Macgowan Meets His Match. Annette Broadrick

suggestion is for you to go home—not your flat—to Scotland. Come back when you’re better.”

      “What if my knee doesn’t improve? What then?”

      “Let’s don’t do worst-case scenarios right now. You’re damn lucky to be alive. Once the doctors release you I’ll have one of our people drive you to Scotland.”

      Ian had nodded and had watched as Todd had left the room. There’d been a great deal left unsaid. The most important had been whether or not he would work again.

      “That’s enough for the day, Ian.” He was brought back to the present when Hal, his trainer, said, “I’m amazed at the progress you’ve made since I’ve been coming here. I didn’t think your knee would ever become as flexible as it has. You never acknowledge the pain. It’s only when you turn white that I know you’re pushing yourself past your limits.”

      “The pain doesn’t matter. What matters is that my leg becomes fully functional.”

      After he showered and dressed, Ian went to check on Jenna. He found her typing so fast her fingers were a blur. He waited until she paused before speaking. “Are the tapes decipherable?”

      She started and removed her earphones. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were there.” She paused, as though searching for words. “The tape fades in and out at times. It could be the recorder.”

      “Or my dictation. I pace while I talk. I’ll watch how I hold the mike in the future.”

      “I was wondering if I could run out a copy of what’s already been transcribed before today. I’d like to be able to understand the story.”

      “Whatever helps you.”

      “This is a spy thriller, isn’t it?”

      “Of sorts, I suppose.”

      “Where did you get the idea for your novel?”

      “I’m writing what I like to read.”

      She smiled. “Oh, I thought you might be writing from experience.”

      He lifted his brow. “Hardly.”

      “Ah. Well, then, you have a very lively imagination.”

      “Sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll let you get back to work.” He turned and walked to the door, the sound of the soft clicking of the keyboard accompanying him.

      Jenna felt she had made some progress by the time she went up to her room that night. Before going to sleep, she read the first seventy-five pages of Ian’s novel. By the time she’d caught up with the story, Jenna was hooked.

      The book was definitely about espionage, as she’d surmised. His protagonist, a government agent, was in hot water by page five.

      She wondered what Ian’s job was. Perhaps he was an accountant fantasizing about living life dangerously.

      She went to sleep smiling at the thought.

      Jenna had been there for several days when she awoke early to discover that the ever-constant clouds and damp weather that seemed to be a permanent condition in Scotland had been chased away by the glorious sun. Light poured into her windows, gilding everything.

      Too excited to sleep, she hurriedly dressed for the day. She must have been too distracted to notice where she was going because somehow she managed to miss a turn and found herself wandering through dimly lit hallways in an effort to find her way downstairs.

      “That’s what you get for not paying attention,” she muttered to herself. “You’ll lose the extra time before work trying to find your way out of the place.” She felt like some heroine in a novel, lost in the endless halls of an ancient castle. All she needed was an armored suit to come to life and start clanking its way toward her and she’d be screaming.

      She came across a gallery lined with oil paintings—no doubt a pictorial display of the MacGowans down through history. She wished she had time to study them and promised herself that she would come back sometime soon—if she ever managed to find the place again.

      Jenna gave an audible sigh of relief when she spotted some narrow stairs leading downward. She hurried down them and opened the door at the bottom of the stairwell. She couldn’t say who was the most startled when she found herself in the kitchen—she or the woman working at the counter.

      “Oops,” she said, laughing. “Sorry to bother you. I’m Jenna Craddock, Sir Ian’s secretary. If you could point me toward the dining room I’ll get out of your way.”

      The woman chuckled. “Certainly,” she said. “I’m Megan MacKinnock, better known as Cook. Follow me.”

      The smell of fresh coffee greeted Jenna when she stepped into the dining room from the kitchen. She took her meals in an alcove surrounded by windows. Every time she had occasion to enter the dining room—which was usually for breakfast only—she felt as though she should be wearing clothes from a hundred years ago. The room and its massive table could easily seat a hundred people with no difficulty. It was a shame that it was so seldom used. She had a sudden flash of another century where genteel women and courtly gentlemen filled the room while candlelight was reflected in all the mirrors.

      Mustn’t fall into one of your romantic daydreams, she reminded herself. Since coming here, she’d helped herself to several books in Ian’s library. She had always enjoyed history as a child, whether in textbooks or in historical novels. She found English and Scottish history most appealing. She would envision herself fighting at Bannockburn and later at Culloden, wielding her sword in a mighty rush to save her people.

      Sometimes she wondered if her ancestors might be Scottish. If they were, it would be a little eerie to think that she’d always been on the side of Scotland long before she’d discovered that she was Scottish.

      “Good morning, Jenna,” Hazel said as she came through the door. “Did you sleep well?”

      “Quite well, thank you.”

      “Cook said you got lost this morning.”

      “Just a case of not paying enough attention to where I was going.”

      “Have you seen Ian this morning?” Hazel asked.

      “No, but that isn’t surprising. I’ve yet to see him at mealtimes.”

      “Don’t take it personally. He’s always been taciturn, even as a boy. I used to tease him about being the typical dour Scotsman.”

      “It’s difficult for me to imagine Ian as a young boy,” Jenna admitted.

      From directly behind her, he said, “It wasn’t a pretty sight, I grant you,” which caused Jenna to jump. To Hazel he said, “See what you can do about getting Hamish out here tomorrow. The leak in my shower has gotten worse.”

      “I’ll see what I can do, but you know Hamish. He prefers fishing to working.”

      “Do what you can.” He turned and started for the door.

      “Aren’t you going to eat?” Hazel asked.

      “Not now. Later, maybe.”

      Jenna was embarrassed that Ian had found her chatting about him with Hazel. She helped herself to some fruit and a muffin from the array of food on the sideboard, poured herself some coffee and with anticipation gazed out the window at the gardens.

      Ian had reached the library before he realized that Hazel had followed him. He stopped and looked at her. “What?” he growled impatiently.

      “You were rude to Jenna this morning, ignoring her as though she wasn’t there. I was wondering, how are things between you and Jenna?”

      “What are you talking about? There’s nothing between Jenna and me!”

      Hazel smiled. “I meant, how is she getting along with your work?”

      “Oh.