The Chieftain's Yule Bride - a Highland Christmas novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions #10) (6 page)

It wasn't that room which came into focus again but the carpet of the corridor outside, and Freya couldn't think how she'd got there.  She was sitting against the wall now with Callum kneeling beside her, holding her shoulders while she groggily raised her head.

"Can I get you anything?  Water?"

She didn't know what she wanted – except to see that painting again and stay upright and clearheaded while she inspected it properly.

"No... I'm fine..."  She struggled to get up and didn't quite manage it.

"Sit a while yet."

Freya shook her head and immediately regretted it.  The dizziness and ringing in her ears came back, and with it the sound of those voices again.  Chanting.  An old language, but not the Latin or Gaelic she'd learned at school.  A comforting song that was nothing to be afraid of... though difficult to make out the words.  Callum would know.  She'd ask him.  Soon.  When they stopped...

"Will I get a doctor, Freya?  Is there medication you need?"

She thought she answered him and realised she hadn't because her mouth was still closed, her chin resting on her chest again while she fought for clarity. How mortifying was
this! 
He lifted her wrists one by one, and then pulled at the poloneck of her sweater as her head lolled.

"Do you wear a medical alert pendant?"

His words were all professional standard procedure and looking after a customer but his face said different.  She must reassure him.  Didn't want him to be scared for her.  Couldn't let him see her this weak and ineffectual.

"Not diabetic... nothing to worry about," she mumbled as the voices finally slipped away.  She lifted her head and managed to keep Callum's face in focus.  "I'm fine. 
Really. 
And I'm embarrassed enough so
please
put your phone away..."

"Tell me what you need."

"Fresh air.  Feel like I'm on fire."

Oh how stupid a thing to say!  True... but she wasn't sure now if it was from her passing out or from his fingers touching her neck.  She could still feel them there even though they were gone.

Her legs weren't as clever as she thought once she squirmed away.  She tried to stand up and thudded against the wall instead.  An arm came round her back and another under her knees, hoisting her up and carrying her through a doorway.

"Really, I'm
fine.
"  Even to her own ears she sounded pathetic.

"Rest in here.  I'll call down for your man to be fetched."

"Oh
please
no... don't want him to see the portrait... know about it..."

This wasn't the room with those Celtic carvings.  A bedroom of dark blues overlooking the sea.  A four-poster that he laid her on and strode quickly away.  A place without a current resident but with signs that it once had.  A row of windows that he went along, opening every one until the wind caught strands of her hair and blew them tickling across her nose.

She breathed the freezing salty air for a long time, fighting hard to be as fine as she kept saying she was. Callum stood silently at the last window with his shoulder leaning up against the recess, watching her.

"I don't
do
fainting," she insisted from the bed.

This room was obviously kept only for family.  It was more homey with its bookcases and boyhood trophies.  A brother, most probably, long since married off.  The real deal of a lineage that traced back well over a thousand years, according to the website brochure.  The real bits that the tourists didn't get to see.

Freya was suddenly aware of the trust he'd placed in her by bringing her up to this private storey, by showing her that Celtic room and the painting.  Callum had brought her to the inner sanctums of his clan.  Well... to the boundary edges anyway.  She'd bet any money that this castle held a wealth of bigger secrets than the ones she'd just seen.  And that wasn't all he was holding back.  There was more than concern for her in that look he was giving her.

"You got a shock, lass.  Like I said, the likeness is uncanny, even more so than I remember of it."

Little wonder he'd thought he knew her yesterday and talked to her now with an ease not strictly appropriate between a hotel owner and a guest.  The painting was like looking in the mirror for her – no, not a mirror image but a photograph made to look like an old painting – except it really was old.  Regency period, which matched up with an artist from her own family.

The whole scenario should have creeped her out.  It didn't.  All she wanted was to get back to the portrait.  She'd shut out whatever ghosts came with it.  First, the big question.

"Callum, tell me the truth... is this some joke you're playing along with?  Is the painting a fake cooked up for fun?"

"No' a joke."

Some of Zavier's friends were pranksters but it would have been too much trouble to go to with the amount of people involved here and elsewhere.  Besides, they'd have set
him
up with something, not her.

"I believe you.  Can't see you laughing now."

"Doubt you'd be amused if I collapsed in a heap."  He took a deep breath that swelled his chest and then let it out.  "I'm thinking it was a mistake to let you see that painting.  Should no' even have told you about it."

"I'd say I was entitled.  You'd have no right to keep it from me."  She sat up gingerly and put her legs over the side of the bed.  Callum stepped towards her, the worry written on him.  "Honestly, I'm
fine
now
.
Look, I'm standing!  I want to see her again.  She might be my great-whatever-grandmother."

He shrugged without answering, turned away and started closing the windows.  Freya was out the door and into the corridor when he appeared at her side.

"No' without me there."

A low voice, almost a grunt.  The deep Scots brogue of this Highland chieftain towering over her sent her tingling.
Ridiculous...
she was just scared in case he'd try to stop her.

