Chapter Four

T ap. Tap. Tap. Tap . The sound came from the wall behind Abigail’s headboard. Abigail pushed up onto her knees in the firelit room, staring at it. Little Boo lifted her black and white head, tilting it.

“You heard it too,” Abigail whispered.

“Fucking hell!” Kerrick yelled from next door.

Abigail threw her legs over the side of the bed and ran out into the hall. She pounded on his door. “Kerrick! What’s wrong?”

The key scraped in the lock, and the door flew open. Kerrick stood there, completely naked. His chest was broad with a sprinkling of hair across it, and the finely sculpted muscles in his shoulders and arms showed blatant power. He turned, and the hearth fire revealed his perfectly toned arse as he traipsed away.

She snapped her gaze to the ceiling. “You are naked,” she said.

“She was bloody hell staring at me while I slept.” His voice boomed in the quiet night. “Hovering right over me.”

“You are upset because she woke you?”

He stopped, turning to stare at her like she was daft. “I am angry because she was bloody staring at me while I slept, and there is nothing I can God damn do about it.” His hair stood out from his head as if he’d been raking his fingers through it, but it was the thick muscles of his back and chest, toned legs, and obvious maleness that made it hard to breathe evenly.

“You could change rooms,” she said, and he stopped pacing to glare at her. Lord, he was big. Everywhere.

She flapped a hand in his direction. “Can you put something on?”

“A man can stomp around naked in his own bed chamber,” he yelled, looking at the ceiling as if Rohaise still hovered above him.

A breeze tickled Abigail’s hair, and the spirit appeared beside her, dressed in a white smock. Kerrick stared at both of them, his eyes wide, his frown fierce. “Like bloody twins.”

“Maybe she wouldn’t be staring at you if you put some clothes on,” Abigail snapped, her heart pounding with the nearness of the ghost and the mix of feelings coursing through her.

Rohaise glided across the room. She rapped her knuckles on the wall separating their rooms. Tap. Tap. Tap . Then she disappeared into it. “Lovely,” Abigail said. “Now she’s in my room.”

“Worse than a family of rats,” Kerrick said, and yanked the quilt off the bed to wrap around his hips.

Even with a flowery quilt, probably stitched by some sweet grandmother, pressed up against his parts, he was magnificently masculine.

“Shall we sleep downstairs?” she asked.

“With perfectly good beds up here?” he yelled.

Hiss. Meow .

Abigail gasped. “Boo.” The kitten ran into the room from the hallway as if chased from hers. Abigail scooped her up. “Boo doesn’t like Rohaise either.”

Kerrick murmured curses under his breath. He grabbed his pillow, his sheathed sword, and another blanket from his bed, holding them before him so that Abigail could only see his eyes and forehead above them. “Get your pillow and blankets. If the other rooms aren’t clean, we can hope they will at least be quiet.”

Abigail ran back to her room. It looked empty, but Boo prickled her nails against her arm to get down. She let her jump and grabbed her own blankets. Kerrick stood in her doorway, his gaze searching the shadows.

He gave her a quick nod, balancing everything in his arms. “This way.” She and Boo followed him in the inky darkness. Kerrick pushed through a door into one of the smaller rooms. The moon had risen on that side of the tower house, shining through the windows, casting a silverish glow. The bed was made for two people but was still narrower than either of the ones they’d left behind.

Kerrick threw his pillow and blanket over a wooden chair and yanked the dusty covers off the bed. “Ye can have the left side, away from the door, although the banshee could just float through the damn wall, I suppose.”

Abigail stood there, watching as he took up his blanket to wrap around himself and sat on his side of the bed.

“Sleep next to you?” she asked. “While you are naked?”

He grabbed the back of his head. “Lass, I have no evil intentions toward ye, and I’d rather have ye close so I can be sure ye are safe.”

“You are the one she wants to hit with a skillet,” she said.

“Return to your own room, then.” He leaned back on his elbows. Boo jumped into the center of the bed.

“I think it best I stay to keep you safe.” Abigail sat on her side of the bed.

He snorted but didn’t argue her point. She pulled her legs up and settled the blankets around her. Boo curled up in the narrow space between their pillows, serving as chaperone. Abigail breathed in the dry smell of dust and pulled her hand out to rub her itchy nose. “Perhaps we should say a prayer,” she whispered.

“Go right ahead,” Kerrick said. He lay on his back as if ready to spring up in defense.

“Dearest God,” Abigail began. “Please keep Rohaise away from us tonight and help her move on to your realm. And please keep Kerrick from being bludgeoned by a skillet.”

Kerrick murmured a curse.

“And help us to get a good night’s rest. Amen,” she finished.

“Nothing about preventing me from taking liberties?” Kerrick asked.

“And please God, do not let Kerrick take liberties with Rohaise or else she will surely dent his head with a skillet.”

Kerrick’s chuckle broke the tension. “Amen,” he said, and Abigail laughed quietly. Even though she wanted to turn inward to face him, Abigail made herself turn toward the outside of the bed. After several minutes, Kerrick did the same. She released a long breath and closed her eyes. Boo purred softly between them, and Abigail slowly succumbed to sleep.

