Secret Garden (21 page)

And then the camera moved, and Rhiannon saw his face again. Hard. Closed. He’d retreated into anger. This was the first honest emotion she’d seen from him in days.

Oh, Colin.
Without realizing it, she made a small noise of sympathy in her throat.

He’s wrong, you’re worthy,
she ached to tell him.

He frowned at her. “I hope you didn’t hear any of that.”

“I did, actually. Sorry.” Her instincts were to offer to walk with him around the grounds when he returned, and try to lift his spirits, but this didn’t fit with their new, less-trusting relationship.

She wiped her eyes. Unexpectedly, her own phone beeped. The message flashed clearly across her screen that her uncle John was ringing her.

“Excuse me,” Rhiannon said as cheerily as she could. “I have another call. May I talk to you in a bit?”

“Sure,” Colin said. He ran his hand over his face, but even that didn’t erase the look of pain.

“I’ll ring you in a few minutes,” she promised.

He nodded, and she switched to her uncle’s call, finally able to draw a deep breath...

“Hello, Uncle John.”

“Hello, Rhiannon. I’ve just left my office. I should be at the castle by four o’clock, in order to pick up your painting.”

I can’t believe I forgot!

“Er, certainly, Uncle,” she said, “my landscape is ready. I’ll just bring it downstairs for you.”

“Very good.” He cleared his throat. “I have another commission for you, and it comes with special instructions.”

She chewed on her lip, not sure this was what she wanted just now.

“We’ll discuss your security plan for the gathering, as well,” he said.

More issues that had defined her before Colin had returned to Scotland. She swallowed. “We’ll talk when you arrive.”

“Very good, Rhiannon. I’ll see you soon.” He hung up and suddenly a thought came to her—the athlete endorsement that Sage Family Products sponsored.

She connected her mobile phone with Colin’s number, again using the video option. He picked up immediately. She saw that the lines of his mouth were still grim.

“Colin,” she said softly. “My uncle is stopping by this afternoon to pick up my landscape for the buyer who commissioned it. Would you like to meet him?”

“Your CEO uncle?” Colin’s face clouded even further. “What, do you think I can’t win a tournament purse myself?” Clearly, he’d forgotten his cheery falseness, too. “Do you think I need an endorsement for when I fail?”

“Possibly,” she said, sighing.

His eyes widened. She was being brutally honest with him, and it had obviously shocked him.

What would be the harm if her uncle included Colin in the local athletes’ endorsement program? Besides, she was showing Colin that she trusted him. To be introduced to her obscenely wealthy and powerful uncle was a bit like being introduced to the legendary Wizard of Oz. For an athlete who needed an endorsement, it was a special gift. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to introduce you to him as my good friend,” she said quietly.

“Why?” he demanded.

Because you’re important to me.

“My uncle is important to me,” she said instead. “He takes special interest in me. He runs my business affairs. He even spends most Christmases with me and my parents. But I warn you, he can be intimidating.”

“I’m not intimidated by him, Rhi.”

That meant he was coming. Inwardly, she smiled, though she tried not to show it.

“Keep in mind that he’s always surrounded by bodyguards,” she warned him. “My uncle is inaccessible, he doesn’t meet with media and he rarely speaks publically. Outside of people in his upper echelons, he doesn’t socialize.”

“I’m a pro golfer, remember? I’m around business types like him all the time.” Colin shook his head. “I may not be A League yet, but most CEOs are golf fans, and golf fans know my name.”

“Then impress him for me,” she said. “Show him how well I’m progressing.”

Colin seemed to be thinking. “When is he coming?”

“In three hours.”

“Fine,” Colin said. “I’ll be there.”

* * *

R
HIANNON PACED BEFORE
the fireplace to calm her jittery nerves.

She really did want to help Colin arrange an endorsement, but her invitation had been impulsive and off-the-cuff, not well thought out. And now that she’d had time to consider what she was doing, she saw the danger.

If he did receive an endorsement, bringing Colin into the fold of her family’s business would only entangle him more deeply in her life. It would be that much harder for her when he finally left.

