Free The Shadow and the Night: Glenncailty Castle, Book 3 by Lila Dubois

unpacking it.
    Séan folded his arms. “I don’t want to do this either, but we have to.”
    Tristan was aware they had an audience—the kitchen staff were arriving for the day, and though they were all pretending they were too busy doing something else, he knew they were hanging on every word.
    Sorcha stood beside him and whispered, “If you really don’t want to go, we’ll leave you be. I understand that you don’t want to be reminded of what you saw.”
    Tristan stood in the middle of his kitchen—it was his domain, the place where he was totally in control, and yet he felt powerless. At this point it would be strange if he continued to insist that he wouldn’t go. Sorcha’s assumption, that he couldn’t face a reminder of what they’d seen, made sense. For most people that experience would be debilitating. Sorcha and Séan had each other to mute the horror of what they’d been through. He didn’t have anyone, but what he’d seen in the nursery was nothing compared to what he’d seen in the past.
    “ You need to be there, brother ,” Jacques said.
    Giving in, Tristan took off his bandana and apron, dropping them into the laundry on the way out the door.
     
     
    Melissa was fiddling with the settings on the projector when they walked in. They were in a still-under-construction room on the second floor of the mews. The first floor had a lovely indoor pool and sauna, while the upper rooms were destined to be a spa. This area would be the main waiting room, though at the moment it was only bare plastered walls. Eight chairs were set up in two neat rows of four, and a table at the front had a stack of reports as well at the laptop and projector.
    Tristan hung back, making sure Sorcha and Séan were the first ones into the room.
    Melissa looked up. Her hair was loose, shining in the morning light that spilled in through the windows. She wore tailored black slacks with a lovely long tunic on top. The tunic was done in shades of black, silver and gray. She was a mix of professional and bohemian, though Tristan suspected that her look came from a wardrobe purchased in exotic locations rather than from trendy boutiques selling expensive ethnic-style garments.
    Melissa looked at each of them in turn. When her gaze passed to him, Tristan glanced away, examining the walls.
    “ You’re an idiot ,” his brother said. “ Talk to her. ”
    Tristan ignored him.
    “ You are scared of a little English girl? ”Jacques shook his head. He was opaque at the moment, looking as real as he had when he was alive.
    “Shut up,” Tristan muttered, taking a seat in the rear row of chairs, beside Séan and Sorcha.
    They were whispering to each other, seemingly oblivious to everything. Tristan wanted nothing more than to run from this room and back to the kitchen, but that seemed foolish. When he’d examined the walls, floor and ceiling—looking everywhere but at Melissa—he dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone, playing a game without really looking at it. He knew the exact moment that Melissa’s gaze swung back to him—he could feel her stare.
    The door opened.
    “Please forgive us for being late.” Seamus walked in, Elizabeth at his side and his wolfhounds trailing behind them. At a gesture from Seamus, they went and lay in a corner, their shaggy gray coats blending with the stone floor.
    “I’m Dr. Melissa Heavey.” Melissa held out her hand to Seamus.
    “I’m Seamus.”
    “And I’m Elizabeth Jefferies.” Elizabeth, like Melissa, was blonde in a classically English way. Unlike Melissa, her hair was up in a structured twist and she wore a blue pantsuit and black heels. Her face was perfectly made up.
    Melissa ignored Elizabeth and turned back to the computer. “Shall we get started?” she asked.
    Elizabeth looked at Seamus, her expression unreadable. He shrugged and they took a seat in the front row of chairs. Tristan frowned. Melissa was abrupt and straightforward, but ignoring someone like