“Aye, not to mention it’d be easier for a book or letter to get lost.” He wandered around the room looking at the various mounds as if deciphering what was hidden underneath. “Here, give me a hand.”
She moved to the opposite side of the pile he was standing at, and together they lifted the covering, sending up a cloud of dust. Several chairs and small tables huddled together. They draped the cloth back over the items and moved to the next grouping with the hope they’d get lucky. After striking out a few more times, they hit pay dirt. Propped against the wall were several paintings, each wrapped further for additional protection.
“These are them.” Iain picked up a few of the smaller paintings, setting aside the larger ones for himself. “Can you carry these? We’ll take them back to the library.”
Cat grabbed hold of the paintings he handed her. “We might need to make a few trips.”
‘A few trips’ was an understatement. By the time they finished, she was covered in dust and in horrible need of a shower, though that’d have to wait. She was desperate to look at the paintings.
Iain started to uncover them. “There was one painting in particular. It was the portrait of a woman—don’t remember the period of it, but I know it was quite old. I’m now wondering if it could be Nessa MacCraigh—or her daughter.”
Cat turned on a few more lights, excited to see what clues might be tucked away between the brushstrokes. “Unless it’s blatantly obvious, I think it’ll be up to you to pick out any clues hidden in the paintings, since you’d be more familiar with them.”
Iain unwrapped the last painting and let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping. “The one I was thinking of—it’s not here. My father might know where it is, though right now he’s out with his friends having a pint and playing cards.”
“We can always go through these and then head back to look through the remaining piles. I’m sure it’s still there.” She could tell he was frustrated. “Look… it takes time to comb through the information and details. It really is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. You just need to be more patient.”
“Let’s just say I’ve never been the patient sort.”
All too anxious to see what might be found, she’d been lingering over his shoulder to look at the paintings as he uncovered them. So when he stood and turned, she found herself face to face with him, their bodies all but brushing together, the air between them suddenly charged with energy. His eyes took her in with an intensity that made her think she knew all too well what it must feel like when a wolf catches sight of its prey.
And then just like that he moved away, leaving her to finally exhale and get control of her racing heart.
He was already heading for the door. “Look over the paintings. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Duncan looked between the two of them, and then, deciding the spot in front of the fire was better than running around a cold castle, plunked his head back down and closed his eyes.
Happy to look for new clues, Cat turned her attention to the items they’d brought back. Most of the paintings were of landscapes, probably of the surrounding area. There were a few portraits, but based on the clothing, they were at least a hundred years past the dates they were interested in. Still, years of research taught her to be thorough. Nothing should be dismissed until it had been looked over carefully.
She started with the landscapes, but found nothing hidden amidst the trees and glens. There were no necklaces dangling from tree branches, or shimmering in the waters of the loch. The portraits were a similar disappointment. Cat hoped Iain was having better luck tracking down the paintings he was interested in. She waited a while longer and then debated going to give him a hand, in case he’d found more paintings than he could carry.
Having made the trip a few times with Iain, she thought she could find her way back to the room where everything was stashed, but she only it made it as far as the hall when she heard a knock at the front door.
She groaned. Answer it or ignore it? Iain was on the other side of the castle and would never hear the knocking, and his father was out for the evening.
The knocking turned to pounding. She approached the door, but there was no peephole, and there were no windows flanking the door to look out of. Shouting could be heard, but damned if she could make out a word through the thick oak and stone walls. How the hell did someone know whether or not to answer the door?
And then she found out.
Iain pulled her to the side, a shotgun in his hand and at the ready as he unlocked the door, turned the latch, and then stepped to the side, aiming at who might come in.