Page 7 of Darro

Esme blew out a breath. “So it was, what, like another curse?”

“Wait a sec. Why would anyone think that I committed suicide?” Grace asked. “It can’t be because I sold all of my mother’s things before I disappeared.”

“They found your rental car abandoned by Lovers Point,” Esme told her. “My editor’s theory was that you were so depressed you jumped in the ocean from one of the cliffs there and drowned.”

“Oh, please.” The chatelaine’s expression darkened. “My mother hated me, and used me, and made my entire life miserable. I wasn’t happy that she died, but it didn’t depress me.”

“I didn’t buy it, Ms. Johansen,” Esme said. “I thought someone wanted to make it look like you were a suicide. That seems to fall in with what happened after Agent Travars came here. If it was magic, then maybe this enemy guy really did use it on both of you.”

Grace nodded. “Makes sense. They probably did something similar to Olivia—she was forced into the spell trap before I got here—and now you.” Sympathy softened her big brown eyes. “Did you leave family back home?”

“No husband, kids or parents. Just lots of aunts, uncles and cousins.” Esme rubbed her eyes for a moment and then turned around to look at Darro. “What’s your name, mi vida?”

At last she remembered he was here, he thought, and rose to his feet to bow to her. “Darro McKeran, my lady.”

“You look much better than the last time I saw you, Darro McKeran.” Dimples appeared in her pretty cheeks as she added, “Thank you for rescuing me.” She gingerly touched her mouth, and then frowned. “I could have sworn I split my lip trying to kill that spider, but it doesn’t even hurt now.”

Everyone started talking at the same time, and Darro saw how it confused her. He cleared his throat and gave the laird a direct look before he said, “Mayhap we should permit the healer attend to the lady before we speak on other matters.”

Esme gave him a grateful look, and then yelped as she saw the clan’s tall, lanky healer walk through one of the arches. “Benedict Miller, M.D., missing for two years. Does everyone who died or disappeared in the castle come here?”

“If they walk through the same hall you did, they do,” Ava said wryly. “Dr. Miller, meet Esme Martinez, journalist and newcomer. According to Chieftain Darro she had an encounter with a gold spider that could possibly be another enchanted bug.”

“You have more enchanted bugs?” Esme asked, looking intrigued.

Darro saw that he was wrong about her being frightened. The wee beauty now looked as if she wished to talk to everyone in the stronghold.

“Ms. Martinez.” Ben clasped her hand as he looked into her eyes. “Did the spider bite you?”

“It tried to with its huge red fangs, but I squashed it before it could. Twice. It kept coming back to life. It was right here.” She shook as if chilled as she pulled up her sleeve to show him her forearm, prompting Darro to remove his tartan and drape it around her. “Thanks, homeboy.”

When she looked at him with fear lingering in her eyes, Darro wanted to snatch her up in his arms and take her to his chamber. The impulse startled him so much he immediately took a step back. He never had such whims, and he certainly didn’t wish to claim Esme as his. He was the laird’s second, and all of his loyalty belonged to his brother. As he watched the healer check her for bites, however, his hands curled tightly at his sides. Ben had to touch the lady in order to assure she had no other wounds, Darro knew that, and yet he wanted to shove the other man away from her. The wee beauty had wheedled her way into his heart already.

No, I’m but weary from lack of sleep. I shall ask the laird to spare me from my duties on the morrow so I may rest. He looked at Esme, thought of the golden spider and how it had crawled into a wall crack, and knotted his fist. First I shall find that facking thing.

He beckoned to two guards, and then said to Ava, “I need return to the spell trap entry, my lady, so I may hunt that spider.”

“You better be careful,” Esme told him. “It jumps, and nothing seems to hurt it, even after you try to squash it.”

“Take care, Brother,” Tasgall told him, “and make sure it doesnae escape.”

Darro nodded. “Lady Ava, please stay with Mistress Martinez until I return.”

“Of course.” She looked almost as worried as Esme now. “Be careful, Chieftain.”

“Did you get a final head count?” Renard Beaumont asked as his chief security guard came out of the castle and closed the entry doors.

“Seventy-one left, just as you said, sir,” the mortal told him. “We must have miscounted them on the way in.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He gave him a benevolent smile. “What about the one I told you to keep back?”

The man nodded toward his Mercedes. “We put him in the car for you, sir.”

“Excellent.” He wiped the man’s memories before he said, “Your duties are complete, so you and the others may go.”

Once the mortal had departed, he glanced at the Mercedes, which was rocking slightly, and then shed his Beaumont guise before he made his way back inside. Trotting downstairs, he walked through the illusion of a stone wall to the room he used to monitor the spell trap. There waited the enchanted spiders he had his guards plant as badges on all of the journalists attending the one-night opening.

After he counted them Bodach grinned; there were seventy-one spiders left. Seventy-two journalists had gone into the castle, each one wearing the enchanted badges, so someone had definitely wandered into the spell trap. He hoped it was one of the more persistent idiots who had called him constantly, sometimes leaving messages meant to intimidate him.