*

“Ye are a laborer then,” Kerrick’s father pronounced. “No longer a warrior, fooled by Cromwell.”

“I will not fight for Charles Stuart’s absolute rule over us, no matter that he gave ye back your lands. I will build Delgatie into a working estate.”

“Ye have one year,” his father intoned. “Else ye lose it all. All ye will have are your books and your sword and any stray sheep that happens to survive your blundering shepherding.”

George Hay III strode out of his study at Megginch Castle in Perth, his boots clipping with disappointment and little faith for the abilities of his second son.

Kerrick turned and reared backward, away from the lady with floating red hair.

His eyes opened, and he was staring at the mold-stained ceiling. He glanced to the side and jerked upright. “Bloody damn!” he yelled at the woman staring at him.

She held her hands up. “’Tis just me,” Grace said. “Flesh and bones.”

He huffed, leaning on his elbow. “Your hair.”

“I know, I look like a specter,” she said, her face grim in the light filtering in from the dirty window beyond her.

“Nay, just the red caught at me. Your eyes are full of life and blue. Hers are blank and brown.”

She tipped her head slightly. “Thank you.”

Grace was also lushly curved and sweet smelling and he guessed, soft and perfect beneath her clothes. He covered his exposed leg with the quilt. Had she seen the nasty scar along his thigh?

“Does it pain you?” she asked.

“Not anymore,” he murmured.

“So you were a warrior then? A royalist?”

“My father is, and my brother. Much to my father’s disappointment, I am not.” Kerrick let his gaze wander across the spill of her red hair over the pillows. Somehow it made talking about his sins easier.

“That must be awkward,” she said.

He snorted softly. “Cromwell had good ideas about a republic until power began to taint them. A sin of all mankind, I suppose. I fought against those who wished to be ruled by one man, a king to decide the fate of England and our own country.” He shook his head. “By the time my leg healed after my last battle, Cromwell had died, and the populace, like a bunch of ignorant sheep, begged Charles Stuart to return from exile.”

“Were your family’s lands returned?” she asked, sitting against the headboard. Her hair fell around her shoulders across the white of her smock and robe.

“Aye,” he said, and looked away.

“And you would not fight for him.”

Kerrick stretched his arms overhead. “Even if I wanted to, I’m too well known as loyal to the roundheads to be anything but a foot soldier in Charles’ army.”

“So you came to Delgatie to start an estate as a private man,” she said.

“My father would call me a laborer, with a sneer in his voice.”

Her hand slid out of the blankets to rest on his arm. The pressure of her touch made his gut tighten. He did not need pity.

He slid off his side of the bed, careful to keep the quilt around his lower half. He cleared his voice. “I am to get Delgatie up and running within the year, making it a profitable estate.”

Her brows rose. “A single year? The property has been left to the wild for decades, maybe centuries. You are just one person.”

“’Tis my father’s terms. Delgatie is profitable by this time next year, or I lose it and any place within the Hay family.”

Her lips parted, and her hand stilled on the cat. “That is unreasonable,” she said, a twist of outrage in her words as her brows pinched.

“The other option he gave me was to join the clergy, which I would not.” He looked around the dusty room. “And I had a fondness for Delgatie, having visited it when I was a boy. However, I never stayed the night and didn’t believe the tales of Rohaise.”

Grace pushed out of bed, looking like a rumpled angel. “I will help you. And next year this place will be so successful that your father will be amazed.” She looked ready to run out onto the peat field and start tilling.

Meow. Boo stood at the closed door.

“I think your kitten is about to piss in the dust,” he said.

“Oh no,” Grace said, dropping her blanket to scoop up the kitten. Kerrick heard her feet slapping against the wooden stairs on her way down.

He exhaled long, rubbing his face with one hand, and looked around the room. Despite the dream, he’d slept well in this dusty nest. It was now day two, which had to be better than day one.

*

Abigail held Boo to her chest while turning the iron key in the front door lock. This was why her mother hadn’t wanted her to have a cat indoors. They use the privy wherever they want .

Abigail yanked the door open. “God’s bones!” she cursed as she stared into the flushed face of a woman on the doorstep, her hand poised to knock.

“Pardon me,” the woman said and lowered her fist. She stepped back, squinting her eyes as she gazed up at the second-floor window and then back at Abigail. “Ye were just in that window. I saw ye.”

The familiar woman had brown hair swept up into a tidy bun. Her cheeks were pink from the brisk morning air, and she held a basket with a cloth over it. “How did ye get downstairs so fast?”

Abigail set Boo down, and the kitten tore off toward the barn. “I… I saw you coming,” she said, hoping the woman wouldn’t counter with the fact Abigail had been completely surprised by her presence on her doorstep. “Can I be of assistance?”

“Aye.” She stepped forward in a way that made it obvious she was coming inside. “I am looking for the master of the house,” she said. “I am Fiona Campbell. I’ve come to tell Kerrick Hay that his wagon from Perth has arrived.” Fiona inspected the great hall with wide eyes.

