Chapter Ten

The next morning, her sisters looked up from the round table in the smaller dining room as Emily entered.

“Heavens! You look like something one of those wolfhounds might have dragged through the woods,” Juliana said.

“Good morning to you, too,” Emily answered as she walked to the sideboard and poured herself a cup of tea that she hoped was as strong as the Scot whisky. Foregoing cream and sugar, she carried it back to the table. Luckily, they were the only ones there.

Lorelei swallowed a mouthful of poached egg. “You did not sleep well?”

“No.” She debated on whether to admit she was worried about the resistance she felt from the MacGregors or to mention that the dream—both times—had terrified her. She opted for neither.

“My head was spinning with all the accounting ledgers I looked at yesterday. It took me a while to calm my thoughts.”

Juliana gave her a speculative look. “I never saw you agitated when you were going over old Albert’s accounts. And, Lord knows, those were something to be disturbed about.”

“I remember, too. We were in such dire straits that I had to make do with last year’s gowns.” Lorelei held up her hand before either of her sisters could retort. “I am not complaining. I understood. My point is that, even with our finances in such a dreadful state, you never seemed upset.”

“Were the distillery ledgers in such a mess that you could not find your way through them?” Juliana asked. “Or the profit only marginal?”

“Neither. The uncles, or at least one of them, kept very orderly books,” Emily answered. “And, while I think I can certainly increase profits if I can sell to London, the amount of money taken in was adequate.”

Lorelei frowned. “Then why could you not sleep?”

She must really look worse than she felt for her sisters to persist in their questioning. Maybe she should have just stayed in bed and asked for a tray to be sent up. The thought no more than entered her mind when she dismissed it. Maggie would take the request for a tray as typical English self-indulgence and she wanted—needed—to somehow get on the housekeeper’s good side. And her sisters, instead of interrogating her at the table, would have been in her room with questions as to why she was abed…especially since she never allowed herself to act sick.

Emily took another sip of fortifying tea and forced a smile. “This is going to sound silly, but I dreamed about that ghost Lorelei mentioned.”

“What?”

She started, for the question had not come from her sisters, but from Ian who now stepped through the doorway. Closing her eyes briefly, she wished he hadn’t heard.

“What is this about a ghost?” he asked as he pulled out a chair and sat.

“Fiona told us about your father,” Lorelei replied. “Actually, it was about your mother. Your stepmother, I mean.”

A wary expression crossed Ian’s face. “My stepmother?”

“Yes. Fiona said she was murdered in her bed and that your father found her—”

“Lorelei.” Emily frowned at her sister. “This is hardly a topic for conversation at the table.”

“I…I am sorry.” She didn’t look all that contrite, though. “You said you dreamed about it.”

“Never mind. It was just a silly dream.”

Lorelei shook her head stubbornly. “But you said it kept you awake.”

Ian turned toward Emily, his gaze a slow perusal from her hair to her face and to her hands which, either from fatigue or the effects of the tea, had begun to shake. She gripped her cup to still them and lifted her chin. “It was nothing.”

“Tell me about it.”

She really should have stayed in bed, regardless of what the housekeeper would have thought. At least, she would have been spared having to explain a dream to Ian who would probably think her addle-brained. “I dreamed there was a man in my room.”

Lorelei gaped at her and Juliana looked up from the toast she was buttering. One of Ian’s brows lifted and she suddenly realized how that must have sounded. Merciful heavens! Did he think her one of those wanton widows who welcomed men to their beds?

She suddenly felt overly warm and prayed she wasn’t blushing. What if he thought she was hinting that he would be welcome? The thought of his body—his hard, muscular, naked body—next to her in bed shot a heat wave to her face. Good Lord. She’d long ago closed off such thoughts. Why were they flitting through her mind now?

“Of course, there was no one there,” she said and added for emphasis, “I keep my door bolted.”

That made Ian draw his brows together. “Do ye nae feel safe?”

“I…” Good Lord! She couldn’t tell him she’d had this strange dream before. “I…just got used to doing that in London.”

“In yer own home?”

She supposed that didn’t sound good, either. “I… My husband was gone a great deal…” Between the devil’s dens and the gambling hells that much was true, thankfully. “I just took precautions.”

Juliana choked on her toast and reached for her tea. Emily hoped she wouldn’t blurt out the real reason that it was necessary to lock Albert out when he’d smoked too much opium. Or that Ian might not wonder why she hadn’t had any servants about. “Really, the dream wasn’t important. You should have something to eat while the food is still hot.”

“What did this man look like?”

She sighed inwardly. Obviously, Ian wasn’t going to let this go. “I do not know. His face was in shadow. He was just standing there… Well, not really. As I said, there was no one in the room.”

“Did the man have a weapon?”

