Tires crunched over the snow, then skidded to a halt. A metal door creaked.

"Good Lord, I almost didn't see you there in the snow." A man's voice boomed out, hard with anxiety. "I'm bloody sorry to intrude, considering that you two were-" He cleared his voice. "We were supposed to arrive earlier, but I'm afraid we were lost in the snow. It was a hard drive through those last mountains. Bad timing, I'm afraid."

Terrible timing, MacLeod thought. He pushed to his feet, blocking Hope from view. "What town are you searching for?"

The man in the parka brushed snow off his face, frowning. "The town of Glenbrae. We must have taken a wrong turn over the last ridge, because the place we want is supposed to be very near."

"What place is that?"

"A historic inn, Glenbrae House. I don't suppose you know it, do you?"

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

HOPE STRUGGLED TO HER feet, brushing snow from her hair. "In that case you're right where you're supposed to be. I'm Hope O'Hara, the owner of Glenbrae House. This is my friend, Ronan MacLeod. But do you have reservations?"

The man in the parka nodded. "We faxed them last week."

The snow was growing heavier, and Hope shivered. "I'm afraid we didn't receive any faxes, but we do have rooms available."

"I'm delighted and relieved to hear it. My wife and daughter are still in the car. I think they'd given up hope of ever reaching Glenbrae." The man smiled with devastating charm as he shook Hope's hand. "I'm Nicholas Draycott. I did wonder when we didn't have a return confirmation from you.

We tried to phone several times en route, but there seemed to be an electrical problem."

"The storm might have toppled the lines." Hope shivered as snow swirled through the courtyard, eddying around the tree and manger. "I expect you'll want to get inside and warm up." She smiled awkwardly at Ronan as he draped her scarf around her shoulders. "Maybe we all should."

The car door burst open again and a small, muffled figure exploded over the snow. "Daddy," she called anxiously, "is this the place at last? We've been driving forever over those mountains." She held out a worn stuffed bear. "I can't keep Mr. Gibbs awake any longer." She stifled a yawn. "I'm feeling tired, too."

Nicholas Draycott swung his daughter up into his arms, making her squeal with delight. "Yes, it's the right place, imp. Soon you and Mr. Gibbs will be tucked into a nice, warm bed before a roaring fire."

"With some cookies and a cocoa," Hope suggested, after a questioning look at the child's father.

"I'm sure Mr. Gibbs would like that." Nicholas Draycott tousled the blond hair spilling beneath his daughter's cap. "I expect Miss Vee would enjoy it, too. Genevieve, meet Ms. O'Hara. She owns Glenbrae House."

Genevieve Draycott shook hands, gurgling with laughter, cut short by another yawn.

"Are we at the right place, Nicholas?" A tall woman with shining blond hair and high, etched cheekbones stepped out into the snow. Her smile was genuine and her accent was distinctly American, Hope noticed.

"It looks so, Kacey. This is Hope O'Hara. She has just promised Vee and Mr. Gibbs some cookies and hot cocoa inside."

"It sounds divine. Maybe they'll share." Lady Draycott's laugh was engaging as she offered her hand to Hope. "I'm so pleased to meet you, Ms. O'Hara. We've heard such wonderful things about this house and how you've restored it. Nicholas's estate is very old, so we have a fair notion of all the headaches of owning a historic house. Draycott Abbey has been in his family for generations, and though we both love it, at times it seems the house is conspiring to overwhelm us."

Draycott Abbey. The name was vaguely familiar to Hope, but she couldn't say why. "You live in the Southeast, I take it?"

"On the border of Kent," Nicholas said. "But we had our hearts set on Scotland for Christmas, and we weren't to be deterred."

Genevieve leaned forward in her father's arms, her eyes wide. "We have a moat and swans. But best of all, we have a real live ghost."

"Now, that must keep you and Mr. Gibbs busy," Hope said.

