to know the truth. She set her dirty dishes on the rack in the dishwasher, then left the kitchen in search of the basement. She didn't have to go far. The first door she tried opened onto a staircase.
At the base of the stairs, she found a washer and dryer. Then she entered a large, well-lit room with a billiard table in the middle. Sofas and chairs lined the walls. A small fridge held bottles of something called Bleer. Synthetic blood and beer. Racks lined the upper walls, where an assortment of weapons were stashed - swords, knives, guns and rifles. Interspersed between the racks were four coats of arms belonging to four clans. The MacKay, MacPhie, Buchanan, and Kincaid. The plaid background on the Kincaid coat of arms matched Dougal's kilt. Dougal Kincaid.
So where was he? She spotted a closed door and opened it. The creak made her wince. If he was sleeping, the noise might wake him up.
The room was dark, so she left the door open to allow light to filter in from the billiards room. Two rows of twin beds lined the walls. All were empty except the first one on the left.
"Hello?" she whispered.
No answer.
She approached the bed slowly. It was him. Dougal. "I don't mean to interrupt your sleep," Well, that wasn't exactly true. She fully expected him to wake up any second. After all, he was a security guard. Weren't they trained to be light sleepers?
His large frame filled the bed to the point that his feet practically hung off the bottom edge and his shoulders took up the entire width. He was flat on his back, his hands folded at his waist, his left hand resting on top of the prosthetic right hand.
She eased closer. "Hello?" Her gaze drifted down his body. What on earth was he wearing? Some kind of nightgown? It looked like the sort of thing Ebenezer Scrooge would wear. It was white, baggy, and ended at midcalf. His feet were covered with white tube socks. The gown had long sleeves buttoned at the wrist, and another row of buttons marched up his chest to the high collar.
She smiled. The collar even had a ruffle at the top. How old-fashioned could he get? At least he wasn't wearing one of those silly nightcaps on his head.
"Are you awake?"
No answer. She leaned over to see his face, prepared to jump back whenever his eyes opened. His hair was loose about his shoulders. His jaw and mouth were outlined with dark whiskers. His mouth was closed. How could a man have such a pretty mouth?
She glanced back at his eyes. Still shut. "You know I'm here, don't you? You're only pretending to sleep?"
His face remained completely still. Not a twitch from those dark eyebrows. She'd never seen eyebrows or a forehead that could be so expressive. Her mother's emotions showed in her eyes and her voice. Her father either smiled slightly or more often, his lips thinned in disapproval.
But Dougal - she'd recognized anger, fear, pain, hunger, curiosity, approval, and inquisitiveness all from the way he'd moved his brow and eyebrows. Without thinking, she reached out to touch his forehead. It was smooth and cool.
She lifted her hand quickly and checked his eyes. Still closed.
"You're breathing, aren't you?" She held a hand an inch below his nostrils.
No air.
She rested her hand on his chest. Hard as a rock. Dead as a rock?
"Come on, wake up." She shoved at his chest. "You can't be dead. It's not possible."
She touched his cheek. Cool. The dark whiskers prickled her fingertips. "You're just too pretty, you know that?"
She glanced at his eyes again. "Sexy rascal. Shall I have my way with you?"
No response. Wouldn't a normal guy stop faking it and make a grab for her?
But he wasn't normal. She pressed her fingers against his carotid artery, but his high, ruffled neckline was in the way.
"Well, this should wake you up." She unbuttoned the top three buttons of his nightshirt, then slid her hand to his neck to feel his pulse.
Nothing.
"This can't be." She felt the other side. Damn. He didn't have a pulse.
With her own pulse racing and fingers trembling, she unfastened more buttons. She peeled back his shirt and froze. This was the last thing she expected. A green and purple dragon curled over his right shoulder and down toward his chest. The mouth was wide open, breathing red and orange flames. An Oriental-style dragon, colorful and fierce. She placed her hand on