Really. The man should work for the Bow Street Runners. “I…” For a moment, she contemplated lying, but she wasn’t good at it. “I…thought…maybe…there was something shiny in his hand. I am not sure.”

“Oooh! Like a knife?” Lorelei asked and turned to Ian. “Maybe Emily saw the ghost who murdered your stepmother!”

“Did Fiona not say the ghost was supposed to be her father? And that he walks to find the murderer? Not to commit murder?” Juliana grimaced. “Not that we believe in ghosts.”

“Of course there are no ghosts,” Emily said. “As I said earlier, I tossed and turned last night because I had a lot of things to think about. Somehow, Fiona’s story must have gotten mixed up in my mind. Really. It was just a dream. Nothing more.” She plastered a smile on her face and rose, motioning for Ian to stay seated. “If you will excuse me, I need to discuss some things with the housekeeper.”

And she swept out, hoping Ian wouldn’t follow her.

…

He didn’t. Instead, he went in search of his brothers, particularly Devon. It took a bit to round them all up, but thirty minutes later they were gathered in the library.

“What’s this all about?” Carr asked.

“It seems the countess had a nightmare last night—”

“What?” Rory gave him an incredulous look. “Ye called us in here for that?”

“At least, that is what she called it,” Ian continued.

“Daft English eejits. Scared of a dream,” Devon muttered.

“She said she dreamed a man was standing in her room, watching her.”

“I think I can clear this up,” Alasdair said. “Fiona said she’d told the women the myth about our father supposedly roaming the halls looking for our stepmother’s murderer. That probably caused Lady Woodhaven to dream about it.”

Carr frowned. “That happened eleven years ago. Fiona really should stop spreading those rumors.”

Rory shrugged. “Ye have to admit it makes a good story what with all the strange noises an old castle makes.”

“And an Englishwoman would be stupid enough to believe it,” Devon added.

“The countess doesna strike me as stupid,” Ian said.

“I agree.” Carr nodded. “But what about the dream frightened her so much? That someone might have gotten into her room?”

“The man in the dream was holding a knife,” Ian answered.

There was a moment of silence as the brothers looked at one another. Ian knew they were probably all remembering the bloody scene from eleven years ago. The piercing, keening sound that had rent the air before their father’s roar of anger had made everyone leap from their beds in the predawn light. The convergence at the door of their stepmother’s bedchamber, the blood-spattered sheets…

Alasdair gave him a cautious look. “Ye doona think the killer has returned, do ye?”

Ian shook his head. “Emily—Lady Woodhaven—said there was no one there when she woke. Besides, she bolts the door.”

Carr knit his brows. “Why would she lock it?”

“I asked her that,” Ian replied. “She said something about it being a habit, but I didna get the sense that was the whole of it.”

“She thinks someone wants to harm her?” Alasdair asked.

“I doona think it’s come to that.” Ian looked at Devon. “But someone may want to scare her, mayhap enough into leaving.”

Devon scowled. “Ye think I have something to do with this?”

“I doona want to, but ye hate the English—”

“And ye ken why!” Devon balled his fists. “Ye were nae the ones tortured by the bloody dragoons.”

“I ken that.” Ian gentled his voice. The lad had been only six and ten when he’d been dragged away. It had taken Rory three days to track them down. Three days and nights of hell for Devon. “But ye also ken about the secret passageway that lies behind the wall of that chamber.”

Rory stepped closer to Devon. “All five of us ken about that passage.”

“Aye.” The hidden passage ran between the walls of their stepmother’s chamber and the one Emily currently occupied. The backs of the armoires had panels that opened into the small space and a few paces away was a narrow, spiraling iron staircase that led to the cellars and a postern gate.

Devon shook with anger. “But ye are blaming me!”

“I am nae blaming ye.” Ian kept his voice calm, knowing how explosive Devon could get. Carr put a hand on Devon’s shoulder, but he shook it off.

“Then why did ye bring it up?”

Ian sighed. Originally, the passageway had been a means of escape should the castle be besieged. Their father had shown it to them after the murder and after he’d searched it for any clue of the intruder. “Ye have nae hidden your feelings about the Sassenachs. We had discussed nae making life pleasant here for them, so I thought ye might want to frighten them a bit.”

“Ye ken Devon doesna like the passageway,” Carr said quietly.

Damn it. He had forgotten. His brother had been only eight when it happened and one day had decided to explore the passage after the midday meal. The panel had snapped shut and the candle he’d taken with him had snuffed out, leaving him in pitch black. No one had realized he was missing until suppertime.

“I am sorry,” he said.

Devon strode to the door, still furious. “Ye should be.” Not waiting for a response, he opened it and then slammed it behind him.

“I will follow him,” Rory said and left.

Ian looked at Carr and Alasdair. “I shouldna have brought this up.”

