then followed MacNiall’s path down the stairs. The men were both standing at the stallion’s head, admiring the length of his neck and the wide set of his very large eyes.
“Excuse me, but we have a problem here,” Toni reminded them.
“Yeah, what’s up?” Ryan said. He flashed a smile. “Has Toni’s invention come to life? I’m Ryan, by the way. Ryan Browne. Gina’s husband.”
“Pleasure, but I’m afraid that I’ve been very much alive and well for quite some time,” MacNiall said, staring at Toni. She seemed to be the one capable of really drawing his wrath.
Ryan cast his brown gaze toward Toni worriedly. “Didn’t the rental company tell us that the family had died out?”
“They did,” Toni said.
“They lied,” MacNiall informed them. He stared
straight at Toni. “Either that or you’re lying.” His words didn’t seem to include the others, only her. “And you are all trespassing. Which you should know, because it’s obvious that you’ve gotten hold of family history and local lore and rumor.”
“I did not lie!” she protested indignantly.
“Well then, you ‘imagined’ an incredible facsimile of the truth,” he said.
She shook her head. “I knew that a family named MacNiall had owned the place, but that was it. Bruce is a common enough Scottish name. Since we have been working our butts off here, we didn’t really get a chance to question the community on the past!”
“Six-three, pitch-black hair, gray eyes … like the devil’s own,” Gina murmured, staring at the man, then looking at Toni.
“I swear, I made it all up!” Toni said irritably.
“We do have documents,” Ryan said.
Toni bit her lip. Ryan’s approach might work better than her own.
“All right, look, maybe you have some kind of documents—an agreement, a lease, whatever. The point is—” he paused to stare at Toni “—no matter what you have, I’m afraid that you’ve been taken in. Unfortunately, it does seem to be something that happens to Americans now and then. They believe in the almighty Internet, and don’t really research what they’re doing. This is Europe.”
He was beyond irritating. Toni looked at Gina. “Imagine that. This is Europe.”
“You’ve been taken, and that’s that,” MacNiall said flatly to her. “In American? Screwed, Miss Fraser.”
Toni stared at the man without blinking, feeling her facial muscles grow tense. “Gina, perhaps you could show the nice man our documents.”
“Oh, yes! Of course!” Gina turned and went flying down the hallway.
MacNiall shook his head, looking at her.
“We put so much into this—years of saving!” Ryan said with dismay.
MacNiall wasn’t budging. “I’m sorry,” he said flatly.
“Everything,” Ryan murmured.
“Wait a minute, we have to find out the truth here. There’s no reason we should vacate simply on this man’s say-so,” Toni stated. “He’s claiming that we have no right to be here, but how do we know that he really has a right to be here?” The man had called her a liar. She stared straight at him and smiled sweetly. “There are a lot of penniless gentry running around Europe, as we all know. Maybe Laird MacNiall is unaware that government powers have taken control of the property because of nonpayment of taxes or the like?” she suggested.
For a moment, she could well imagine the man strangling her in truth. He did, however, control his temper. His eyes scorned her to the core as he said, “I assure you, that is not the case.”
Gina came running back down the hallway, their lease agreement and licenses in hand.
“Look, Mr. MacNiall … Laird MacNiall.”
Papers fluttered. They all started scooping them up, including MacNiall.
MacNiall righted and studied the documents, shaking his head. “I grant you, they look good. And your licenses and permits appear to be in order. You simply haven’t any right to this place because you were taken in by fraud. I’m very sorry about that, but—”
“Bruce?” A sudden shout came from down the stairs. “Everything all right?”
The new voice came from the entryway. Toni saw that the village law had arrived in the form of Constable Jonathan Tavish. They’d met briefly in town. He was a pleasant man in his early thirties, with sandy hair and a beautiful voice. His R’s rolled almost hypnotically when he spoke. Though he hadn’t mentioned that there was a living descendant of the once great lairds, he had seemed to view their arrival and their plans with worry and skepticism.
Her heart began to sink, and yet, inside, a voice was insisting, No! This just can’t be!
“Everything is just fine, Jon,” Bruce said, eyes coolly set upon Toni once again. “But perhaps you could assure these nice people that I am indeed the owner of the property.”
“The Laird MacNiall,” Tavish told them solemnly. “Owns the castle, half the village and the good Laird above us all knows just what else.”
Toni stared at the man incredulously. Now her heart seemed to thump straight downward into the pit of her stomach. The stunned confusion remained, and once again her temper soared.
Toni suddenly found herself furious with the constable. How could the man have let them all do this without saying a word if there might have been a problem? “Constable Tavish, if this is all true, sir, you might have informed us that there was a living MacNiall who rightfully owned the property and wasn’t known to rent it out!” Toni said, trying very hard to keep her voice level.
The constable looked at her, grimacing ruefully. “If I’ve added to your confusion and distress, lass, I am, indeed, sorry. You never suggested to me that you weren’t aware that Laird MacNiall existed. And until I saw Bruce, I couldn’t be certain that he hadn’t rented the property … though I definitely found it a surprise that he might have done so,” Tavish said.
A crack of lightning showed them that Tavish had not come alone. Behind him was Eban Douglas, a man who had introduced himself as the jack-of-all-trades for the place. They’d explained that they’d put just about everything they had into the rent on the castle and for the repair materials. He’d seemed very pleased, but then again, he always seemed pleased. He was a small, wizened man with tufts of white hair on his skeletal face. Gina referred to him as Igor, and was convinced that he might have made a fortune in life performing as Riff-Raff for the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
He’d actually talked to them a great deal. At times, he’d appeared to help. And never once—in any way, shape or form—had he mentioned that there was a Laird MacNiall who still owned the place.
Despite that—and his rather creepy appearance—he had certainly seemed decent enough. Toni had seen him working about the grounds and had assumed that he was paid
