officer’s eyes. “I need access before that. When my attaché was here last, there were all kinds of security questions. Your backup generator looked out-of-date, too. We’ve got to drag this place into the twenty-first century, even if I have to take down some walls to do it.”
Nicholas had a curt suggestion about where the brigadier could drag himself and what he could do to himself there. But he kept his face expressionless. Diplomacy was supposed to be his strong suit, after all. “Draycott Abbey has withstood civil war, plague and bombardment. I am certain it will be ready for the Balkan economic summit here next month.”
“Your confidence is remarkable, Lord Draycott. But then your type always is confident.” The officer made the word sound dirty. “And then it falls to me and my people to see that nothing goes awry. Rest assured, I will do exactly that, even if it becomes invasive. Wires will go everywhere they need to go.” A warning.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Brigadier. Your efforts should stand us all in good stead when the Croatian, Serbian and Albanian delegates arrive here. But procedure is still procedure. I’m sure you understand that.”
The security officer made a flat sound, then swung around, studying the abbey’s manicured lawns and lush heirloom roses. “I’m surprised you consented to host this summit, Lord Draycott. Your home is a rare piece of English history. William the Conqueror passed over that hill. Some of the greatest artists of our country have worked here under your family’s patronage.”
“That history is always with me, Brigadier. But so is my family’s sense of duty. The delegate from Serbia went to Oxford and we became friends there. Using the abbey was the only way to secure his participation in this summit. He seems to feel this is safe ground.”
“Anyone would enjoy the abbey’s luxuries.” The brigadier turned, watching a small bird soar over the distant moat. “Do you know as a boy, I came here for picnics and hikes up to Lyon’s Leap. After forty years, I still remember those walks. And the legends.” He glanced narrowly at Nicholas. “Your family has had a singular history and not all of it pleasant. Is the house still haunted?”
“I don’t believe in ghosts, Brigadier. Only in things that I can pinpoint in my government assessments or track in a range finder.”
“My old nanny told me the abbey ghost is said to walk the parapets on moonless nights. And there was a story about thirteen bells, but the details elude me.”
The viscount’s brow rose. “Right now I’m only interested in recent history,” Nicholas said flatly. “Things that might affect our preparations for the summit.”
The brigadier didn’t turn. “But your family history may become very relevant, Lord Draycott. You may have forgotten enemies from your work and arrest in Asia. I believe you were held captive in a place called Bhan Lai for several years.”
Nicholas nodded coldly. This was not a subject he would discuss casually with the brigadier or any other person. And Nicholas didn’t believe his long-finished work in Asia would affect the summit in any way.
“I believe that your younger sister, Elena, died in the Philippines during your captivity. She was a lovely woman. I met her once at a ball held at Chatsworth. Her death was a terrible loss,” the brigadier said slowly.
Nicholas fought back shock and fury. Who was this man to dredge up Elena’s death? His sister was in no way relevant to the security of the upcoming Balkan event. “Your point, Brigadier?”
“That the past has a way of coming back to haunt us, usually at the most inconvenient times, Lord Draycott. From people you least suspect.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. If we’re done here, I have a good deal of work to finish.”
“I am finished for now.” The brigadier flashed a last glance across the grass, where sunlight touched the dense forest. “A beautiful estate, to be sure. I only hope that none of us has reason to regret the summit being held here at the abbey. Good day, Viscount Draycott.”
NICHOLAS BREATHED a sigh of relief as the brigadier’s big SUV thundered off. “Drag the abbey into the twenty-first century indeed,” he muttered. There would be no drilled walls. No ghastly Day-Glo modern alarm fixtures or camera kiosks installed during his lifetime. Everything could be updated while preserving the historical appearance of the house and grounds, and Nicholas was counting on his old friend for guidance in that task.
But there was no sign of Calan. He wasn’t at the stables or near the power equipment.
The viscount turned, circling past the beautiful roses and green lawns he loved so well. There was still no sign of his friend as he climbed past the moat to the edge of the high woods. Calan had been about to tell him something when the brigadier arrived.
Now Calan was gone, off stalking the grounds for information. The viscount wondered what form he was in at the moment. He didn’t relish the idea of facing down a snarling beast with wintry blue eyes.
Even now Nicholas knew only part of Calan’s real story. His Changes, as he called them, were linked to his bloodline by an ancient curse that came into play when a boy reached manhood. The whole idea seemed borderline—until you stared into the creature’s keen eyes and realized the intelligence that blazed there.
No animal could focus with such clear intensity. Yet Nicolas had seen the beast twice, and he still had goose bumps at the memory. He gathered that something about the usual pattern had gone wrong in Calan’s case. The Change had begun too early and too hard, and the boy had nearly died in the process.
Calan would tell him nothing more. Now, as an adult, he had settled into a rootlessness that saddened Nicholas.
So where are you now?
At the top of the hill the forest began, dense with oaks that dated back generations. From here the grounds fell away, offering views of two counties and the glimmer of the English Channel to the south.
As Nicholas stood beneath a great oak, he was struck with the odd feeling that he was no longer alone.
Then he saw the outline of a leather shoe, half-hidden beneath a giant rhododendron bush. A second shoe was pushed into the foliage nearby. Human footprints dotted the damp earth beyond.
And then vanished abruptly.
Marking the very moment of change, foot to paw, body caught midleap.
Nicholas stood motionless. He felt the hand of nature brush him along with the call of something dark and unexplainable. The woods around him fell silent, as if in hushed awareness of a predator stalking nearby.
Nicholas knew exactly who—and what—that predator was. He didn’t like the idea of a savage creature prowling the abbey grounds, but for now his home would be safer for its presence.
So he hoped.
CHAPTER FOUR
WET FERNS COVERED the ground. Broken stems from hard rain left a green smell that marked the passage of a man only hours before.
He followed the track, every sense fully alive. The prints held gravel bits from the coast, car oil, the rancid hint of grease.
More prints dotted the ground beneath the abbey’s stone fence. Here he stopped, gathering the smells like small stones, holding each until its meaning was locked into his mind.
The sun brushed his shoulders and the stirring from the woods called to him, but he waited, gaining a clear impression of the men who had crossed the fence in the night.
Their footprints had the stink of beer about them even now. Spices clung to their shoes. Chemicals. Harsh cigarettes and the smell of seawater.
The mix burned through his blood. All of this he would remember.
Then he caught the softer trace of her—the woman who had come back to save him. His skin tightened in sharp response to the memory. He moved closer, testing the smells. Her footprints carried the clays of high mountains and the pine