She heard the sound of tires on the drive. Uncle John had arrived in a black town car. Behind him was a second vehicle, a van large enough to accommodate the immense size of her painting.

Rhiannon sighed. There was no going back now. Colin was on his way, too.

She crossed her arms and observed her uncle’s entourage.

As the men emerged from the town car, she counted four in total. A driver, an assistant, Murphy, in the front seat, and a second guard in the seat beside her uncle in back. The two men in the van stayed seated.

Her uncle valued loyalty. He was CEO of their family’s business, and he’d built it up from nothing. Rhiannon’s mother was a Sage, one of five siblings, and the only girl. John was her mother’s older brother. He’d taken Rhiannon’s brother, Malcolm, under his wing after the kidnapping, and Malcolm was currently president. But Uncle John didn’t show any signs of slowing down or letting go of company control anytime soon.

Rhiannon let the curtain drop and went to sit on the couch before the fireplace. She smoothed her dress and folded her hands in her lap.

When the bell rang, Paul quietly nodded to her and opened the door.

Just as she was about to rise, Colin the cat wandered across the rug toward her. Chuckling inside, she picked him up and settled him on the couch beside her.

As her uncle came into the room behind Paul, Rhiannon rose. Uncle John had come in alone, without his guards or Murphy.

She smiled as he approached and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

“Good afternoon, Uncle.”

“Hello, Rhiannon. How are you?”

“Well.” She had much she wanted to tell him, but he’d already stepped to her painting, which leaned against the side of the couch, and was reaching for the packing cloth that covered it.

“May I?” he asked, even as he lifted the cloth.

She didn’t answer.

“This is b—”
Beautiful,
he was starting to say, because that was what he always said to her about her paintings, ever since she was a girl.

But this time he stood back and tilted his head, staring at her newest work.

This wasn’t the first time she’d worked with such a large—six feet by four feet—canvas. The painting was so unwieldy she hadn’t been able to carry it downstairs herself. Paul had bundled and moved it with the help of a local man who Paul sometimes hired for laboring jobs.

“You’ve done something different with this work,” her uncle said.

Rhiannon inclined her head. “Yes, the painting called for it.”

“That’s a lovely crofter’s cottage.”

“It is.”

He remained silent, his head still tilted.

Rhiannon waited. Thus far, the works she’d created were strictly nature landscapes, all of the Highlands. A few were painted as gifts for friends and family, but most were sold to wealthy contemporaries of her uncle’s, people who’d purchased them on commission after seeing his private piece.

This commission, as Rhiannon understood it, was for a wealthy industrialist who lived somewhere in Asia.

“This is the guard’s cottage at the far end of the property,” her uncle remarked, “on the border, where James Walker and his wife live, is it not?”

“It is,” she said.

“Did you paint it from memory?”

He was asking her if she’d walked to the edge of the property to sketch it. “No, I painted it from a photograph I took of the actual cottage.”

“Why, that’s...” His face registered a struggle to control his emotion. “...that’s wonderful, Rhiannon.”

“Thank you. I walked Molly there one morning this week, just to see if I could do it.”

He broke into a smile—her hardened, business-toughened uncle.

Relieved, she sank onto the couch. “Would you have some tea, Uncle? There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you.”

At her signal, Paul stepped forward and poured their tea from the presented service.

When Paul had discreetly withdrawn, Rhiannon settled Colin the cat in her lap. First, they would mention niceties. Then, she planned to initiate a discussion regarding her next commission. Lastly, she’d introduce Colin.

Uncle John sipped at his tea, then placed it precisely in its china saucer and went straight to his point—apparently skipping the niceties. “I’d like to discuss the gathering on Saturday. I’ve arranged for two local bodyguards to keep watch outside your studio building for the duration of the event. You needn’t worry about being bothered by stragglers on the grounds.”

She clasped her hands in her lap. “I won’t be staying in the studio this year.”

Uncle John paused with the rim of the cup midway to his lips. “Oh?” he asked, once again placing the cup inside the saucer.