"Adrian is a perfect friend. He tells us grand stories about kings and popes and armies. He talks about bad ladies, too." She frowned. "He seems to know a lot of them."

Nicholas brushed her cheek. "Vee, I thought we talked about that subject already."

"No, you talked and I listened, Daddy. That's not a talk, that's a lecture. Besides, Adrian is real. I see him every day, so I don't think I should lie and say I don't."

"I believe it's time for bed," Nicholas said firmly.

"Come on, love, let's go sort out the bags." Kacey lifted her wriggling daughter to the ground.

"In a minute." The girl looked out at the snow, frowning. "I saw something over there by the fence."

Nicholas glanced worriedly at his wife, who shook her head.

Seeing their uneasiness, Hope gently intervened. "I'll take Genevieve up to the house, if you like, and see to your rooms. Ronan, would you help them with their bags?"

On their way back to the car, Kacey and Genevieve stopped to admire the manger. "These pieces are very unusual. You can see the faces in perfect detail. Are they heirlooms?" Lady Draycott asked.

"Actually, Mr. MacLeod made them."

"Really?" Kacey studied the figures intently. "I've never seen anything like this outside a museum."

She started to say more, but her daughter clutched at her hand.

"I saw him, Mama. Over there by the fence. He had gray fur and black paws. It was Gideon, just like I told you before."

"He couldn't be here, darling. Not all this way from the abbey. You probably saw a rabbit."

Her daughter's lip quivered and she lowered her head. "It was Gideon," she said tremulously.

Kacey pulled her close, straightening her cap. "Maybe we should discuss Gideon later, my love. It would be rude to keep Ms. O'Hara and Mr. MacLeod waiting, don't you think?"

After a last, longing glance out into the snow, Genevieve nodded, but her eyes were sad. When her mother and father moved around to sort through the suitcases in the car, she went to stand beside Ronan, who was staring north toward the cliffs. "Do you see something, too?"

He looked down at the small figure with a worn bear clutched to her chest. His smile was swift.

"Not really. I just...felt something."

"I did, too." She pointed gravely. "Over there past the fence. Mother says it was a rabbit, but she's wrong. It was a cat. A great gray cat with black paws, just like the one I see back home." She frowned. "He follows us sometimes."

"Now, I wonder why a cat would do that."

Mr. Gibbs wavered and nearly fell before Genevieve caught him. "I'm not sure. Sometimes I think he's protecting us. At least, that's how he makes me feel. He's got very special eyes."

"Then you must be lucky." He brushed snow gently off her cap. "I never had a cat to protect me when I was your age."

She stared up at him, her eyes unnaturally grave. "I don't think you would ever need to be protected."

"Now, there you might be wrong." MacLeod stared off to the north, where snow now veiled the high cliffs. "We all need protecting sometime or another."

She tucked her hand confidingly into his. "Then I'll ask Gideon to protect you, too. He won't mind."

MacLeod's eyes crinkled as he grinned down at her. "Gideon? Is he a friend of Mr. Gibbs?"

"No, Mr. Gibbs is my favorite toy, but Gideon is real," she said firmly. "He can do anything." She moved closer to MacLeod. "Is something wrong?"

MacLeod had turned back to the cliffs. "For a moment, I thought I saw..." He shrugged. "Never mind. You had better bring Mr. Gibbs inside before you're covered with snow. I'll take in your bags."

After a quick smile, she ran to her parents, who were helping Hope close the lid of a wicker basket stuffed full of crayons, toys and coloring books. MacLeod waved once, watching them disappear into the house.

After they had gone inside, his smile faded.

He bent down, studying the snow. He'd been looking for human tracks, but instead he found a set of small, fresh paw prints moving delicately along the fence and across the courtyard, not three yards from the car. Then they circled the decorated tree, and strangest of all, they stopped in front of the manger.

There they simply vanished.

"DO YOU THINK she guessed?"

