Even as he started to step out of the car, the gate opened with a kind of otherworldly silence that sent a chill dancing along the nape of his neck. "Must really keep it lubed," he murmured. "And I guess somebody knows we're out here."
He slid back behind the wheel and drove through.
The house looked just as strange and stark and stunning in daylight as it had in a night storm. There was no magnificent stag to greet her, but the flag with its key emblem flew high and white, and rivers of flowers ran below. Gargoyles clung to the stone, and looked, to Malory's mind, as if they were considering leaping, not so playfully, on any visitor.
"I never got this close in the daylight." Slowly Flynn stepped out of the car.
"It's spooky." "Yeah, but in a good way. It's terrific, like something you expect to see on a cliff above a raging sea. Too bad there's no moat. That would really top it off."
"Wait until you see the inside." Malory moved up beside him, and didn't object in the least when Flynn took her hand. The tickle at the back of her throat made her feel foolish and female.
"I don't know why I'm so nervous." She caught herself whispering it, then her hand jerked in Flynn's when the big entrance door opened.
Rowena stood framed in the towering doorway. She wore simple gray pants with a roomy shirt the color of the forest. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, her lips were unpainted, her feet bare. But however casual the outfit, she managed to look exotic, like some foreign queen on a quiet holiday.
Malory caught the glint of diamonds at her ears.
"How lovely." Rowena held out a hand on which rings sparkled elegantly. "How nice to see you again, Malory. And you've brought me such a handsome surprise."
"Flynn Hennessy. He's Dana's brother."
"Welcome. Pitte will be right along. He's just finishing up a call." She gestured them inside.
Flynn had to resist gawking at the foyer. "It doesn't seem like the kind of place you'd find telephones."
Rowena's chuckle was low, almost a purr. "We enjoy the advantages of technology. Come, we'll have tea."
"We don't want to put you to any trouble," Malory began, but Rowena waved her off.
"Guests are never any trouble."
"How did you find out about Warrior's Peak, Miss…"
"Rowena." She slid an arm silkily through Flynn's as she walked them to the parlor. "You must call me Rowena. Pitte always has an ear to the ground for an interesting spot."
"You travel a lot?"
"We do, yes."
"For work or pleasure?"
"Without pleasure, there's little point in work." She trailed a fingertip playfully down his arm. "Won't you sit? Ah, here's the tea."
Malory recognized the servant from her first visit. She brought the tea cart in silently, and left the same way.
"What business are you in?" Flynn asked.
"Oh, we do a bit of this and that, and some of the other. Milk?" she asked Malory as she poured. "Honey, lemon?"
"A little lemon, thank you. I have a lot of questions."
"I'm sure you do, as does your very attractive companion. How do you like your tea, Flynn?"
"Black's fine."
"So American. And what is your business, Flynn?"
He took the delicate cup she offered. His gaze was direct, and suddenly very cool. "I'm sure you already know. You didn't pick my sister's name out of a hat. You know everything you need to know about her, and that would include me."
"Yes." Rowena added both milk and honey to her own tea. Rather than looking insulted or chagrined, she looked pleased. “The newspaper business must be very interesting. So much information to be gathered, and dispersed. I imagine it takes a clever mind to know how to do both well. And here is Pitte."
He entered a room, Flynn thought, like a general. Measuring the field, gauging his ground, outlining his approach. However genial his smile, Flynn was certain there was a steely soldier behind it.
"Miss Price. What a pleasure to see you again." He took her hand, brought it to within an inch of his lips in a gesture that seemed too fluid not to be natural.
"Thanks for seeing us. This is Flynn—"
"Yes. Mr. Hennessy." He inclined his head. "How do you do?"
"Well enough."
"Our friends have questions and concerns," Rowena told him as she passed the cup of tea she'd already prepared.
"Naturally." Pitte took a seat. "You're wondering, I imagine, if we're…" He turned that mildly curious look to Rowena.
"Lunatics," she supplied, then lifted a plate. "Scones?" "Ah, yes, lunatics." Pitte helped himself to a scone and a generous dollop of clotted cream. "I can assure you we're not, but then again, so would I if we were. So that's very little help to you. Tell me, Miss Price, are you having second thoughts about our arrangement?"
"I took your money and gave you my word."
His expression softened, very slightly. "Yes. To some that would make little difference."
"It makes all the difference to me."
"That could change," Flynn put in. "Depending on where the money comes from."
"Are you implying we could be criminals?" Now temper showed in the flush that swept Rowena's ice-edged cheekbones. "It shows considerable lack of courtesy to come into our home and accuse us of being thieves."
"Reporters aren't known for their courtesy, and neither are brothers when they're looking out for their sisters."
Pitte murmured something quiet and foreign, skimmed his long fingers over the back of Rowena's hand, the way a man might soothe a cat who was about to spit and claw. "Understood. It happens I've some skill in monetary matters. The money comes to us through perfectly legal means. We're neither lunatics nor criminals."
"Who are you?" Malory demanded before Flynn could speak again. "Where do you come from?"
"What do you think?" Pitte challenged softly.
"I don't know. But I think you believe you represent the teacher and the warrior who failed to protect the Daughters of Glass."
An eyebrow arched slightly. "You've learned more since you were here last. Will you learn more yet?"
"I intend to. You could help me."
"We're not free to help in that way. But I will tell you this. Not only teacher and warrior but companions and friends to those precious ones, and so only more responsible."
"It's only a legend."
The intensity in his eyes dimmed, and he leaned back again. "It must be, as such things are beyond the limits of your mind and the boundaries of your world. Still, I can promise you the keys exist."
"Where is the Box of Souls?" Flynn asked him.
"Safe."
"Could I see the painting again?" Now Malory turned to Rowena. "I'd like Flynn to see it."
"Of course." She rose and led the way into the room dominated by the portrait of the Daughters of Glass.
Malory heard Flynn catch his breath, then they were moving together closer to the painting. "It's even more magnificent than I remembered. Can you tell me who painted this?"
"Someone," Rowena said quietly, "who knew love, and grief."
"Someone who knows Malory. And my sister, and Zoe McCourt."
Rowena let out a sigh. "You're a cynic, Flynn, and a suspicious one. But as you've put yourself in the role of protector, I'll forgive you for it. We don't wish Malory, Dana, or Zoe any harm. Quite the opposite."
Something in her tone made him want to believe her. "It's pretty disconcerting to see my sister's face up there."
"You'd do whatever needed to be done to keep her safe and well. I understand that kind of loyalty and love. I admire and respect it. She's in no danger from me or Pitte. I can swear that to you."
He turned now, zeroing in on what hadn't been said. "But from someone else?"
"Life's a gamble," was all Rowena said. "Your tea's getting cold."
She turned toward the door just as Pitte stepped to it. "There seems to be a very large, very unhappy dog of some sort outside."