A Mackenzie Family Christmas: The Perfect Gift
Page 11
"Because it's by Bernini, brought over from Rome, and a masterwork of seventeenth-century engineering?"
"Shut it, boy. Where else?"
"Rest of the gardens? Stables?"
"Stables," Cameron said. "We'll check them again."
"She's a Mackenzie all right." Daniel said it lightly, but Cameron heard the worry in his tone.
They made their way back to the other men. The dogs had come to help too, except Ben, who'd walked slowly to the bottom of the terrace and sat down. He was old, and didn't like the cold.
The other dogs swarmed, tails moving, excited at the hunt. If any of them could be relied upon to track Gavina, Cameron would turn them loose. But the dogs were family pets because they weren't good at what they'd been bred for--retrieving birds or hunting, or even ratting in the case of Fergus. Hart refused to destroy an animal simply because it wasn't useful, so they became companions to the family.
Cameron strode for the stables, a vast line of buildings that housed Hart's horses and Cam's special racers, the tack rooms, the carriage houses, and the grooms' quarters. Searching every corner of the place would be as difficult as tackling the house.
Cameron, though, went through them, every stall, the grooms helping with the search. The little girl wasn't in the haylofts, or hidden in one of the carriages, or behind saddle trees in a tack room.
Cameron strode back into the yard, sucking cold air into his lungs. He could barely find breath, and it was so cold. Gavina couldn't have been wrapped up warmly; she might freeze to death before they found her.
God, no. Please. No.
What had he said only yesterday morning, walking home from the bleak churchyard? Too many bloody funerals in this family already.
Cameron had stood at a graveside on another cold winter day to bury his first wife after she'd taken her own life. He'd watched his mother go, his father, Hart's wife and little boy.
Not Gavina. Not her. If she died, it would break Ainsley. Ainsley would dissolve into grief, and Cameron wouldn't be able to help her.
Damn it, I can't lose them.
He found himself bent double, hands on knees, his lungs not working. A warm hand gripped his shoulder.
"Dad. Ye all right?"
Daniel. Daniel was his constant, the one person who'd made Cameron's life bearable all these years. Air poured back into him, and Cameron slowly stood up. Daniel's eyes, as golden as Cameron's, held fear.
"I'm all right, son. Just scared out of my mind."
"We'll find her. We will."
Cameron shook his head. "It's too bloody cold. There won't be time. She's so tiny."
The world was spinning around, but Daniel was there, his hand on Cameron's shoulder. Cameron would have to go into the house and tell Ainsley, have to watch the light go out of her eyes.
He couldn't do it. "We have to find her."
"Aye." Daniel's grip tightened. "We will."
Ruby, the hound who'd taken up residence with Ian and Beth, galloped by, followed by Ian himself, holding a lantern high.
"Where is Achilles?" Ian called to them.
Achilles was a setter, or at least, a partial one. He had jet black fur except for one white hind foot, which gave him his name. Cameron realized that he'd seen only four of the five dogs--Ruby, Fergus, and McNab running about, Ben waiting near the terrace--but he hadn't paid much attention.
"I don't know," Cameron snapped. "I'm more interested in finding my daughter."
Ian came to a halt and looked straight at Cameron--he'd become better at meeting his brothers' eyes in the last few years, even though he sometimes still found it difficult. At the moment, his gaze held Cameron's.
"We need to look for Achilles."
"Damn it, Ian . . ."
"No, wait," Daniel said. "I think Uncle Ian's got it. I haven't seen Achilles since we arrived home, and Gavina likes him. What's more, he likes her." Daniel's eyes sparkled with excitement, the lantern making his face sharp.
Cameron's breath came faster as he raised his lantern and flashed it around the stable yard. Achilles did follow Gavina with devotion, and the little girl might have felt safe going outside with him. Gavina might not be able to answer their calls, but Achilles would.
"Sorry, Ian," Cameron said. He found himself saying that to Ian quite a bit. "I didn't understand."
Ian gave him a faint nod but didn't answer. His look told Cameron that he knew his older brother was an idiot, but he'd learned to put up with it.
"Hart!" Cameron moved to catch up with the bulk of the duke and explain.
Soon men were bellowing into the night, Achilles! Where are you, lad? The other dogs, recognizing the name, started barking in earnest.
The trouble was, they now were making so damn much noise that Cameron couldn't hear a blasted thing. He broke away from the main group, Daniel close behind him.
Cameron went out into the dark, away from the teeming stable yard. The musty scent of horses came to him on the wind, the cold of the night stealing his breath.
The wind cut out on the leeward side of the stables, the relative warmth a waft of relief. Faint and faraway, Cameron heard the loud arf arf of the one dog that wasn't there.
He stopped, and Daniel almost ran into him, lantern swinging. They both froze, listening.
