Gemma decided to begin a room-by-room search, starting with the drawing room. She’d find her wayward fiancé if she had to look in every room in the castle – all one hundred and bloody fifty of them.
Although she checked in the kitchen, dining room, drawing room, and library, she had no luck. She pushed her way thought the baize door and paused in the middle of the entrance hall. There was no sign of Dom anywhere.
She stalked up the stairs, determined to visit each and every bedroom, study, morning room, and tower in Draemar Castle if need be, until she ran the little bastard to ground.
‘Gemma?’
She looked up, still scowling, to see Tarquin coming down the stairs towards her. ‘Oh. Hello, Tark.’
‘Is everything all right? You look a bit upset.’
‘It’s Dominic,’ she said bitterly, ‘same as it always is. I need to find him, but he’s disappeared.’
‘Are you sure he hasn’t left the castle? Gone into the village, perhaps?’
‘No, I’m certain he’s here. He hasn’t a car, after all, so he can’t have gone anywhere.’
‘He might have called a taxi,’ Tarquin pointed out reasonably. ‘Was there somewhere in particular he needed to go?’
‘Not that I know of. His morning suit’s just arrived and I need him to try it on, and there’s no top hat with it, but there should have been, and now I c-can’t even find D-Dominic to ask him about it!’ she wailed, and burst into tears. ‘What if he’s scarpered? I’ll be one of those s-saddo brides left standing at the altar! I’ll be an object of p-pity and s-scorn, just like Miss H-havisham!’
‘Oh, surely not,’ he reassured her, and patted her – somewhat awkwardly – on her arm. ‘I’ve no doubt Dominic will turn up. Would you like me to help you look? I know this castle like the back of my hand, after all.’
Through sniffles and sobs, Gemma nodded. ‘It’ll take me a week to find him by myself. Thanks, Tark.’
‘Always happy to help a lady in distress,’ he murmured, and held out his arm. ‘Shall we begin?’
Together, she and Tarquin ascended the stairs, and began their search for the elusive Dominic Heath.
Helen took her cup of coffee after breakfast and went to the library to have a quiet moment and a think.
She sat on the window seat and stared outside at the sun glinting off the snow, and found herself once again wondering how Colm had gotten that faint white scar on his thigh. He said it happened on one of the freighters he’d crewed on. Twenty-seven stitches... She shuddered. That was one hell of an accident.
Despite herself, she still had a few lingering questions about Colm...questions he’d thus far avoided answering. Why?
What was he hiding? Was he hiding something?
She didn’t want to dig into his past, truly she didn’t; it felt like the worst kind of betrayal. But she needed to know more about the man she was falling in love with before things between them went any further. A bit of due diligence was called for before her relationship with Colm went any further, if only to protect herself.
Clutching her coffee cup, Helen returned to her room and switched on her laptop.
She logged on and typed ‘Colm MacKenzie’ into the search engine. Nothing came up, save for links to a few other, different Colms – a writer, a doctor, a plumber.
Why was there no mention of her Colm?
She frowned. Was Colm MacKenzie even his real name? Had he changed it for some reason? She stared at the screen as she recalled what he’d said to her on Sunday night, the night they’d spent together.
The McRoberts were good, decent people...they gave me a roof and fed me.
On impulse, she typed in ‘Colm McRoberts.’
Immediately the screen displayed several results. Her eyes widened as she scanned the links. ‘Accident on the A96, Serious Injuries,’ she read out loud. ‘Pregnant Woman Airlifted to Hospital Following Deadly Wreck.’ ‘McRoberts to be Charged in Accident Fatality?’
Late yesterday afternoon Colm McRoberts, 24, lost control of his car and plunged several feet down a steep embankment. Also in the car was his pregnant wife, Alanna.
While being airlifted from the wreck, Mrs McRoberts went into premature labour. The baby did not survive. Alanna McRoberts died shortly afterwards of internal haemorrhaging sustained by the crash.
Although Colm McRoberts suffered serious injuries, he is expected to live. The cause of the accident is still under investigation.
There was a knock on the door, and Helen looked up, startled out of her troubled thoughts.
‘Miss Thomas?’ Mrs Neeson inquired from the hallway outside. ‘Are you there? You’ve a phone call downstairs.’
Helen got up and opened the door. ‘Thank you. Why wouldn’t I be here?’ she added, curious.
‘Well,’ Mrs Neeson said with a lift of her brow, ‘I’m not one to tell tales, so you’ve no need to worry, Miss Thomas. Your secret’s safe with me.’
‘My secret?’ she echoed as her heart accelerated. ‘What secret?’
The housekeeper’s smile widened. ‘Let’s just say I noticed there was one less person at the breakfast table yesterday morning. And,’ she added with a smile, ‘I saw you sneak in the front door later on.’
‘Oh.’ Helen blushed and found she didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t think of a single reasonable excuse to explain away her absence.
‘I’m that happy for you,’ Mrs Neeson went on, ‘and for Mr MacKenzie. He’s a good man, for all that he’s as prickly as a thorn bush—’
‘You said that I have a phone call?’ Helen interjected, beyond anxious to change the subject. ‘I don’t suppose you know who it is?’
‘I do. It’s the mechanic’s shop, about your car.’
‘My car!’ Helen’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, shit – I was supposed to pick it up yesterday, and I completely forgot.’
‘Well,’ the housekeeper said as she preceded Helen out the door, ‘if you need a ride to the shop, let me know. One of the girls can take you into the village.’
‘I will. And thanks.’ Helen grabbed up her handbag and coat and followed Mrs Neeson down to the kitchen.
‘Can you help us, Mr MacKenzie?’
Colm, who’d just come inside the castle in search of Archie, looked up to see Tarquin and Gemma Astley coming down the stairs.
‘Of course I will, if I can,’ he replied. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Gemma’s fiancé’s gone missing,’ Tarquin told him. ‘We’ve looked everywhere, but it’s nearly lunch time, and we still haven’t found him. Miss Astley is understandably upset.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ Colm said, although personally, he shared Rhys Gordon’s opinion that Dominic Heath was a bolshie, over-pampered rock star. ‘Are you sure he didn’t leave the premises?’
‘Positive,’ Gemma said firmly. ‘Unless...’ Her face crumpled. ‘Unless he’s done a runner before the wedding!’
Tarquin patted her ineffectually on the