Nothing. Only the hollow echo of her own words returning.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She took a step back, then another, until her shoulder brushed the wall. The shadows stretched long before her, shifting as if they breathed.
She gathered her skirts and ran. The corridor blurred around her, the cold biting at her ankles, the sound of her footsteps a frantic rhythm against the stone. Every flicker of light felt like pursuit, every creak like something reaching after her.
Cold seized her spine. The air seemed to move behind her, faster now, almost keeping pace. She didn’t dare look back.
And just as she reached the turn toward another corridor, a soft, low whisper, close enough to feel against her ear, broke the silence.
“Catherine.”
CHAPTER NINE
Her name hung in the dark like a curse. Catherine froze where she stood, the sound still coiling around her ear. She hadn’t imagined it. The whisper had breath in it, weight, warmth. Her pulse thrummed against her throat, sharp and uneven.
She turned slowly, her hand clutching the edge of her shawl. The corridor stretched empty, the torchlight flickering weakly over the stone. No shadow moved. No figure stepped forward. Only the echo of her own breath, too loud in the silence.
Her mouth went dry. “Who’s there?”
The quiet deepened until it pressed on her skin. She backed away one step, then another, until her hand found the latch of the nearest door. She didn’t care whose room it was. Anywhere was safer than standing in the open with that voice still whispering through her mind.
Her fingers fumbled for the handle. She pulled. The door gave an inch, and then stopped.
A hand had closed over hers. She barely had time to gasp before it caught her wrist, turning her sharply around. The movement was swift, controlled, and the next breath she drew hit solid warmth instead of cold air.
Aidan Cameron stood before her, his chest bare, the shadows of the corridor gliding over the hard planes of muscle and the dark line of a scar near his shoulder. His hair was damp, his skin glistened faintly in the torchlight, and for a heartbeat she could not think, only stare.
“L—Laird Cameron,” she stammered, before the sound of her own voice reminded her who she was. “What in God’s name?—”
“What areyedaein’ in me corridor?” His tone was low, roughened by something that wasn’t anger alone. He released her wrist but did not step back. “This wing’s off limits tae guests. Ye’ve nay business here.”
“Yer corridor?” She blinked, words struggling to catch up with the reality before her. “I didnae ken the castle was divided by ownership.”
“It is when the walls hide half-dressed men who’d rather nae be surprised in the middle o’ the night.”
Her eyes flicked to his bare chest again before she could stop them. He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint trace of soap and smoke. She jerked her gaze upward, lifting her chin as though defiance might cool the flush rising up her neck.
“I dinnae make a habit o’ wanderin’ where I’m nae welcome,” she said sharply. “But I heard a sound. Groaning. I thought someone was hurt.”
“Ye thought right,” he said quietly.
The admission stole the next retort from her lips. Her eyes narrowed. “Then yewerethe one making that noise.”
He exhaled through his nose, something close to a grim smile crossing his face. “I’ll nae deny it.”
She hesitated, torn between indignation and something she couldn’t quite name. “Then perhaps next time ye should sound less like a ghost. I near ran meself mad tryin’ tae find where it came from.”
Aidan’s mouth curved faintly. “A ghost, was it?”
“I thought the keep haunted,” she said, crossing her arms, though her hands were still trembling.
His gaze flicked over her face, slow and measuring. “So ye were followin’ the sound.”
“Aye. Curiosity’s a curse, they say.”
“A dangerous one,” he murmured. “Especially here.”
She wanted to snap that danger never frightened her, but the almost intimate way he said it unraveled her tongue. The air between them felt too alive.
