Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(80)
Author: Kristen Ashley

Abby felt her eyes grow wide and her fingers clenched the counter anew while she breathed, “No.”

“Yes,” Honor returned, “Alistair hated Anthony as much as Anthony hated Alistair. Fenella told me what Angus McPherson said and it all makes sense. He had motive. Hatred, of course. But Anthony was spending all his time in Scotland with Myra and then Cash came along. If Anthony was going to move to the castle with his family, it’s likely he was going to kick Alistair out.” Abby nodded that this made sense and Honor went on. “But, the thing you have to know is, this means Alistair doesn’t own the castle. Cash does. True and legal. All Cash has to do is ask for a DNA test.”

The importance of this news hit Abby like a physical force and she rocked back. Honor either didn’t notice it or more likely was on a mission to get all of her story out before the others returned.

“I had a solicitor friend of mine look at it and the castle’s covenant is precise. First, the castle never, but never, goes out of the hands of a blood Beaumaris, which Cash is and Alistair isn’t. Second, it’s passed down from father to son. Always father to son. If there is no son then to a daughter. Only to a brother if the castle’s master dies without any heir. My friend looked up some records and Anthony was having the covenant scrutinised when he died in order to alter it so Cash could inherit. But, in the end, he didn’t have to. Regardless of Cash’s legitimacy, he was the next in line to inherit. Anthony knew that. Alistair knew it too. Cash was too young and Cash’s mother too crazy and too poor to fight it but my friend says it was all his, all the lands, all the money, all the investments, all the businesses, and especially Penmort. It’s always been Cash’s. Always. All this time,” Honor finished.

Abby found she was breathing heavily and they heard the others approaching so Honor leaned in, took hold of Abby’s upper arm and her voice was soft but urgent.

“I’ve put the diaries in a safe deposit box but I’ve copied the pages about the rape and I have them with me. Before I leave, I’ll put them somewhere and tell you where to find them. And I’ve written down the information on the box and will leave you the keys so you can take Cash there,” Honor told her.

“Why?” Abby asked and her voice sounded strangled so she repeated it, “Why? Why are you telling me this? Why are you doing this? For Cash? To Alistair?”

Honor’s face changed, pain, anger and heartache, likely for herself and even for her mother and sisters, all chased through it but as feminine feet came down the stairs all she said was, “You love him and, because of that, I can trust you. And I know Cash is a good man. I also know Alistair is not.”

And her tone said eloquently that her words about her stepfather were true.

Abby had no time to deny her love for Cash or thank her or give her the hug she probably desperately needed as the others arrived.

Honor’s hand dropped from her arm and Abby watched as the guard slid back over her expression.

“Cash’s whole house is gorgeous!” Fenella shrieked.

“It’s impersonal,” Mrs. Truman announced. “This is the only room that’s homey.”

Nicola’s eyes were on Abby, her face soft, and she said, “I think the house is lovely but you’re right. This room is definitely the most welcoming.”

Abby watched as Nicola’s hand reached out and her fingers touched a hyacinth on the bar. Then she smiled at Abby, indicating she knew exactly why the rest of the house was cold and this room was warm.

Abby, still reeling from her conversation with Honor, gave Nicola a weak smile and quickly looked away.

As Honor started handing out drinks, Abby stiffly started to make Jenny’s Manhattan, her mind awhirl with an all new set of earth-shattering worries.

“You okay?” Jenny whispered and Abby, not having noticed her friend had gotten close, jumped.

“No,” Abby whispered back and then continued, “we’ll talk later.”

Jenny opened her mouth to speak but Abby’s mobile, lying on the counter, started ringing.

“I’ll finish this,” Jenny said, taking the cocktail shaker from Abby and Abby moved across the kitchen and grabbed her mobile.

The display said, “Unknown Caller” and Abby was disappointed it wasn’t Cash. She was beginning to get worried.

She slid it open and put it to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Is this Abigail Butler?” an efficient female voice asked.

“Yes,” Abby replied, ready to launch into her kind, but firm and very short “no thank you” speech that she delivered to all telephone marketers.

Then the female voice spoke and what she said opened a hole under Abby through which Abby fell, plummeting uncontrollably toward the painfully blazing molten core at the centre of the earth.

“This is Emma at Mr. Fraser’s offices. There’s been a car accident and Mr. Fraser’s at hospital.”

“What?” Abby breathed, clutching the phone to her ear so tightly, pain shot through her fingers and it was a small miracle the phone didn’t fuse to her ear.

“A car accident. Mr. Fraser’s at hospital,” Emma repeated.

“What hospital?” Abby asked sharply, her voice overloud, cracking through the air like a gunshot and the hum of conversation in the room silenced.

“Royal United,” Emma answered then went on speaking but Abby didn’t listen, she slid her phone shut with a snap, dropped it on the counter and shot to the oven, turning it off. She didn’t look at anyone as she ran to her purse and grabbed it.

“Cash has been in a car accident. He’s at the hospital. I’ve got to go,” she announced, hearing the gasps and murmurings of surprise but she kept going, mind blank, her body’s functions performed through an acute but focused panic.

She moved swiftly, taking the stairs two at a time. In the distance, she heard her mobile ring again but she didn’t go back for it.

She was in the foyer, her coat in the crook of her arm, when she was swung back with a firm hand on her arm.

It was Jenny.

“Abby –” Jenny began.

Abby yanked her arm free. “I’ve got to go.”

“Abigail!” Mrs. Truman barked.

Abby swung to the older woman and screamed, “I’ve got to go!”

Mrs. Truman wasn’t trying to detain her and she wasn’t wasting any time. She had her purse and was putting on her coat as she started to issue orders.