It came again, the frantic barking of a dog trying with all its might to get their attention.
"Shut it, boy. Where else?"
"Rest of the gardens? Stables?"
"Stables," Cameron said. "We'll check them again."
"She's a Mackenzie all right." Daniel said it lightly, but Cameron heard the worry in his tone.
They made their way back to the other men. The dogs had come to help too, except Ben, who'd walked slowly to the bottom of the terrace and sat down. He was old, and didn't like the cold.
The other dogs swarmed, tails moving, excited at the hunt. If any of them could be relied upon to track Gavina, Cameron would turn them loose. But the dogs were family pets because they weren't good at what they'd been bred for--retrieving birds or hunting, or even ratting in the case of Fergus. Hart refused to destroy an animal simply because it wasn't useful, so they became companions to the family.
Cameron strode for the stables, a vast line of buildings that housed Hart's horses and Cam's special racers, the tack rooms, the carriage houses, and the grooms' quarters. Searching every corner of the place would be as difficult as tackling the house.
Cameron, though, went through them, every stall, the grooms helping with the search. The little girl wasn't in the haylofts, or hidden in one of the carriages, or behind saddle trees in a tack room.
Cameron strode back into the yard, sucking cold air into his lungs. He could barely find breath, and it was so cold. Gavina couldn't have been wrapped up warmly; she might freeze to death before they found her.
God, no. Please. No.
What had he said only yesterday morning, walking home from the bleak churchyard? Too many bloody funerals in this family already.
Cameron had stood at a graveside on another cold winter day to bury his first wife after she'd taken her own life. He'd watched his mother go, his father, Hart's wife and little boy.
Not Gavina. Not her. If she died, it would break Ainsley. Ainsley would dissolve into grief, and Cameron wouldn't be able to help her.
Damn it, I can't lose them.
He found himself bent double, hands on knees, his lungs not working. A warm hand gripped his shoulder.
"Dad. Ye all right?"
Daniel. Daniel was his constant, the one person who'd made Cameron's life bearable all these years. Air poured back into him, and Cameron slowly stood up. Daniel's eyes, as golden as Cameron's, held fear.
"I'm all right, son. Just scared out of my mind."
"We'll find her. We will."
Cameron shook his head. "It's too bloody cold. There won't be time. She's so tiny."
The world was spinning around, but Daniel was there, his hand on Cameron's shoulder. Cameron would have to go into the house and tell Ainsley, have to watch the light go out of her eyes.
He couldn't do it. "We have to find her."
"Aye." Daniel's grip tightened. "We will."
Ruby, the hound who'd taken up residence with Ian and Beth, galloped by, followed by Ian himself, holding a lantern high.
"Where is Achilles?" Ian called to them.
Achilles was a setter, or at least, a partial one. He had jet black fur except for one white hind foot, which gave him his name. Cameron realized that he'd seen only four of the five dogs--Ruby, Fergus, and McNab running about, Ben waiting near the terrace--but he hadn't paid much attention.
"I don't know," Cameron snapped. "I'm more interested in finding my daughter."
Ian came to a halt and looked straight at Cameron--he'd become better at meeting his brothers' eyes in the last few years, even though he sometimes still found it difficult. At the moment, his gaze held Cameron's.
"We need to look for Achilles."
"Damn it, Ian . . ."
"No, wait," Daniel said. "I think Uncle Ian's got it. I haven't seen Achilles since we arrived home, and Gavina likes him. What's more, he likes her." Daniel's eyes sparkled with excitement, the lantern making his face sharp.
Cameron's breath came faster as he raised his lantern and flashed it around the stable yard. Achilles did follow Gavina with devotion, and the little girl might have felt safe going outside with him. Gavina might not be able to answer their calls, but Achilles would.
"Sorry, Ian," Cameron said. He found himself saying that to Ian quite a bit. "I didn't understand."
Ian gave him a faint nod but didn't answer. His look told Cameron that he knew his older brother was an idiot, but he'd learned to put up with it.
"Hart!" Cameron moved to catch up with the bulk of the duke and explain.
Soon men were bellowing into the night, Achilles! Where are you, lad? The other dogs, recognizing the name, started barking in earnest.
The trouble was, they now were making so damn much noise that Cameron couldn't hear a blasted thing. He broke away from the main group, Daniel close behind him.
Cameron went out into the dark, away from the teeming stable yard. The musty scent of horses came to him on the wind, the cold of the night stealing his breath.
The wind cut out on the leeward side of the stables, the relative warmth a waft of relief. Faint and faraway, Cameron heard the loud arf arf of the one dog that wasn't there.
He stopped, and Daniel almost ran into him, lantern swinging. They both froze, listening.
It came again, the frantic barking of a dog trying with all its might to get their attention.
