Read Online Tall, Dark and Kilted by Allie Mackay - Free Book Online

and that once you’d inhaled it, you’d be forever in its spell.”
    “O-o-oh, aye, that’s the way of it.” Honoria nodded agreement. “You’ll lose your heart, too. Everyone does.”
    Stepping close, she fixed Cilla with a shrewd stare. “Why do you think so many English incomers are for settling here?” She put back her shoulders, clearly warming to a favorite topic. “They come north, breathe our clean air and peat smoke, fall in love with our starry nights and quiet, even the days when our mist blows sideways and suddenly—or so they say—the city fumes and crush of London or Manchester or Liverpool are something they can’t bear anymore.”
    The words spoken, she pressed her lips tight. As if those incomers were an entirely different kettle of fish than Aunt Birdie.
    “Too bad they often feel differently when, come winter, they discover they need thermal underwear and learn that our weekly entertainment is Quiz Night at the Village Hall or a ceilidh over at Old Jock’s croft down by Talmine Bay.” Honoria’s chin lifted. “Fiddlers come from as far away as Lairg and Ullapool to play at Old Jock’s sessions. Yet—”
    “Wait.” Cilla stopped before an oak-planked door studded with rusted iron. She was sure she’d passed through it earlier, certain it’d stood ajar.
    Yet now it was bolted.
    “I’m sure I came up here through that door.” She eyed the heavy-looking drawbar, the fine hairs on her nape lifting again. “It was open.”
    “Ach, it couldn’t have been.” The housekeeper shook her head. “That way leads to a house wing we never use, save for storage.” She reached to jiggle the iron latch, proving its secured state. “The door’s kept mostly locked since a fire swept parts of that wing in the 1930s. I’d be surprised if even your uncle could slide back the drawbar.”
    “But—”
    From somewhere came the sound of knuckles cracking. “Shall I—”
    “Oh!” Cilla’s heart stopped.
    He filled her mind again. She was sure she’d heard his voice. Almost sure she caught a whiff of sandalwood and musk on the chill, dust-moted air.
    Just when she’d convinced herself she’d imagined him!
    She slid a glance over her shoulder, seeing nothing.
    Naturally.
    Her heart began to pound again, her hard-won cool crumbling.
    Honoria remained unruffled. “Be glad the door is sealed,” she said, pressing her point. “That’s also the wing with the ghost room.”
    “Ghost room?”
    “So we call it now.” Honoria took her arm, pulling her down the passageway. “The room used to be a nursery.”
    Cilla glanced back at the locked door.
    She’d done so well putting the sexy ghost from her mind. Yet now she could almost see him standing beside the ancient door, flexing his fingers above the drawbar as if he meant to seize it any moment.
    Pull the thing back and open the door—just to prove that he could.
    She swallowed, her pulse leaping.
    “Honoria . . .” She spoke before she lost nerve. “Is the ghost room haunted by a Highland warrior who wears a big sword and carries a round, medieval shield?”
    “By glory, nae! More’s the pity!” The older woman tossed her a glance. “It’s not a braw lad but a poor serving lass. She hails from the days of Culloden, if the tales be true.”
    “The mid-1700s?” A chill slid down Cilla’s spine. “Uncle Mac swears there aren’t any ghosts at Dunroamin,” she argued, the comment causing an unexpected tightening in her chest. “I asked him.”
    Honoria scoffed. “That one wouldn’t own to a bogle’s presence if one bit him on the nose. Ask your auntie about the lass. She’ll tell you the truth of it.”
    “Aunt Birdie saw her?”
    “Och, nae, but she understands the possibilities.”
    The housekeeper paused to run a finger along the edge of a dark oaken table set into a wall niche. She frowned when the finger came away dust smeared.
    Cilla waited, not really wanting to talk about ghosts, but curious all the same.
    Honoria drew