Carr shook his head. “Ye had to ask.”

“Aye, better than to doubt,” Alasdair added.

Ian didn’t want to admit he still had doubt. Devon had, after all, matured and was no longer afraid of the dark. He’d also endured torture at the hands of the English, and his temper was explosive. But would he truly want to harm the women?

Ian prayed not, but there was one thing he could do to ensure no more “dreams,” real or imagined, intruded in that room again. He would move Emily to the new part of the castle whether she liked it or not.

…

Emily walked to the stables shortly after the noon meal, wondering why Ian had offered to show her more of the property. She hoped he wasn’t going to continue to question her about the dream, but she didn’t want to turn down a chance to see more of his—her—holdings, either.

To her pleased surprise, Muirne was saddled and waiting for her. She hadn’t been sure if Ian would continue to let her ride the filly, even though she’d shown him she could hand the young horse. Jamie led the animal to the mounting block as Ian exited a stall with Paden.

“Allow me,” he said, dropping the stallion’s reins. Before she could fathom what he was up to, his hands had circled her waist and he’d lifted her into the saddle as though she weighed no more than a sack of feathers. The feel of those strong hands, even though momentary, seared through her jacket like fire, causing an odd sensation to flare throughout. The filly must have sensed her unsettled emotion for she sidestepped and tossed her head.

Ian grabbed a rein. “Are ye sure ye want to ride this one? She has nae had exercise lately.”

“That is all the more reason I should.” Emily gently tugged the rein loose. “I am quite looking forward to a ride.”

He hesitated a moment, then swung up on Paden’s back. Soon they crossed the drawbridge and put the horses to a brisk trot. They rode in silence for a few minutes before he glanced her way.

“I was thinking ye should take a chamber in the newer section of the castle.”

Ah. So he was going to go on about that dream. “I like being in the old part. I try to imagine your ancestors building it and living there before they… Well, before the proclamation was made.”

Ian grimaced slightly. “Which proclamation would that be? The original one from Mary, Queen of Scots, the one by James VI, Charles I, or William III?”

Perhaps not the best question to have asked, but it did divert the conversation. “I had no idea there were so many.”

He shrugged. “And those doona take into account the feud with the Duke of Montrose or the ’15 Rebellion.”

“Did your clansmen ever try to negotiate a peace treaty?”

Ian looked at her as though she had suddenly sprung a Medusa head. “We are MacGregors.”

“Yes, but—”

“We were the ones who were wronged, lass.” He waved his arm in a far-flung gesture. “We held lands far beyond what ye can see here. Nae only was Glen Strae ours but Glenorchy, Glenartney, and also Glen Fruin for a time. Some of the lands extended west into Perthshire as well.” His hand settled on a muscled thigh. “We were the ones robbed.”

“I had no idea,” Emily said quietly. “I guess that explains why my sisters and I are resented.”

He gave her a quick glance. “Did ye really expect to be welcomed?”

The words stung, but at least he was being truthful. “I suppose not.” She flicked a fly from Muirne’s mane. “Though I had hoped we could coexist peacefully.”

“I doona ken if that will happen,” he answered, “but I think ye should consider changing your quarters to be nearer to your sisters.”

So they were back to that. “Do you think I am in danger?”

He shook his head, maybe a little too quickly. “’Tis just that the old part of the castle is drafty and the timbers creak and groan, which can lead to nightmares.”

She gave him a curious look. “You do not believe the ghost is real, do you?”

“I have nae seen him.”

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

He smiled noncommittally. “Ye are in Scotland. All of our castles are haunted.”

Emily tried another tack. “Has anyone seen your father’s ghost?”

“I doona ken for sure. There have been reports of strange noises, but as I said, the castle is old.” He hesitated. “Shortly after the incident happened, we had a terrified maid insist she heard screams, but she was a girl come up from the village to clean.”

“A vivid imagination probably, especially if she were cleaning…that room.”

“Aye, but…” Again, he paused. “The sounds were coming from the room ye are in. The lass ran screaming from the castle. By the time we checked the rooms, there was nae one there.”

She tilted her head to study him. “Is that why you gave me that room when I first arrived? Hoping to scare me and my sisters away?”

Ian had the grace to look sheepish. ‘”I canna deny it.”

Somehow, she refrained from rolling her eyes. “Well, if I hear screams, I will let you know.”

He frowned. “Ye still want to stay in that chamber?”

“Oh, yes.” She certainly wasn’t going to let him “scare” her with silly stories about ghosts. To move to the newer section of the castle would make her seem weak. “I will not be moving.”

“As ye wish then.” He pointed to a cottage in the distance. “We can make our first stop there.”

She nodded and they rode on in silence. In spite of what she’d just said, she felt a chill run down her spine.