The Virgin of Clan Sinclair Read Online Free

Why had he come here today? His father had been dead for years. Why was he suddenly compelled to face his ghost?
    His anniversary was tomorrow.
    The blow was strong enough that he nearly reeled. Was that why he was here?
    He wanted to run until the sudden constriction in his chest was eased and the feathery memories in his mind blew away.
    “Beg pardon?” he asked, realizing Sinclair had asked him a question.
    “I asked at what stage you’d last seen the house.”
    “The foundations had been done,” he said. “And some of the interior planned out. Not the library, of course, or the entrance to the grotto. If you like, I’ll send you the plans for the house.”
    Sinclair’s smile was one of boyish eagerness. “I’d be very happy to see them. I’ve often wondered about the original details of Drumvagen.”
    He was glad the man had kept the name.
    His father had sworn that he was going to change it as soon as he could get the locals to understand. It didn’t matter that a castle had once sat on this very ground, or that history had bled into the very earth here. He’d wanted, Ross remembered, to call the structure Forster House.
    Perhaps it was a good thing his plan never came to fruition.
    Two years into the project Thomas proved to be as bored with Drumvagen as anything decent he attempted. He and the architect had argued over money and more. The architect hadn’t liked his father’s vision for the house, or perhaps he’d simply seen Drumvagen as more, something along the lines of what Macrath Sinclair had envisioned.
    “I always wondered what happened to Drumvagen. I like what you’ve done with it.”
    Sinclair smiled. “At first, it was a showplace,” he said. “A way of proclaiming that I was successful. Now it’s my home.”
    His father would never have transformed the house in such a way. Drumvagen—or Forster House—would have been a hedonist’s paradise, not a place where running feet and childish laughter punctuated the conversation of adults.
    “Thank you for this,” he said, turning to Sinclair. “I’ve come unannounced and uninvited, but you’ve been very kind.”
    His host scanned the skies. Despite the early afternoon hour, it was becoming as dark as night.
    “Stay,” Sinclair said. “A storm is coming, and a storm off the ocean is no small thing.”
    Dark clouds were merging with an equally inky sea. Lightning speared from the boiling clouds, accentuating Sinclair’s words.
    “I couldn’t put you out.”
    “I’ve seen ships almost come to ground when their captains thought to outrun one of these beasts,” he said. “I can’t send you away in this.”
    As swiftly as the storm was moving, he might not make it to an inn.
    “If you’re certain,” Ross said, unwilling to expose his coachman to the danger of a lightning filled storm.
    “My only regret is that you won’t get a chance to meet my wife.” Sinclair turned and led the way back through the grotto. “She isn’t very visible nowadays.” Here the other man seemed to fumble. “She’s near to term with our third child,” he finally said.
    Ross nodded, understanding.
    Slowly, he followed his host back through the grotto and up the passage to the library.
    Here at Drumvagen he’d been young, naive, and filled with hope. Perhaps his willingness to stay overnight was because today, of all days, he needed some memory of happiness.
    E llice wasn’t afraid of the dark. A good thing, since the compartment was as black as a winter night at Drumvagen.
    She never knew, until this exact minute, how much she disliked being confined in a small area. Closing her eyes didn’t seem to help, either.
    Had Eudora, in her coffin, felt the same? Oh, don’t be nonsensical, Ellice. Eudora was dead. She couldn’t have felt confined.
    The space, however, was most definitely coffinlike.
    A scream slid up her throat. She bit it back and took several deep breaths, admonishing herself to be calm. When she felt the carriage rock, as if