Page 8 of Savage Blooms
She wondered if it would be poor form to hit on her host’s only staff member. She wondered if Finley might like to be hit on.
It wasn’t that she was totally incorrigible when it came to her freewheeling desires, it was just she liked meeting new people a lot, and that flirtation (and sometimes even a friendly hookup) was her favorite way to get to know them.
But now, with the sun setting outside behind storm clouds that refused to dissipate, Eileen turned at last to the matter at hand. Her picked-at venison pie sat forgotten on the coffee table as she nestled her chin in her palm in thought.
“What exactly did your grandfather tell you was out here, anyway?” she asked Adam. “Anything interesting besides old masonry and sheep?”
“It’s going to sound stupid,” Adam said, studiously putting away the last of his pie. Adam might be skinny, but he sure could eat.
“Try me.”
Adam set his plate down and gathered himself.
“The story changed every time. He said it was the final resting place of knights, that there was all sorts of treasure buried beneath the house, that it was a gathering place for witches… Just stuff to help a kid fall asleep. But he did seem to think that there was something special about this place, like it had some sort of weird energy.”
“I can certainly attest that Craigmar is weird,” Eileen said, tucking her feet underneath her in the armchair. She was curled up like a cat, boots forgotten by the fireplace.
“How so?” Nicola asked. She always had an affinity for strange stories, ever since she was a little girl scaring her foster siblings with creepypasta recitations. It didn’t matter if it was ghosts or demons, faeries or aliens, angels or headless horsemen, Nicola loved it all. The older the tale, the better.
“I won’t bore you with specifics, and I’m afraid most of the stories aren’t very happy,” Eileen said, treating Nicola to her undivided attention. It was a bit intoxicating, like a full snifter of brandy on an empty stomach. Eileen really was beautiful, in a way that felt brutal and unforgivingand yet effortlessly chic. “I was happy growing up here, but it’s true that many Kirkfoyles have faced hardship within these walls, and some have even died at Craigmar. This region used to be lousy with Kirkfoyles, but now I’m the last of my line. My own parents drowned in a boating accident just offshore when I was sixteen.”
“Gosh, I’m sorry,” Nicola said, heart constricting. She couldn’t imagine losing every family member you had since she had never known her mother or father to begin with, but she certainly knew what it felt like to be alone in the world.
“That’s life for you,” Eileen said, unbothered. “But that reminds me. Adam, I want to show you something.”
Eileen rose to pull a large clothbound book from one of the shelves, then slotted it into a stand atop the massive oak desk by the window. Nicola had barely noticed it before, but now she saw clearly that it was the sort of desk that stayed in a family for generations, the place where land treaties and marriage contracts and death certificates had probably all been signed.
Eileen turned the pages of the book with delicate pinches between her nails, which were painted with pearlescent lacquer.
“Come over here,” she said in that rich voice that left no room for argument.
Both Adam and Nicola rose immediately, and shot surreptitious looks at each other as they approached the desk. Somehow, without ever raising her voice or makinga single demand at all, Eileen had them both on short little leashes already.
Finley watched intently from the fireplace, no longer pretending he hadn’t been eavesdropping.
Nicola stepped closer to squint at the pages of the book, close enough that she could feel both Adam and Eileen’s body heat as they leaned in with her.
Eileen spread her fingers across a list of names rendered in ancient calligraphy.
“These are my family records. All the offshoots of the Kirkfoyle clan, small but proud though we be. Here’s my father, and his father’s father. And here I am.”
Eileen pointed at her name. Eileen Elizabeth Kirkfoyle, born twenty-seven years ago, not a sibling to speak of. Only five years older than Nicola, and in control of a title and land.
“And this,” Eileen said, flipping back a few pages to tap at a name, “is my grandmother.”
“Arabella was an only child too?” Nicola asked.
A shadow passed over Eileen’s face.
“Yes. We don’t birth many children in my family. The women tend to experience… complications.”
“Born in 1960, married in 1977, died 1981,” Adam read aloud. “She was only twenty-one.”
“Every family has its tragedies,” Eileen said, somewhat ominously. Adam might have been completely convinced of Eileen’s affectation, but Nicola had hung out with enough theatre majors to know when someone wasputting on an air. Eileen’s dreary dramatics were a bit studied, a bit like what she thought might be expected of her. But maybe there was an honesty to that as well. “That’s all I know about her. My father never really talked about his mother. I’m sure you can understand why, seeing as she died suddenly when he was two. Arabella’s husband, my grandfather, didn’t last very long after she was gone. He was an out-of-town sort, not built for Craigmar. Died of a broken heart, they say. Pulmonary hypertension, I say.”
“Do you think it was your grandmother that invited my grandfather out here?”
“Probably,” Eileen said, flipping the book shut. “But we won’t know for certain unless we find evidence of him here. Lucky for you, my family has always had too much time on our hands. We keep meticulous records: genealogy, photographs, letters, guest books, all of it. You’re welcome to look through whatever you like tomorrow.”
