“I’m going to start moving my tools back tomorrow,” he said. “I should be cleared out of the laundry in a few days.”
Jordan nodded. “I wish my father could see this place,” she said. “I’ve sent him photos, but it’s not the same. It’s so much more impressive when you see it in person.”
“Feck him,” Danny said. “He doesn’t appreciate you the way I do. He doesn’t deserve you.”
“Yes,” Jordan said. “Feck him. I don’t need him anymore.”
“No, you don’t. You’re clever and talented and you can do this for yourself.”
Jordan slipped her arms around his neck. “I’m glad you believe in me.”
“It’s not a difficult thing to do, Jordan.”
They made love quietly and slowly, enjoying a long lazy morning in bed. And, through it all, there was no more fear or hesitation. She didn’t have to think about leaving him. They had many more mornings ahead of them.
And on one of those mornings, she might tell him what was in her heart, how she’d fallen in love even though she’d tried so hard not to. How he’d captured her heart the very first time she’d set eyes on him.
But that could wait. She had all the time in the world.
8
THE MANOR HOUSE was dark and silent. Danny lay in bed, Jordan asleep beside him. He turned to look at her and smiled to himself. They’d come home from a leisurely dinner in the village and immediately crawled into bed. But this time, they hadn’t made love. Instead, they’d spoken softly about their plans for the future.
He drew a deep breath. For now, she was going to stay. She’d furnish the house, then pack her things and move in with him. It wasn’t meant to be permanent, but it was a step in the right direction.
Danny closed his eyes, unable to relax. He couldn’t sleep. His mind was filled with possibilities now that Jordan was going to be a part of his life for a bit longer. It was all he’d really wanted, just a little more time.
He swung his legs off the bed, dressed only in his boxers. The air was chilly and he rubbed his arms as he walked out of the bedroom. Finny and Mogue looked up at him as he passed, but he held out his hand to stop them from rising.
He knew the house well enough that he needed no more light that the moonlight that poured through the mullioned windows. His feet were quiet against the stone stairs and he ducked into the library, heading for the small table that held a whiskey decanter.
He crossed the room and poured himself a whiskey then headed for the kitchen. Since the Shakespeare had gone missing, they hadn’t found any other trace of intruders.
Danny suspected one of the workmen had come inside looking for help and left the footprint. As for the book, perhaps it had fallen out of the crate on the way to the house. Still, there were moments when he felt as if he were being watched. Ghosts. The house was probably filled with all sorts of spirits, both good and evil.
As he stepped inside the door to the kitchen, Danny froze. A figure stood at the refrigerator, the light from the interior creating an eerie silhouette. He knew immediately that it wasn’t Jordan. She was sound asleep upstairs. “What the hell-”
The man spun around, a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. Danny recognized the face immediately. “Bartie?” The elderly man made a break for the butler’s pantry door, but Danny was quicker. He caught him by the arm and dragged him to a stop. To his surprise, Bartie didn’t offer any resistance. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
“Having myself a sandwich. I was doing a-a spot of night work in the garden and felt a twinge in my stomach.”
“How did you get in?”
“The door. It was-unlocked.”
“No, it wasn’t. I checked all the doors and the windows. Everything is locked up tight.”
“I have a right to be here,” Bartie said.
“You have a right to trespass?”
“This is my house. Mine. You’re the ones who are trespassing.”
Either Bartie was delusional or drunk. Danny was determined to find out which it was and then find out exactly how he got inside. “Come on,” he muttered. He dragged him along with him to the library. When they got inside, Danny flipped on a lamp, then pointed to a chair next to the fireplace. “Sit.”
“I’m the host here. You’re the guest. Don’t tell me what to do.”
The sandwich still clutched in his hand, Bartie watched Danny with suspicious eyes. “I could stand a whiskey,” he said.
Danny strolled over to the small bar table and poured a measure into a tumbler. Perhaps it would loosen Bartie’s tongue.
“Don’t be stingy there, boy. A little more would be appreciated.”
Stubborn old sot, Danny thought as he handed him the whiskey. “How many times have you been in the house, Bartie? I mean, before I caught you.”
“I come and go as I please,” he said. “It’s my house.”
“How is that possible?”
“I’m the heir to Castle Cnoc.”
“You?”
The old man took a sip of the whiskey then returned to eating his sandwich. “My grandfather owned the place. He inherited it from his father.”
“You’re a Carrick?”
Bartie nodded, then wiped his hand on his pants and held it out to Danny. “Bartholomew G. Carrick the third. Pleasure to meet you.”
Danny took Bartie’s hand and shook it. This was growing more bizarre with every moment that passed. The man who’d been digging holes for months in the garden was the former heir to Castle Cnoc. “You’ve been sneaking into the house?”
He nodded.
“How? I’ve made sure the place has been locked up tighter than a drum. And there are the dogs.”
“I have my ways,” Bartie said. “Secret ways. I’m not about to tell you.” He paused. “And your dogs don’t bark at someone who’s been feeding them bits of beef every day.”
“You will tell me how you got in or I’ll call the gardai. And they’ll haul you off to jail. If you’re honest about all this, I may let you go without reporting you to either the authorities or Jordan.”
“She doesn’t belong here. I do.”
“Bartie, I’m not sure how it happened, but I know that this house doesn’t belong to you. Not anymore.”
The older man blinked at him, as if he didn’t fully comprehend the complexities of property ownership. “It’s been in my family for generations.”
“And now it isn’t. Besides, why would you want this great hulk of a place? It’s impossible to keep up. It would take thousands, hell, millions, to keep it looking like this. Myself, I’ve always preferred a tidy little cottage.”
“I have a cottage,” Bartie said. “In the village. It’s lovely.”
“I have a place of my own in Ballykirk. Men like us don’t need all these trappings. This place is like a museum. We’re just regular blokes.”
Bartie nodded, then drained the rest of his whiskey. He held out the glass. “Another,” he ordered.
Danny decided to keep him drinking and talking. “So, you’ve been coming in and wandering around at night because you can’t bear to part with the family estate? But what’s with the holes in the garden?”
Bartie leaned forward. “I’m trying to find the treasure.”
“What treasure?”
“The gold and silver my grandfather buried in the garden. Before he lost his fortune, he hid a chest somewhere on the estate, to save it from his creditors. He planned to come back for it, but he died suddenly and the family fell into financial ruin. That’s when they had to sell Castle Cnoc.”
Danny wasn’t sure of the legalities of the situation. Would buried money belong to the current landowner or the heir of the person that buried it? Either way, Bartie would probably have some legal claim. “And have you found anything?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. But I will. I’ve been looking now for seventeen years. It’s got to be here somewhere.”