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In addition to the cottage, Sir Godfrey had granted a place in the family cemetery both for her granda and her. She supposed now Poppi would lie alone as she would be with Fletch. It was comforting to think that she would spend not only the rest of her life, but all of eternity with him at her side—if you believed in that kind of thing. Claire had never believed in much of anything before, but she realized now she believed in Fletch and in a future with him.
Pulling on leggings, hiking boots and one of Fletch’s sweaters, she wrapped her granda’s scarf around her neck, securing it with the intricate Celtic knot brooch her granda used. She slipped out the back door. The morning was typical of England this time of year—foggy, damp, and cool. Fletch’s fisherman’s knit sweater with the shawl collar provided just the amount of warmth needed for a brisk walk across the estate to where her granda was buried in the Robbins’ family cemetery.
As she walked, she saw groundskeepers and other workers—some of whom she’d known from her childhood and others who were unfamiliar. She raised her hand in silent greeting as she walked and acknowledged a return wave with a smile. The rolling hills of the estate were ingrained in her memory. Claire doubted very much that she could be put down on any part of it and not find her way to wherever she wanted to go.
Passing through the gates of the graveyard, Claire glanced at the family’s personal mausoleum and skirted around to the small, modest headstone of her granda. Its inscription was simple.
Seamus O’Donnell
Gentleman, Scholar, Horseman
Anything worth stealing when left unprotected or forgotten, can be stolen away by a thief in the night.
Claire had deliberately omitted the dates of his birth and death as Poppi had never been overly interested in either. She’d thought about adding ‘thief” to the second line, but decided instead to use something she’d heard him say again and again.
She knelt by Poppi’s grave, pulling the few weeds that had dared to grow, except for the dandelions which he’d always loved. Tears welled in her eyes. Even after all of these years, she missed him so. He’d been so much more than a grandfather or even a parental figure. He’d taught her to ride, demanding she be the best, and he had been the same with teaching her to be a master jewel thief. But the lessons had been fun, and she’d enjoyed spending time with him.
“Hey, granda, I’m here.” She laughed. “Like you wouldn’t know that. I suppose you know I’m shacking up with a man I’m not married to. But I love him, and I think that’s what you would see as important. He’s a bit of a straight arrow.” She laughed again. “No pun intended. His name is Ryland Fletcher. He’s an American, so I suppose you see him as better than an Englishman. He wants me out of the game, and I could do that, but only after we get the Clarion.”
A part of her felt silly for talking to a dead man’s grave. “I know it was important to you. It was important to Mia and me, as well. We started talking last year about finding an end point before we got caught. We sort of talked about focusing on finding the Clarion and that being the end of it. We found it. Fletch wants me out now. He said we’ll find a legal way. He’s wrong. The Hardison’s will never admit it was Nazi loot.”
She glanced around to make sure they were alone. “I want to fulfill this last promise. I know you had a connection to the true owners and had promised them that you’d never stop looking. I want to fulfill that promise. I feel like then I can walk away, but I fear it may come down to choosing between keeping my vow to you or choosing to move forward with Fletch. I wish you were here to talk to. I miss you so much.”
She reached up and touched the Celtic knot scarf brooch at her throat. It was something she had seen her granda wear often. There was the knot design, a pin that secured it, and a backing to the thing that Poppi had sworn was to make it more secure. The whole thing was made of twisted iron and sterling silver. Perhaps she would take her granda’s scarf wherever she went. Or maybe leave the scarf here, but take the brooch with her, perhaps suspending it on a silver chain.
Claire stood and laid her hand on his gravestone just as she had so many times before. She always found peace and clarity when she visited him, but this time there were no sure answers. Touching the brooch, she said, “I’ll find a way to do what’s right. I’ll find a way to honor both you and Fletch.”
She turned back toward the cottage, heading into the sunrise as streaks of orange, purple and gold pushed the dark clouds and fog aside as if providing her with a beacon to where she belonged.
CHAPTER9
FLETCH
Fletch woke to the sound of people milling around in the main room and a cacophony of pots and pans banging together like some orchestra in hell. If they were going to use this place as a weekend getaway, he was definitely going to find a better way to soundproof this room. As he came fully awake, he realized the one sound he wanted to hear was missing—Claire’s deep and even breathing.
He sat up in bed and strained to hear any sound of her. There was none. There was, however, a note propped up on the dresser.Damn it!He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stalked over to it, flipping the folded paper open with a flick of his wrist.
Fletch,
Don’t get pissed. I’ve gone to see my granda.
He’s buried in the family cemetery. Won’t be gone long.
Love,
Claire
Well, at least she signed it ‘love’ and told him where she was going, but somehow, she seemed to have missed the part where someone was trying to kill her. And given that he wasn’t convinced it wasn’t Sir Godfrey, Robbins’ Roost was certainly not a safe place for her to be out on her own. Granted the cemetery wasn’t far, and she was inordinately good at taking care of herself, but still, she needed to be in protective custody and if that meant handcuffing her to the headboard, he had no problem with that.
He was just standing up to button his fly after pulling on his boots when one of the French doors opened, letting in the chill, damp air. Before he even saw her face, he could feel the melancholia rolling off her like the waves lapping along the shoreline back at his farm, Albion.
Leaving his fly alone and stuffing down all of his irritation, he asked, “Where have you been? I was worried. I know you left a note, but regardless of where we are, it isn’t safe for you to be out on your own.”
Claire made short work of the distance between them, plastering herself against his body, wrapping her arms around him, and resting her head on his chest.
“Babe? Are you alright? Are you hurt? Do we need an ambulance?”
She shook her head and chuckled. “You go from pissed off to worried at warp speed. I honestly didn’t think about this place as not being safe. I wanted to go see my granda. His grave isn’t far from here.”
