Chapter 16
“You see before you, Miss MacLeod, the fruits of three centuries of industry.”
“Three centuries! My goodness.” Freya made all the appropriate gushing sounds, turning to her escort with a beaming smile. “How remarkable, Mr. Corbett.”
Gordon Corbett, her escort for the afternoon, gestured with an extravagant wave of his hand toward the castle. “Would you ever imagine, looking at it now, that Balnagown Castle was once a humble tower house?”
“No, indeed. I don’t see how anyone could.” Anyone unfamiliar with Scottish history, that is, as a great many of the fine old castles dotting the countryside had begun as humble tower houses.
She didn’t say so, however. She wouldn’t dream of insulting Mr. Corbett, who’d been kind enough to devote several hours of his time to showing her around the estate this afternoon.
He’d proved himself to be every bit the delight Aila had promised he would be.
He was nearly as delightful as Balnagown Castle itself.
Tedious historical facts aside, it was one of the prettiest places she’d ever seen, and it was especially so this afternoon, with its creamy stone gleaming in the sunshine. The facade glowed with the pale winter light, as if it knew it was being admired and was preening like the belle of the ball.
“But alas, Miss MacLeod, there’s a dark side to Balnagown’s history, much as there is to every other castle in Scotland.
I wouldn’t dream of misleading you into believing otherwise.
I’m afraid it’s very dark, indeed.” He gave her a roguish waggle of his eyebrows. “Murders, mayhem, that sort of thing.”
“Murders? Dear me.”
“Wicked doings, Miss MacLeod. Wicked doings, indeed.”
“How dreadfully unfortunate, Mr. Corbett.” She gave a mournful shake of her head, but a grin was twitching at her lips. He was tremendously entertaining, and handsome, too, with his fair hair gilded a pale gold by the sun and a pair of merry dark eyes that danced when he smiled.
It was almost enough to make her forget that awful breakfast this morning.
Almost.
Yet despite the sunshine, the beautiful grounds, and her good-humored and knowledgeable escort, a dark cloud had been hanging over her since her regrettable encounter with Callum in the breakfast parlor.
She’d done what she could to dispel it, devoting all her attention to Mr. Corbett and laughing at his antics, yet it persisted in hovering there still, stealing her pleasure in an otherwise lovely day.
Callum had hardly spared her a glance this morning, and that scowl of his had been even darker than usual. So dark, in fact, it had quite put her off her morning toast and tea.
But perhaps her low spirits weren’t so surprising. She was hundreds of miles from her home, with no idea when she’d ever be able to return to it again, and Sorcha was never far from her thoughts. It was more than enough to make any lady despondent.
Yes, that was certainly it. It had nothing whatsoever to do with Callum.
Why, she’d hardly noticed his coldness to her this morning.
She didn’t need Callum Ross’s attention, for pity’s sake.
She hadn’t thought twice about the way he’d so coolly rejected her company today, and with so little attempt at civility.
No, she hadn’t spared Callum Ross a single, blessed thought since then.
It would likely be several weeks before she could safely leave Balnagown Castle behind her, and she wouldn’t spend them mooning over him, just because they’d shared a few innocent kisses.
Mostly innocent, and rather more than a few, but what difference did it make?
She could hardly even remember them now. They were just kisses, nothing more. Gentlemen kissed ladies every day, and Callum’s kisses were doubtless much like every other gentleman’s kisses. There was no need to become so preoccupied with something that mattered so little.
“These wicked doings, Mr. Corbett.” She wrenched her attention back to her escort and offered him another bright smile. “Surely nothing too terribly wicked could happen in such a pretty castle as this?”
He blinked down at her, his gaze lingering on her lips, but he recovered quickly and returned her smile with a cheeky one of his own. “Yes, scandalously wicked, but I don’t like to shock you, Miss MacLeod.”
“I’m a MacLeod, Mr. Corbett. We don’t shock easily.” If smugglers, rumors of witchcraft, and the thief-takers that were on her heels hadn’t ended her, she was sure to survive whatever dastardly tales Mr. Corbett might relate.
Criminals, murders, beheadings … she’d hardly bat an eye over any of it.
“Ghosts, you know, Miss MacLeod.” He lowered his voice. “Two of them, and both rather ghastly, I’m afraid.”
Ghosts? Was that all? Every castle in Scotland had a ghost or two, including Castle Cairncross.
Her father used to delight in telling them stories of his great-aunt Margaret MacLeod, who was said to haunt the third-floor corridor outside the family bedchambers, clad only in her night rail and lace cap.