Kacey Draycott paced anxiously, looking at her husband. Genevieve was sound asleep in her camp bed with Mr. Gibbs clutched in her fingers while the fire sent golden patterns playing over her cheeks. "Jamee will kill me if Hope guesses."

"You're safe for now." Nicholas Draycott, the twelfth Viscount Draycott, sank onto the bed and tugged off his boots. "But she soon will. The woman is no fool, nor is that friend of hers. MacLeod, wasn't that his name?"

His wife nodded sleepily. "Very odd, those wooden sculptures of his. I've seen similar pieces in museums, but nowhere else." She slid beneath the lavender-scented sheets with a sigh of contentment.

Nicholas grinned down at her, the faint silver flecks in his hair shining in the firelight. They made him look exceedingly handsome, his wife thought.

"There you go, imagining another mystery. Just because he's good at reproductions doesn't exactly make him a thief, my love."

"I didn't say he was a thief, Nicholas, but there's something strange there, all the same." Kacey stared at the fire. "I think Jamee was right to be worried about Hope."

"She seemed happy enough to me. Rolling around in the snow certainly put a nice bit of color in her cheeks."

Kacey sniffed. "Spoken like a man. As if sex explains everything."

"It explains a lot, between the right people."

"Hmm."

Nicholas pulled off his heavy sweater. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means-hmm." Kacey rubbed her forehead, frowning. "Genevieve is talking about Gideon again. She's convinced that cat is real, Nicholas."

"Maybe he is."

"Then why haven't we seen him?"

"The abbey is a strange place, my love. The lighting plays tricks in those old stone halls, and things flit around the corner of your vision. You tell yourself they're shadows, but one day you might discover they're not."

Kacey sighed. "And does that explain the ghost?"

"Nothing can explain the ghost," Nicholas said tightly. "The less Vee says about him the better, believe me. I was hoping the trip up here might give her something new to talk about. Actually, that's one of the reasons I agreed to come when Ian and Jamee phoned and asked for our help."

"Remember, we can't mention Jamee's name, no matter what."

The earl's silver-gray eyes gleamed. "You might be able to buy my silence. For a price, of course."

Kacey glanced at Genevieve, then at her husband. "Is that so? And what would that be?"

"One kiss. One long kiss. It will have to last me, I suppose. This whole trip is turning out to be a huge sacrifice."

"Liar. You were even more intrigued by this house than I was when Ian and Jamee called last week.

You love nothing more than interfering in other people's lives, and you know it, Nicky. It must be all those centuries of lordly privilege bred into your blue Draycott blood."

Nicholas raised one dark brow. "I think I've just been insulted."

"Soundly."

"For that, the price just doubled, Lady Draycott."

He looked handsome but tired. She almost regretted acceding to his friend's request to look in on Hope O'Hara to be sure she was safe. Ian was one of Nicholas's oldest friends, and he very seldom asked favors, so Nicholas had agreed immediately. Unfortunately, it had meant leaving their beautiful abbey at their favorite time of year.

Somehow the season wouldn't seem right until they got home, Kacey thought. At Christmas the abbey always seemed at its most beautiful. She missed the murmur of the moat and the church bells ringing over the gentle downs. She missed their own bed with the casement windows overlooking the moat.

She slid her hands around Nicholas's neck and pulled him closer. "Maybe we'll have to negotiate terms, my lord," she whispered.

"Maybe," he said huskily. With unerring skill he found his target on her left rib and left her gasping on the verge of noisy laughter.

"Stop that," she hissed, vainly trying to wiggle free. "You'll wake Genevieve any second. And I still say there's something funny about that man."

"Forget about Ronan MacLeod. You're under direct attack, my dear, and a real Englishman never stops when he's ahead." Nicholas pulled the quilt over their heads and tugged her against his chest.

"But I might consider it. With the right inducement, of course."

The quilt stirred and then settled. Then there was only the soft echo of laughter, the rustle of fabric and the low hiss of the fire.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.