched hand. Her gaze swept the soil inside the ring,
her head cocked as she listened, but the ring was as it always was, eerily
silent and empty.
Pushing
away from the stone, she made her way to the point where the rosebush had
appeared. She sank to the ground and let her fingers play over the prickly
blades of grass. No scar from an uprooted plant was visible. In fact, there was
no sign of a plant ever having been there. Her shoulders drooped with
disappointment.
Last
night’s dream was an aberration. The rosebush, the weeping, the woman’s
pleading cry, were all departures from the nightly vision she’d come to expect.
But why?
What
had changed?
True,
she’d come back to Ireland. But she’d spent two months prowling the ring the
summer she’d spent with Gran and had never seen or heard a thing.
She
slapped at the barren ground in frustration. How could she solve the mystery if
she couldn’t understand the clues?
Deflated,
she looked up to see Donovan appear over the rise beyond the ring. His long
legs moved in a loose trot as he pivoted toward her. He bounded her way and
stopped, as though he’d hit a wall, just outside the pillars. His pitiful whine
filled the air.
“What
do
you
have to cry about?” she complained across the distance. “
I’m
the one going insane.”
The
whining increased.
“Come
here you big baby.” She held out her hand, and still he whined and didn’t move.
Concerned, she rose to her feet. “What’s the matter?” she asked, crossing the
ring and dropping down to a squat in front of him. “Did you tangle with a thorn
bush? We’re not in the city any longer, big guy. If you’re going to go around
sticking your nose in places it doesn’t belong, you’re going to have to learn
some of those places will bite back.”
She
put her hands to his jowls but found nothing tangled in the fur of his muzzle.
His tongue darted out, reaching for her face, inches from his.
“Cut
that out,” she grumbled, rising and stepping beyond the ring to run her hands
over his wiry frame in search of a burr or bramble. The whining ceased, and she
found nothing, not even when he let her lift and examine each paw with his
usual patience. When finished, she straightened. Hands on her hips, she watched
him turn and race off down the trail as though he hadn’t a care in the world.
“Idiot
dog,” she mumbled low.
Her
gaze flicked back to the empty ring, and a frown puckered her brow. She spun
around just as Donovan disappeared over the rise. Why had her dog refused to
enter Dunhaven’s Door? No, that wasn’t quite right. He’d been heading her way,
but stopped short when he reached the outer edge, as though something had
prevented him from entering.
Did
the ring deny entrance to animals, or were they instinctively wary of crossing
the mystical threshold? She thought back over the dreams. The black wolf had
accompanied her to the Door on a number of occasions. He’d paced about the
edges, an occasional low growl rumbling in his throat, but he’d never placed a
paw within the interior of the ring, either.
Only
Colin had ever crossed into the ring with her.
A
cold chill raced up her spine. That wasn’t altogether true. She racked her
memory, but couldn’t recall Colin ever actually entering the ring before. Like
the wolf, and Donovan, he had always waited for her just beyond the pillars.
Until
last night
.
Chapter
Four
Eileen
Doyle had changed little. More gray peppered her red hair, and the laugh lines
at the corners of her eyes had deepened, but their forest green color hadn’t
faded. They still sparkled with the inner joy Keely remembered from her
seventeenth summer. Skinny to the point of frailty, the Quinn housekeeper had
the energy of three women, and the confidence of a room full of CEOs.
Keely
wanted to be her when she grew up.
“Isn’t
this is a sweet surprise?” Eileen crowed, opening Quinn Manor’s front door
wide. “Dunhaven’s own author, come to brighten my day.”
“It’s
good to see you again, Eileen.” Keely grinned and stepped over the threshold
into the grand foyer. Eileen closed the door and turned to study her.
“Well
then, look at you, all grown up and successful. And bonny to boot. Morna would
be bursting her buttons if she could see you now. You’ll be needing to carry a
stout stick to keep the local lads at bay.”
“I’m
covered,” Keely said with a laugh. “I have a very protective dog.”
“If
you’re meaning that great hulking beast who was after digging in the Manor’s
garden this morning, I’d say you’ve the right of it.”
Keely
cringed visibly. She’d locked Donovan in the cottage before she’d come, and God
knew what kind of mischief he’d get into while she was gone. Learning he’d
already found his way over to the Manor reminded her she’d have to find an
effective pen as soon as possible. Preferably, something indestructible.
She
opened her mouth to apologize but Eileen waved it off. “If you’re here to see
Miss Kathleen, you’ve just missed her. She’s off to visit a friend who’s
feeling a bit poorly.”
“Actually,
I was hoping to have a word with Colin.”
“And
here I was,” said a deep voice behind her, “suffering at the thought of
spending the next few hours staring at boring financials.”
Keely
swallowed at nerves, spinning to find Colin framed in the doorway of his office,
off the foyer.
“I’m
thinking my morning plans have just improved,” he said with a grin.
For
crying out loud. Did the man always have to look like he’d stepped out of the
pages of GQ?
It
was seven o’clock in the morning. A normal man would still be working on his
first cup of coffee, his hair suffering from bed head, and his chin darkened
with stubble. In crisp black slacks and a white dress shirt, Colin looked as
though he’d been up for hours.
She
forced a smile, glad she’d returned to the cottage to shower and do the makeup
routine. After last night’s dream, and this morning’s realizations, she was
already off balance. Facing the lord of the manor, while looking like a
homeless waif, would have been too much.