“Ghastly or not, you must tell me about them now, Mr. Corbett, or I’ll suspect you of being a dreadful tease. ”
“Well, I can’t have that. Very well, then. The ghost of a murdered Scottish princess is believed to haunt the hallways of Balnagown, but never fear, Miss MacLeod. She’s a friendly ghost who bestows a gentle smile on all who encounter her.”
“She sounds lovely, and not at all ghastly.”
“I daresay she is. I’ve never seen her myself, but those who have say she has beautiful red hair.” He gave her a sly grin. “And even more beautiful bright green eyes.”
Goodness, he was a rogue, wasn’t he? “I see. Tell me, Mr. Corbett. If you happened to be walking with a fair-haired, blue-eyed lady, would this ghostly princess resemble her, instead?”
“Certainly not.” He glanced down at her, his dark eyes twinkling. “What do you take me for, Miss MacLeod?”
“A flirt, Mr. Corbett, and an accomplished one, at that.”
He threw his head back in a laugh. “Not a bit, I assure you. Now the second ghost is a good deal more shocking. I do hope you don’t run into him, as he’s terribly wicked.
He’s called Black Andrew, and he’s said to wander the red corridor at night.
If you should find yourself in that part of the house and hear heavy footsteps following you, I advise you to—”
He broke off at the rumble of approaching hooves, and they both turned to see two riders coming toward the castle. As they drew closer a strange fluttering began in her belly, as if a dozen butterflies had taken up residence there.
One of the riders was tall and dark-haired, and sat upright in the saddle, his wide shoulders straight and his hands relaxed on the reins.
Well, there was no mistaking him, was there? It should have been impossible to identify him from this distance, but no other gentleman rode with such easy grace as he did. Goodness knew she’d spent enough time in the saddle with him to know that.
“Ah, here comes the laird, and Miss Lorna with him.”
Miss Lorna. Hadn’t Callum mentioned that name at the breakfast table this morning? He’d said something about having made a promise to take her riding this afternoon.
It looked as if he’d kept it. Which was all just as it should be, of course. He might ride with whomever he pleased. It was no concern of hers.
But as Callum and his companion came abreast of them, the butterflies fluttered away, and in their place a dark heaviness settled in her belly, as if she’d swallowed a stone.
Miss Lorna, whoever she was, was an accomplished rider. She rode as if she’d been born to the saddle, her shoulders back and her bearing proud. She had admirable control over her mount, maneuvering him with smooth confidence that made it a pleasure to observe her.
A pleasure for someone else, that is. It wasn’t pleasure rushing through her veins or gnawing a hole into the pit of her stomach. No, it was something much darker than that, something bitter and angry that felt suspiciously like …
Jealousy. Dear God, what an ugly emotion it was, like poison rushing through her.
All at once, she wanted nothing more than to disappear. To run for the castle, or sink into the ground, or—oh, she didn’t care! Anything would do, if it meant she could avoid the introduction that was bearing down on her.
Her fingers tightened on Mr. Corbett’s coat sleeve. “Should we walk on? I’m curious to see this red corridor Black Andrew haunts.”
“Indeed, but shall we stay and greet the laird and Miss Lorna first? It looks as if they’re coming this way.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Blast them, yes, they were unmistakably headed in this direction, and the stone in her belly sank deeper with every inch they advanced.
It was plain to see Miss Lorna was a beauty, with lovely olive skin and thick dark hair coiled at the back of her neck, just underneath the brim of her smart riding cap.
“Miss Lorna is close to your age, I think, Miss MacLeod. I daresay you’ll find her agreeable. Everyone loves her.”
Did they? How utterly delightful. Mr. Corbett may as well sink a blade in her belly and be done with it. “I’m sure they do.”
“Mr. Corbett! How do you do?” Lorna offered him a cheerful wave as she and Callum reached the pathway at an easy canter and brought their horses to a stop. “This must be Miss MacLeod. How do you do? I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss MacLeod. Welcome to Balnagown Castle.”
“Thank you. You’re very kind, Miss …”
“I am a goose, am I not? I’m Lorna Niven.” She offered Freya a friendly smile. “Callum mentioned he’d brought a lady back with him from Dunvegan, but he didn’t tell me much else.”
No, he wouldn’t have, would he? “Er, well, there’s not much to tell, really.”
A lie, and an egregious one, but she was hardly going to admit to this beautiful, elegant lady that she’d been driven from her home by an outraged mob who suspected her of witchcraft.
“He can be disappointingly discreet when he makes up his mind to it,” Lorna added, with a playful smile at Callum. “It’s quite irritating.”