She looked him square in the eye. “I’m prepared to fill my mother’s traditional role, at least for the initial greeting.”

A nerve of concern ticked over his left eye. “That isn’t necessary, Rhiannon.”

“I’ve thought about it, Uncle. This year, that’s the role I prefer to take.”

“What’s brought this on?” he asked.

“My parents are gone, Malcolm is married, Isabel is getting married soon and I’m looking to the future, as well.”

He nodded silently, considering her. “Do you think you can handle it?”

She didn’t know. She desperately hoped so. She was trying not to think about it too much, to tell the truth. “If I’m to live in this castle,” she said firmly. “I want to live as lady, and not just a painting recluse.”

“If you’re worried about the financial aspects of your future, you needn’t be,” he said gently. “Your money has been set up in trusts, and even if you never sell another painting, you’ve enough funds to stay in the castle without danger of being evicted.” He cleared his throat. “And that leads me to the second order of business.” He smiled. “I’m pleased to say that I’ve secured another commission for you. An important collector has expressed interest in you.”

He was figuratively patting her on the head, as if she were a sheltered naïf who was too delicate to make her own plans.

She’d never looked at it from this perspective before, until Colin had challenged her.

“This collector of yours,” she asked, “is he buying my painting because he appreciates the work, or because of the notoriety of the name Rhiannon MacDowall?”

Uncle John’s face clouded. She’d stepped into delicate territory. “Rhiannon, your name is on your paintings, that’s true. They’re there because they’re yours, you’ve created them, and you’re a world-class talent.”

“Maybe.” She’d trained, heaven how she’d trained—out of love and the desire to lose herself in something meaningful that took all her focus and energy. It had been healing for her, but now she was restless. She was changing. Her world wasn’t frozen, suspended in time any longer. It was marching on. People were marrying.

Old loves come home to visit.

“Uncle, I do love my landscapes. They’re special, they’re beautiful...and they play an important part in earning money to live on, as well. But I’m making some decisions about a change in my artistic direction, and I’d like to know, what have we been charging for price?”

He shook his head. “You don’t need to worry about that, Rhiannon. Ever.”

“I want to know because it’s
my
business.” She touched his hand. “Please.”

He seemed to think for a moment. Her uncle was nothing if not a businessman. Finally, he inclined his head. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“I consult with art experts. I hand-choose your buyers. They’ve signed written pledges with me to keep your works off the market during your lifetime.”

“So...in effect, you’re running my business?” she murmured. She’d never thought of it this way. She contrasted herself with Colin, who was his own man.

“Rhiannon, while there is breath in my body I will not allow you to be used or hurt because of the notoriety of your kidnapping. I
will not
allow it.” His voice rose and then turned to ice.

Her heart pounded. She and her uncle had a close, loving relationship. They’d never quarreled, much as she and Malcolm had never quarreled.

Nobody quarreled with her, really. Nobody upset or challenged or questioned her.

Until Colin’s arrival.

She stood. There was much she needed to fix, and she was shaking just thinking about it.

“You look pale, Rhiannon. Please sit.”

“I prefer not to.”

“May I call the doctor?”

“No.”

“I don’t think—”

“She knows what she wants, sir,” said a curt voice.

Colin.
She felt a smile spread over her face.

She turned, and he looked like heaven to her. Familiar, kind, always her champion. And for this meeting with her uncle, he’d changed into business clothes, his hair combed back and his face clean-shaven.

Uncle John’s face was as stony as the side of a rock cliff. He was obviously displeased with Colin’s presence.

Colin strolled into the room with his easy gait, and without waiting for an introduction, he sat, picking up the cat and tucking him on his lap. The cat purred and stretched the white underside of his furry neck toward Colin, for unfettered access to one of Colin’s scratching sessions.

“How did you get past my bodyguards?” Uncle John demanded of Colin.

“I didn’t see any bodyguards.” Colin hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I came in from the back.”

“Isn’t that door always locked?” Uncle asked Rhiannon. “And isn’t the guard on the monitor? Those are our express instructions.”

“The guard is my grandfather,” Colin said. “He knows my intentions are good.”