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Chapter 12
Helen returned to her room after breakfast. She was far too preoccupied with thoughts of Colm – and how much he actually knew – to accompany the others on the sledding expedition.
She glanced out of her bedroom window, smiling momentarily at the sight of Natalie and Rhys, Caitlin and Wren, even Dominic, careening down the snow-covered slope, laughing and shouting like schoolchildren.
‘I know who you are.’
As she heard Colm’s words echoing in her head, Helen’s smile faded.
He’d overheard her call to Tom. What exactly had she said on the phone, just before Colm accosted her? Tarquin’s sister had arrived, thankfully saving Helen from further questions.
But she knew that the canny groundskeeper would bring the matter up again at the first opportunity.
Frowning, she tried to recall what she’d told Tom.
‘Oh, I imagine they’ll tie the knot within the next few weeks. Just as soon as this bloody snow stops falling. And you can bet your arse that when Dominic and Gemma leave this pile of mouldering Scottish stone, I’ll be right behind them.’
Oh well, Helen sighed as she turned away from the window, there was nothing to be done about it now. She’d do her best to stay out of the Scotsman’s way.
And if I make any more calls to Tom, she resolved grimly as she went downstairs in search of the library, I’ll make certain to do it in the privacy of my own bloody room.
Late that afternoon, the sledding party returned to the castle, red-cheeked and half-frozen.
‘How was the sledding expedition?’ Tark enquired as they shed their coats and hats and scarves and collapsed on the nearest sofas and chairs in the drawing room.
‘Brilliant,’ Caitlin declared, and grinned over at Dominic, ‘except for Mr Rock Star over there, who twisted his ankle and had to be pulled the whole way back on a sled, complaining like a wee girl all the while.’
‘It bloody hurts,’ Dom said through gritted teeth as he flung himself into a wing chair by the fire.
‘What’ve you done, Dominic?’ Gemma demanded as she strode into the room and came to a stop, a clipboard and a stack of bridal magazines in her arms. ‘Why is your face all screwed up like that?’
Rhys snorted. ‘His face is always screwed up, if you ask me.’
‘No one did,’ Dominic snapped. ‘So kindly shut it. I turned my ankle, Gem, that’s all.’
‘Wren’s gone to fetch some Epsom salts so you can soak your foot,’ Natalie told him.
‘And his head, while he’s at it,’ Rhys added.
‘I’m warning you, Gordon,’ Dominic snarled, ‘if you don’t shut your gob, I’ll—’
Caitlin’s dog Coco trotted into the drawing room just then and leapt up into her lap. The wolfhounds, incensed by this invasion of their territory by the tiny interloper, set up a chorus of barking.
With a sigh, Tarquin stood and led the dogs, still growling their displeasure, outside.
‘Really, Caitlin,’ Wren said mildly, ‘you know we have dogs here at Draemar. You might have thought to board Coco in a kennel for a couple of weeks.’
‘Why should I do that?’ Caitlin shot back. ‘I’m perfectly aware that there are dogs here, Wren. I grew up at Draemar, after all. It was my home long before it was yours. So why should I be required to board Coco in a kennel, when she belongs here, just as much as I do?’
The two women regarded each other in silent – and mutual – dislike. ‘I’m only saying,’ Wren said in measured tones, ‘that it might have been easier on all concerned if you hadn’t brought the dog along when you came home, that’s all.’
‘Easier on you, you mean.’ Scorn coloured her voice. ‘I’m sure you’d like it best if I never came home at all, wouldn’t you, Wren?’
‘That’s not true!’ Wren snapped. ‘There you go again, Caitlin, putting words in my mouth—’
‘No, I’m only putting the thoughts in your head into words, so that everyone might know how bloody jealous you are of me!’
‘What’s going on here? I heard the two of you shouting all the way across the hall.’
Tarquin, his face a study in anger, stood in the doorway. ‘Can’t I leave you alone with Wren for five minutes without starting trouble, Caitlin?’
His sister gathered Coco up and thrust herself to her feet. ‘Right, blame me, Tark, as you always do. But it was your wife who demanded I keep Coco in a bloody kennel!’
‘That little beast has done nothing but upset the entire household,’ Wren flung back. ‘Just like you!’
‘That’s enough.’ Although Tarquin’s words were calm, even quiet, his fury was unmistakable. ‘This isn’t the time or place for such behaviour,’ he said, eyeing both women with a flinty grey gaze. ‘We have guests to consider. Caitlin, kindly take yourself upstairs, please.’
‘What?’ she exclaimed. Hectic spots of colour rose on her cheeks. ‘Are you sending me to my room, like a...like a wayward child being packed off to bed without her supper?’
‘I’m simply asking you to remove yourself from the present company until you can behave appropriately.’
‘There’s no need for Caitlin to leave,’ Wren cut in, her voice unsteady. ‘I’ll go.’ Her gaze, bright with angry, unshed tears, swept over the assembled houseguests. ‘My apologies, everyone,’ she choked out, and left.
There was an awkward silence. No one moved or knew quite what to do or say.
Natalie got to her feet. ‘I’ll just go and check she’s all right,’ she said, and patted Tarquin’s shoulder as she hurried after her friend.
She caught up to her halfway down the long gallery. ‘Wren – wait, please.’
Wren stopped and turned around. Her face was damp and blotchy with tears. ‘Natalie.’ She groped in her pocket for a handkerchief. ‘You should be downstairs with the others.’
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