a lion, Katlyn shook her head. She needed to stop admiring the tapestries and start thinking through her problem: how to get out of this room and to Kiergan’s without being seen?
She turned on her bare heel and paced the length of the room again. From the bed, a sort of snorfling sound—not quite a snore, not quite a grunt—told her Davina was asleep. After so many years of sharing a bed, Kat had gotten used to her sister’s odd noises.
Well, Vina falling asleep so quickly would be useful.
But what to do?
Stifling a groan of frustration, Kat turned again, then slumped against the unicorn tapestry with a defeated sigh.
Behind her, the stone wall shifted.
It was just a smidge. Just the tiniest little shift when stone walls shouldn’t shift.
Haunted haunted haunted.
Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, Katlyn realized she was holding her breath as she carefully turned and pulled aside the tapestry.
There was naught there.
Except…did the stone look a little different?
Hesitantly, she lifted her fingertips and brushed them across the stone.
‘Twas wood. Painted wood, not stone.
And this wasn’t a wall, ‘twas a door.
Her heart hammering in her ears, she forced herself to breathe as her questing fingers found the edges of the wood, then the little hole which had to be the latch.
When she pushed, the door swung away from her soundlessly.
Biting her lip again, she stuck her head into the dark opening, and was amazed by the feeling of vastness which spread in either direction.
‘Twas a corridor! A passageway in the walls!
“A secret passage,” she said with surprise, then glanced guiltily toward the bed to make sure Davina hadn’t heard.
Why was Kat surprised? The MacKinnon keep also had a few secret passages, between the laird’s chambers and the solar for instance. She and Davina had played in them as children. But they didn’t have any resident ghosts, and mayhap ‘twas the knowledge the Ghostly Drummer of Oliphant Castle was known to frequent these passages which made Kat shiver.
With dread?
Or excitement?
This is just what I needed.
A way to get to Kiergan’s chambers without being seen.
Kat hurried to the table and scooped up the candle. “Are ye asleep, Vina?” she whispered, watching her sister’s form. When Vina didn’t move, she tried again, louder, “Davina?”
No response, except another faint snore.
Kat felt herself grin as her gaze went back to the secret door behind the tapestry. Saints bless Vina for being a heavy sleeper; Kat could be gone and back before her sister ever woke!
All she had to do was leave the door cracked so she’d know which room to return to. She’d search for more secret entrances and check each room until she found which one was Kiergan’s.
She could do this.
Taking a deep breath, Kat glanced at the bed once more, not bothering to hide her grin, then lifted her chemise in one hand and stepped toward the secret passage.
Excellent.
It was the sound of linen, sliding against skin, which woke Kiergan.
Years of wooing women made him familiar with the sound, even if he was momentarily disoriented by the darkness.
‘Twas the darkest part of the night, with no moon outside to lend its light. Everything in the room was gray shadows at best, and he took the time to squeeze his eyes shut, open them again, and calm his breathing.
If there were danger, an alarm would’ve been sounded. ‘Twas likely yer imagination.
Still, he felt a bit foolish sitting up in bed and calling, “Who’s there?”
Part of him didn’t want an answer.
But the other part of him—the part which normally dangled between his legs and now stood stiff at the merest hint there might be a woman in his chamber—disagreed.
Everything was still in the room, until…
There!
Beside the hearth, a shadow slowly straightened. He squinted, hoping to make out details, but all he could be sure of was it was a human—likely not a ghost then? And the sound of material sliding against skin came again, and he saw the figure was moving toward his bed.
His breath caught in his throat, and his heart suddenly began pounding, wondering what eldritch creature this could be, and then the bed dipped as the figure sat on the mattress.
“I hope ye dinnae mind my visit, milord.”
The voice was low and husky, and female, definitely female. Undeniably, arousingly, perfectly female.
Damnation.
St. Columba knew he loved women, with all their delightful curves and softness. But he’d never brought one here to his chambers. This was his space, the place where he could be himself, where he could now focus on the