Chapter 6
When he came to, he was lying on a four-poster bed surrounded by pillows and quilts. The bedchamber was decorated in the old style with wood paneling on the wall and light sconces that once held candleholders. His sheets were silk, and the pillowcases were embroideredwith quadruple spiral symbols.
He deduced he was in Ireland, due to the motifs and symbols on the pillow and the Gaelic words on the paperweight on the nightstand. The clothes he was wearing—a thick robe over a white T-shirt and plaid boxer shorts—signified he was at home or at a relative’s place.
He sniffed his arms and rubbed his hand through his short, bushy hair. Squeaky clean,smelling like soap, shampoo, and men’s cologne. Wherever he was, he was freshly showered and clean. He checked under the boxers and smiled at how well he was hung. No problem down there.
There was a mirror attached to the heavy oak dresser next to the bed, and he could see his reflection clearly.
Okay, he wasn’t a vampire.
He had dark-brown hair and black-brown eyes. DarkIrish, if he assumed being in Ireland meant he was Irish. His skin was tinted by the sun, and he had the hands of a working man. His knuckles were bruised like he’d been in a fight, and several fingernails were broken below the quick. Scabs and half-healed cuts littered the backs of his hands.
The reflection in the mirror showed he needed a shave. He smiled, revealing two straight rowsof white teeth. Great dental health. The whites of his eyes were clear, and his face was rugged and slightly weathered with a few permanent wrinkles etched near his eyes. Checking his hair, he didn’t find any gray. Other than the scar over one eyebrow, a small mole on his upper lip, and a nose that wasn’t perfectly straight, he’d say he was an attractive man—not that he judged men.
He’dseen the type. Dark, brooding, and not nice. Women tended to swarm to them.
He lowered his brows and glared at himself, getting into the grouchy mood.
Not bad. He wasn’t a youngster, but he was definitely not old. He flexed his muscles. They were hard and firm.
He wondered if he’d left himself any clues. A notebook, perhaps? Or a recording to greet him?
Getting outof the bed, he tossed aside the luxurious sheets and opened the drawer of the night table. Inside was a wallet and a passport, along with a golden four-leafed shamrock charm.
He flipped open the wallet and stared at his Public Services Card. There he was, a picture of him in black and white along with his surname, Gallagher, and forename, Griffin. His Passport ID card had more information,a birthdate and a birthplace.
So, he was Irish, born in County Donegal at Malin Head, the northernmost spot in Ireland.
Now that he had identification, it was time to talk to whoever it was who maintained this luxurious bedchamber.
Since there was a bell next to his bed, he jangled it.
A footfall sounded directly outside the heavy wooden door, and a cultured voice said,“Master Griffin, what can I do for you?”
Somehow, he knew the voice. It was the butler, Pierce, who worked for his grandfather.
Things always came back slowly for him, and there would be gaps in his memory, but some were imprinted deep—possibly because they were stored away in ancient catacombs.
“Come on in,” he called. “How long have I been back?”
“You arrived thismorning,” the butler said, entering the room. “Your grandfather wishes to take tea with you.”
“Have I been sleeping long?”
“Not too long.” Pierce set down a few envelopes and a package. “Here’s your mail.”
“What does my grandfather want?” Griffin asked, hoping the butler would drop a few clues.
“To welcome you back, of course, from your travels.”
A thought poppedinto Griffin’s mind that the butler would never offer information unless asked directly.
“Who showered me and put me in this robe? What was I wearing when I returned?”
“Your clothes were filthy and sticky,” Pierce said. “I’ve had them taken to the cleaners.”
“How about me? What did I look like? I’m asking because I don’t remember anything.” He stared blankly at the butlerwhose eyes shifted toward the door, as if looking for an escape.