“Have
you had breakfast?” he asked.
“I
never eat breakfast,” she informed him quickly, thinking any food she attempted
to swallow right now would be in danger of coming right back up.
“Coffee
then.” It wasn’t a question, not when he was looking at Eileen as he spoke.
The
housekeeper nodded and headed off down the hallway. “I’ll have a pot ready in
two minutes,” she called over her shoulder.
Two-minute
coffee? Of course Quinn would already have one of those top of the line units
she’d decided to buy. She’d forgotten all about ordering it in her mad dash
this morning, and made a mental note to do just that. In three minutes—right
after he laughed in her face and showed her the door.
He
gestured to the office, and she slid by him to take the seat he indicated. He
lowered himself into the chair across from hers, sitting back in an easy
sprawl. Uneasy under his silent inspection, his gaze roaming over her face, she
took the opportunity to glance about his office.
The
room, one of her favorites of Quinn Manor, suited the man who ruled here. With
its rich cherry wood and oversized furniture, it had an unmistakably male
personality, softened by the cool, cotton window dressings, and the spray of
wildflowers perched on the edge of the wet bar in the corner.
True
to her word, Eileen swept into the room on a squeak from her sensible shoes
against the hardwood floor. “There’re scones, if you’re interested,” she said,
setting the tray on the low table between them and indicating the cloth covered
basket.
“Thank
you, Eileen,” Colin drawled as she departed. He sat forward, picking up the
carafe. “Cream and sugar?”
“Black,”
she said succinctly.
There,
that was just the right tone. Completely unaffected. Slightly bored.
He
must not have been hearing what she was, because his sigh was deep and drawn
out.
“I
meant what I said yesterday, Keely. I overreacted to a simple misunderstanding,
and I’m sorry. We were friends, of a sort, before that night. I’d like it if we
could be friends again.”
She
didn’t know how to respond. While she hadn’t considered him a friend exactly,
he
had
been friendly—in the way a man is with the awkward, teenage
granddaughter of a cherished, family friend. Somehow, in the jumble of the
dreams, and her residual embarrassment over their encounter in the gazebo,
she’d forgotten that.
And
she was partially at fault, after all. He may have overreacted when he’d
discovered he was kissing the wrong woman, but then, so had she. If they hadn’t
been interrupted, Keely would have let him do whatever he wanted with her,
right there in the manor’s garden.
Not
that it mattered. After what she had to discuss with him today, he’d probably
do his best to steer clear of her. Men like Colin Quinn didn’t make a habit of
befriending crazy women. Still, she needed his help.
“I’d
like that too,” she said finally.
Chapter
Five
“So,
what did you need to see me about?”
Keely
bit her lip, wondering where to begin. Telling a man he’d been invading your
dreams for ten years wasn’t exactly the sort of thing one just blurted out.
She’d need to ease into it.
“I
was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Dunhaven’s Door.”
His
brows rose in question. “The Door? From what I’ve read, you’re something of an
expert on the subject.”
“You’ve
read
Into the Mists
?” she asked, surprised.
His
smile was sharp. “I did, and enjoyed it. The subject matter was entertaining
and...irresistible,” he finished cryptically.
Pleasure
at the simple praise curled in her belly. She cleared her throat. “That was a
work of fiction. What I want are facts.”
“A
work of fiction based on stories passed down through time,” he noted. “I’m
afraid much of what is known of the Door is just that, Keely. Legend.”
“I
understand that. I still have questions.”
“Such
as?”
“Do
animals see the Door differently than people?”
He
blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Animals,”
she said tightly, knowing she was going to sound like a lunatic. “People visit
the Door all the time—sightseers, the occasional local. Do any of them ever
bring their pets along, and do those pets ever act...oh, I don’t know, skittish
about entering the ring?”
“That’s
an interesting angle. Are you thinking of writing a sequel?”
“I
might,” she said, impatient with the equivocation. And yet, he’d given her the
perfect pretext for asking her questions with his assumption that she was
planning another book. She’d take the excuse and run with it. “At this point,
it’s just research. Have you ever heard any stories of a family dog refusing to
enter the ring?”
He
shook his head. “I’ve never heard anything like that. What made you think of
it?”
“What
about sound?” she pressed. “It’s always so quiet and empty there. Have there
ever been any reports of someone hearing something or seeing anything odd
within the ring?”
He
shook his head, and she couldn’t help but sigh.
“Have
you?” he asked. “I know you visited the Door often the summer you were here.
Have you seen or heard something odd on one of your visits?”
She
took refuge in her coffee, unsettled by the way he kept answering her questions
with questions of his own.
They
were circling each other like adversaries. If neither of them were willing to
answer a single question, she wasn’t going to get anywhere.
Just
do it, Keely. What do you care if he thinks you’re crazy? For all intents and
purposes you
are
crazy, or close to it. Tell him, and find out what he
knows!
She
set her cup on the table and met his gaze boldly. “Actually, I have. I saw a
rosebush with a single red bloom, and heard a woman weeping.”
“At
the Door?” he asked.
She
looked for doubt in his intent blue eyes. All she saw was an acute curiosity.
“At
the center of the ring,” she answered.
“Who
was she?”
“I
have no idea. I didn’t actually see her, but I heard her.”
“When
was this?” he asked.