The long trek from England had passed pleasantly, for the most part. They talked on and off again in the coach during the day, but at night, he’d taken to procuring separate rooms for them. He kept hoping that as they got to know each other better, she’d realize how ridiculous it was to keep putting off the inevitable, but to his dismay, she’d seemed all too eager each night to take her leave of him.
He’d sent word ahead, and when he arrived, the secretary ushered him directly into the elderly gentleman’s office. Mr. Byrnes was a slim man with spectacles and a friendly smile.
“Captain Blake. So good of you to stop by.”
Dylan returned the smile and shook the old man’s proffered hand. “I hope you have good news for me.”
The old man returned to his place behind his desk and gestured for Dylan to take the leather chair that faced him. “Oh, very good news, young man. I’m sure you’ll find everything in order. The estate has posted a profit for several years now.” Still smiling, he handed Dylan a leather-bound account book.
“A profit?” Dylan’s excitement grew as he glanced through the pages. “Someone has been taking care of the place?”
“Of course.” The old man gave Dylan a disgruntled look. “I knew your mother’s family very well, Captain Blake. The old Laird and I were great friends. I’ve done my utmost to ensure your inheritance.”
“Forgive me. But since I wasn’t even aware I had an inheritance until last week, I had my doubts.”
The old man looked abashed. “I feel terrible about the misunderstanding, but I’ve been sending quarterly reports to the Earl of Warren since you were a child. I had no idea he hadn’t seen fit to inform you the estate was yours.”
Dylan relented. He could hardly blame the old man for not trying to contact him directly. No doubt the earl had told Mr. Byrnes that Dylan was simply too much of a wastrel to want the responsibility.
“And what of the house?” Dylan asked, thinking of Natalia’s promise. “Is it in good order?”
“Oh, yes. I believe so. The rooms might need a good airing out, but the caretaker has assured me many times it could be ready for you immediately if you ever expressed interest in a visit.”
Dylan smiled. “Well, I intend to do more than visit. I brought my new bride. We plan to make Aldabaran our home.”
“That’s wonderful news.” The old man’s eyes lit up at the prospect. “Your grandfather would have been so pleased. Would you like me to send word ahead, have them prepare the rooms?”
“No. That won’t be necessary.” Dylan’s mind already raced ahead. “I plan to leave first thing in the morning.”
* * *
Aldabaran sat upon a high rocky cliff, overlooking the churning sea. The keep had been built 500 years ago with defense in mind. A sturdy square building, five stories high, the keep’s pale stone walls gleamed in the afternoon light.
Dylan swung out of the coach and took a deep breath of the familiar salty air. His troubles fell away, at least temporarily.Home at last.
Turning, he helped his wife climb down and examined her face as she got her first look at their new home. His intense desire for her to love Aldabaran frightened him.
But she didn’t disappoint him. She took a long slow look around, her green eyes missing nothing. “It’s beautiful. Everything you said it would be.”
Smiling broadly, he took her hand and started toward the gate, sparing the coachman a wink and a wave. “I’ll help you with the bags in a minute, mate. Right now, I need to carry my bride over the threshold.”
The coachman nodded, and Dylan dragged Natalia along behind him, excitement pulsing in his veins. To his utter surprise, the inner courtyard looked exactly as it had twenty years ago. Flowers bloomed, and the stones were meticulously swept.
As they approached the front door, a scowling man strode from the direction of the stables. “What is your business here?” he demanded as he intercepted them.
Dylan gave the stranger an annoyed glance, but on closer examination came recognition.
“Patrick Macpherson!” He changed direction and shook the other man’s hand. “Dear God, it’s good to see you after all these years.”
Long dormant memories flooded him. Patrick, not the earl, had taught Dylan to ride, hunt, and fish. How could he have forgotten, even for a moment?
Patrick hadn’t aged at all. Even though he must be in his fifties, and his dark hair had gone gray around the temples, he was still fit and lean.
“Dylan,” Patrick said, his voice gone hoarse. “Have you really come home at last?”
Dylan smiled, and the tension flowed out of him like water through a sieve. “Aye,” he told Patrick in the brogue that had once been second nature. “It took me a while, but I finally found my way back,”
The older man’s face bore a look of extreme emotion. For a moment, Dylan thought Patrick might embrace him. Then a mask fell over Patrick’s features, and he took a step back. “I’m sure you’ll find everything in order, sir. Mother and I have taken good care of the place while you’ve been away.”