Straight into the turret room she went, keeping her eyes fixed on the table and blanking out those Celtic deities.  But the singsong chanting was there again when she looked at the perfect image of herself.

This time she was determined to stay in control.  She'd missed the Argyll Yoga class at the Spa this morning and now wished she could have gone there first, been wholly centred for this.

She looked up at Callum and found him absently rubbing at the middle of his brow. Third-eye chakra bothering him too, was it?  Little wonder, with the energies in this room.  It felt as if last night's thunderstorm had left this one space electrically-charged.

Putting her hands on the table to lean over the painting made everything worse.  She ignored the subject now and concentrated hard on the rest of what she was looking for.  The brushstrokes, the style, the background, the color mixes.  All confirmed by the word
Minstrel
on the label.  Yes, she'd been right.  The artist was many generations back in her family tree.  Auntie Harper still had some of his work.

Solving part of the puzzle solved only left more questions.  It explained why Callum thought he knew her yesterday when they'd first met.  It didn't explain why she knew
him.

"Okay, I've seen enough."

Callum took a couple of pictures of it on his phone, and looked as relieved as she felt to close the door.  This time he took her along a corridor she'd not yet seen.

"Changing the route, are we?"

His turn to be embarrassed, though he said nothing as he led the way down a steep spiral staircase.  Another door needed his handprint to open electronically, same as on the way up, the sort of doors that would once have had guards posted either side.

They didn't stop at the treasures on the way past and within a few more minutes had arrived back in the public area, never having spoken a word since they'd left the Celtic room.  She should retrieve her coat and leave him here.  Thank him very much and return to the suite and Zavier.  Freya didn't feel ready for that.

The Reception Desk was only a hallway away when she said, "You haven't asked me what I saw."

He didn't reply until a couple of American teenage girls had passed by, saying
"Hi, Callum!"
through their braces as they openly gave him the onceover.

"No' for public ears.  We could walk to the Brewery together?  Tara will be wanting to speak to you."

"Let me leave a message for Zavier.  He thinks I'm at the Spa."

"He's there at the desk."

"Oh!" 
With his baggage? 
"Zavier?"

"Freya!  Where in god's name have you been?  Call from Dubai.  Nightmare.  Bathroom fittings supplier has totally screwed up.  Got to go, babe!"

Real life came back with a thump.  They were supposed to be using this weekend together to begin planning their wedding, and she'd just been doing something she'd rather he didn't know about. 
And
lying on a bed that another man had carried her to, even if it was for a valid health and safety reason.

"Should I come?"

"You could have gone instead of me but I couldn't find you!  Get a new phone fast, will you?  Listen, Rebecca's got everything covered in London for now.  You stay on and sort out the booking with Mister Clan Chieftain here and for godsakes talk him into letting us have some pizzazz."  He tickled her under the chin and gave her a peck of a kiss.  He was already a step away when he said, "Decided what you're wearing instead of ostrich feathers?"

"Well... I'm thinking we should stay contemporary and let the castle speak for itself."

"
Fan
-tastic!  Order me a top hat and I'll be back in time to wear it.  I've left you the rental car.  Robbie's is faster.  Contractors are on stand-down until I get to Dubai so I've got to make the evening flight from Glasgow."

And he was gone, and so was the Events Manager doubling as taxi driver, the gravel spitting up behind a nifty red sports number with noisy twin exhausts as they sped away from the castle.

She should have been left with a sense of loss, and it niggled her to feel a sense of relief instead because it delayed having to tell him about the portrait.

The walk to the Brewery with Freya was a peaceful thing after the dynamo of Zavier Campbell passing through checkout.  Grand luck that her hyper man had been called away – either that or the Elders had far more powers than Callum had credited them with.

The storm had blown itself well out now and the forecast was good for the next few days.  They'd walked beyond the stables before finding solitude.  Out here in the winter sunshine her hair was blonder than ever and blowing in the breeze, her wee nose pink at the tip with the cold and her lips reddened with nibbling at them.  She was jittery, far more than she'd been in the castle.

Work worries?  He didn't think so.  He'd tried to make small talk about the Dubai thing while there were people coming and going on the paths.  How big a hotel was it?  Did her work take her to the Emirates a lot?

Her answers were polite and nothing more, so he let her have the space to think her own thoughts because he suspected Zavier Campbell was no' in them in as kindly a light as he should be.  And what kind of insipid kiss was that to get from her man when he was headed thousands of miles away?

Fine with him if she didn't want to talk about it.  It saved himself the chore of owning up that Robbie was the very person who knew where to find her, being both the clan historian and the custodian of the portrait, and had instead offered the Campbell a fast drive to the airport.

"Are we in private yet, Callum?  Can I tell you what I saw?"

"Aye, go on."

"Well, first, there aren't any old portraits of my family.  Most people couldn't afford the artists to paint them – or the houses with ceilings high enough for the kind of pictures you have on your walls."

"I know.  I was born into privilege."

And trained into the responsibility for a whole clan of people that came with it, which he'd no' be mentioning for now.  Privilege never came alone.