he said dryly. “I never would’ve figured that out for myself.”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic.” She opened one eye. Too bad he was such a jerk. He was more than a little cute. No, not cute. Handsome. Sexy. Brooding, like her own Rochester.
Yeah, because every modern woman needed a boyfriend who kept a crazy wife in the attic...
“Can’t I start tomorrow?” She yawned and began to stretch again. Then she squealed as Duncan picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. The world spun. How dare he!
“No, you may not,” he said as he carried her from the room, slamming the door shut with one foot. “This is exactly what I was talking about when I said you were spoiled and undisciplined. You will be on time. You will do as you are told. You will not be late again!”
“Great. You’re one of those bosses.”
“One who expects his employees to actually do their jobs? Yes!”
She bounced hard as he started down the stairs. Hanging on to the back of his shirt for support was necessary.
“Wait. Wait!” she called as she tightened her grip.
He stopped in the middle of the staircase, and Echo took a deep breath. “Let me wash my face and brush my teeth, maybe throw on a clean shirt.” And pee. Not that she would share that detail with him.
Duncan turned and carried her up the stairs. He moved more slowly this time, giving her a moment to appreciate the solidness of the body against hers and the tempting wave of his hair. He had a nice neck, she admitted to herself, a strong jaw and broad shoulders. He carried her as if she weighed nothing. It would be beyond foolish to get involved with him, and since he obviously didn’t like her much that wasn’t a concern. That didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate his finer attributes. Not that she would ever admit aloud that he had any.
He placed her on her feet near the door to her room. “You have five minutes.”
“Five?” The expression on his face stopped her from saying more. “Fine, five minutes.”
And then he tossed a black shirt that had been slung over his shoulder—much as she had been—in her direction. “Wear this.”
* * *
If she had any objections to wearing the tight black T-shirt with the pub logo on it, she hadn’t said a word. He’d realized it was a bit too small when he’d chosen it from the stack of shirts in the storeroom, but it did show off Echo Raintree’s fine figure to its best advantage.
The customers didn’t complain, either. Every eye of every male in the place, young and old, married and not, followed her as she served drinks and food and brilliant smiles. Complete with dimples.
Yes, she’d done this before. He might think her a fine employee if she hadn’t slept through the first two hours of her first shift.
He could’ve cut her some slack, he supposed. She’d had a long day. He’d been to the States a time or two himself and he knew very well that the trip was a challenging one. He could empathize. To a point.
If he cut her some slack, they’d never be finished. And he wanted to be finished. He wanted to get this done and send her on her way. If she got too curious, as his last student had, she’d have to go. Finished or not, on the verge of an ugly death for a pretty young woman or not, it was a risk he could not, would not, take.
The crowd began to clear out half an hour before closing time. It was a weeknight, after all. Echo cleaned tables without being told. She handled a bar towel like someone who’d done it before. The way she moved was oddly tempting. Graceful but strong. She flowed from one table to another, easy and, at least for now, unworried. Yes, tempting.
He could not afford to be tempted, not by her. If he was ever stupid enough to get involved with a woman again, if he allowed his body’s demands to override his brain, it would not be someone with the last name Raintree.
One thing he could say for her. Princess or not, she did not shy away from work.
As the last customer left, Echo walked to the counter and took a stool there, directly across from Rye.
“If I was wearing a shirt this tight at home I’d get a ton of tips. Here? Nada.”
“We don’t tip.”
She pursed her lips in what he assumed was mock displeasure before saying, “So I noticed. I think tipping is a practice that should be instituted ASAP. Barmaids across Ireland would be ecstatic.”
In spite of himself, he smiled. Her complaint was lighthearted, and had been delivered with her own smile.
He didn’t allow his smile to last. She was not his friend; she was not going to stay in Cloughban.
“Be here tomorrow at eleven.”
“I’ll be working a split shift?”
He nodded.
“It’s not like you do any business at lunchtime,” she argued. “You don’t need me.”
He glared at her, just a little.
“Fine, fine, I’ll be here by eleven.”
If tonight’s reception to her was any indication, his noontime business was about to pick up. Not that he would tell her that. She might take it as a compliment. As they got to know her, his customers seemed to forget that her last name was Raintree. Most of them, anyway.
“Don’t be late.”
She headed to the back of the room to grab her sweater. “Never again, boss, I swear. I’ll be here early. I’ll stay all day. Whatever it takes to convince you that I am not spoiled and undisciplined, I’ll do it.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it. Good night, Raintree.”
“Night, boss.” She exited by the front door, and when she was gone the pub felt suddenly and completely empty.
* * *
Even satellite phones were not entirely secure, but all things considered...there was no other choice.
“There’s a Raintree in Cloughban.”
After a short pause, the man on the other end of the line asked, “Which one?”
“Echo, the prophet.”
The sigh of relief on the other end of the line could be heard from miles away. Hundreds or thousands of miles? That was a mystery. “She’s no threat. They worried about her during the conflict with the Ansara, but she was not a factor.”
The Raintree clan was always a factor! “I can kill her if you’d like.” It was a thrill to watch someone die, and a Raintree! Not just any Raintree, either, but their prophet. The keeper of their Sanctuary. At least, she used to be keeper. What was she now? Why was she here?
“No!” The sharp command left no room for argument. “A suspicious death would only bring in more of them. Just watch, for now. Alert me to any unusual activity.”
Too bad.
There was a short pause, then, “Does she know?”
“I don’t believe so.”
A pause, a gentle hum. “Perhaps she’s there to recruit Duncan.”
That was a startling thought. Ryder Duncan, part of the Raintree clan? That would be a disaster for all who opposed them. “If you let me kill her...”
Again, “No.”
In the past, hundreds of strays had been called to Cloughban. No, not hundreds. Thousands. This place, the stones that fed the energy that surrounded and flooded it, had been here for thousands of years. Maybe longer than anyone knew. Was it possible that Echo had been called here by the power of the stones, as others had? If she knew everything, if she suspected, she would not have come here