Abigail’s heart thumped. Fiona was the barmaid from the tavern. “I will let him know. Thank you,” she said going to the door as if to usher her out.

Fiona frowned. “I wish to say good day to him. I brought him some apple scones.” She eyed Abigail up and down, obviously noting that she wore bedclothes.

Footsteps sounded on the steps, rapid and light. Fiona turned, thrusting her large bosom out before her, but Kerrick didn’t emerge. She peered at the stairs. “I heard someone coming down.” The floor squeaked as if someone were walking above. “Are there others living here?” Her face lit up, and she lowered her voice. “Maybe the lady in red?” She walked along the table, not waiting for a reply.

“When I was a young lass,” Fiona said, “I remember everyone talking about the lady in red here in the old castle. Poor woman who died of a broken heart when her man did not come to wed her? I think he was a Hay also.”

Suddenly Rohaise appeared behind Fiona.

“Uh…” Abigail started, but Fiona kept talking.

“Because people would pay a fine shilling to see her.”

Could Kerrick earn coin from the visits, proving to his father that he could make the place profitable? “Well, we—”

“People would come as far away as Aberdeen or even Edinburgh,” Fiona continued. “We get coaches in every day. I am sure people would come up and pay to see a ghostly lady on their journey to Inverness.”

Aberdeen? William was in Aberdeen, sending people to hunt for her, a girl with red hair. Fiona would send them right up to Kerrick’s castle. Abigail shook her head. “I am afraid not. The castle is exceedingly quiet and boring.”

Fiona’s mouth pinched in dismay. “Too bad, that.”

Rohaise disappeared, but a slight wind made the tiny hairs at Abigail’s temple tickle against her cheek. Tap. Tap. Tap . The sound came from the wall behind her that extended up into the room Rohaise had claimed. Tap. Tap. Tap . It grew louder until Abigail had to raise her voice to be heard. “We have rats. ’Tis why I had a cat inside.”

Fiona snorted. “That wee kit will get itself eaten by rats big enough to make all that racket.”

Crash . Both of them gasped, turning toward the kitchen in unison. “Lord,” Fiona said and hurried forward as if Delgatie were her own home. “The rats be taking over.”

Abigail followed, dodging past her to reach the kitchen first. The last thing she needed was a skillet floating in the air, but the kitchen was empty.

“It sounded like glass,” Fiona said. “Watch your bare feet.” She set her basket on the table.

Had Rohaise smashed a drinking glass in anger?

“God…” Fiona cursed and pointed at the floor near the hearth. Abigail rushed up beside her, her toes curling off the cold stone floor. But there were no glass slivers to avoid. There was, however, a fully whole drinking glass sitting upright on the stone floor half filled with wine. As if someone had set it down gently.

The barmaid looked to Abigail, her eyes wide.

Abigail swallowed, forcing a smile. “Our rats are quite odd.”

“But the glass—”

“I set it there earlier.”

“I heard something shatter,” Kerrick said, striding into the kitchen as he tied his tunic.

Fiona’s gaze slid between the two of them in obvious undress. “Ye did not say ye had a woman up here when ye were in town.” Her tone was accusing.

“I… I did not know she had arrived,” he answered.

Fiona frowned at Abigail, squinting her eyes. “Ye came on the coach last week, didn’t ye? Supposed to go on to Inverness, but ye never showed up for it. A man was asking about a lass with red hair and went looking for ye, but he’s disappeared too.”

“I was visiting my family in Edinburgh, and I bought the full ticket to Inverness by mistake,” Abigail said, pushing her lips into a smile. “I meant to get off here to meet…” She swallowed and exhaled. “Meet my husband.”

Both Kerrick and Fiona stared at her with frowns, but Abigail continued. “I came first to air the castle and take inventory. Lord Hay was to meet me.”

Fiona bobbed her head, her lips pinched. She looked at Kerrick. “I brought ye these scones,” she said, setting them down on the table. “Ye can bring the basket back when ye come get your wagon.”

“It has arrived?” Kerrick asked, excitement lighting his words.

“’Tis why I’m here, I suppose,” Fiona grumbled and turned to trudge back through the house, Abigail following.

“Thank you for coming,” Abigail called as she shut the door behind her. She turned to lean against it and let a big puff of air out of her cheeks.

Kerrick walked in, eating a scone. “As a lord’s wife, ye really should be dressed when entertaining visitors.”

Abigail crossed her arms over her chest. “It was the fastest way to get her out of the house before Rohaise tossed something else across the room or tapped a hole through the wall.” Abigail clenched her teeth. “When I leave, you can say I traveled to see a sister and died.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “’Tis a sad story.”

“I am sure Fiona will comfort you,” she said, irritation in her tone.

A hint of a grin returned to his handsome face. “Ho now, do I detect jealousy?”

“Kerrick Hay,” she said, her voice rising, “I can wield a skillet as well as Rohaise.”

He laughed and turned to walk back through the great hall toward the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To saddle Leum.”

He swung back around, making her stop short right before him. “And ye should put on some proper clothing, Lady Hay.”

“Are we going somewhere?”

“To town,” he said, his smile broadening.