The Secret Gift by Jaclyn Reding

returned to the car and continued down the road. The road narrowed, then fell unpaved, but this time she knew she was on the right course. She checked the map as she entered a wooded thicket, past a cottage and a tall iron gate. Then, as the drive turned toward the sea, she finally saw it.
    It was a castle much like any fairy tale she’d ever read, and it stood framed almost perfectly in the break in the trees. Twin towers flanked it on either side, so pristinely whitewashed that it almost seemed to glow. In fact, just as she looked at it, the sun seemed to break through the clouds, bathing the keep in a misty, delicate light. The image of it stole Libby’s breath, and she brought the car to a stop so she could fully appreciate the view.
    It was quite simply the most beautiful place she’d ever seen.
    The map indicated that the castle was privately owned, but Ian M’Cuick had sent her here for a reason. It was the Mackay castle, he’d said. Libby hoped that whoever lived in the castle wouldn’t mind her stopping by to ask a few questions.
    But as she guided the car through a second set of gates, she found herself hitting the brakes, coming to a sudden, skidding halt.
    There, once emblazoned but now little more than chipped and patchy ironwork, was the silhouetted image of two thistles intertwined. It was the same emblem that had been carved into the box where she’d found the stone, the same emblem her mother had always stitched on her handkerchiefs. Libby’s pulse began to race in anticipation.
    She pulled the car into a space off the main drive and cut the engine. As she got out, she could see that the castle had been built atop a sea cliff, high above the North Sea. The wind was stronger here, buffeting the castle, pulling relentlessly at the map she carried. The view from the castle’s seawall seemed to stretch to the very end of the world.
    It was as she walked to the arched front door that Libby noticed the mud on her shoes. Not the first impression she wanted to make. She spotted a boot brush in the shape of a hedgehog waiting to the side of the door and was bent over making good use of it when the front door suddenly, unexpectedly swung open.
    “I hope you won’t mind my using your boot brush. I was just—”
    Libby looked up into a familiar and utterly unexpected face.
    “Oh,” was all she managed.
    “You,” was all he said in response as he wore that same scowl she’d now seen twice before.

Chapter Six
    Libby stared up at Graeme Mackenzie’s frowning face in mute disbelief.
    “You ... you live
here?”
    “I believe you already knew that.”
    He was wearing the same black sweater and jeans she’d seen him in earlier at the hardware store, only this time his feet were bare—and he had a pencil stuck behind his left ear. His accent, she noticed, sounded more English than Scottish.
    “How could I possibly know that?”
    His frown deepened. He crossed his arms over his chest, one brow lifting incredulously. “I hope you don’t expect me to believe you’ve gotten yourself lost again.”
    Gotten herself lost? Libby stared at him, trying to decipher his words.
    And then she realized.
    That first night. The gun. The
man.
    She had been here?
    It had all looked so different in the dark, and she’d been so tired, the memory of that night was really just a blur. Still, exhausted or not, she certainly would have remembered seeing a castle.
    “I’m sorry. Truly. I had no idea.”
    “Right,” he said skeptically. “So what am I to believe now? That you’re here selling assurance policies?”
    “No. I’m here because I was told this is the Mackay castle.”
    “It is—rather it
was
—the Mackay castle. It was recently taken over by new owners. But then you already knew that, didn’t you?”
    What on earth was he talking about?
    “Look, Mr. Mackenzie, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I really did just come here to do some research.”
    “Research? Is that what you call it?” His face