“Dammit!” Trish stumbled back and lowered the lantern, revealing the jagged-edged block of immovable stone she’d just hit with her toe and whammed into the side of her knee. Latharn would tan Ramsay’s butt for wreaking so much destruction. Propping against the wall, she massaged the sting from her leg and set the lantern atop the broken masonry. The glowing orb revealed the floor of the hidden tunnel leading to the scene of the crime was cluttered with various chunks of castle debris. Trish swallowed hard against the uneasiness drying out her mouth. Maybe Ramsay needed a good spanking. It was a wonder one of the children hadn’t been killed.
The faint swish of a sweeping broom echoed with a hitching rhythm somewhere deeper in the darkness. Trish cocked her head and listened closer, smiling as the muffled sound of a child’s voice periodically interrupted the whooshing scrape of the broom. Nessa would tan the boy’s hide if she heard Ramsay using such colorful language.
Scooping the lantern off the chunk of stone, Trish held it even with the level of her knees and concentrated on placing each foot in a safe spot among the wreckage.Geez, what a mess.How in the world did they expect an eight-year-old boy to clean up all this by himself? A soft popping hiss echoed through the tunnel followed by the distinct smell of sulfur.
“Ramsay! I said ye were not to use your magic.” A deep voice shook through the walls of the tunnel, spilling stone dust down from the rafters.
A trembling young voice quickly squeaked out, “Sorry, Da.”
Trish couldn’t resist a smile. Apparently, Latharn didn’t have to return from Ireland to monitor his son’s progress with some sort of magical ward. Ramsay better tread lightly or Latharn would zap the boy’s mischievous little butt before returning from the emerald isle.
The beam of light shining out from the lantern finally reached the end of the tunnel, revealing a black metal door barely hanging from the archway by a single bent hinge. White oxidation, as though the door had survived an extreme blast of heat, framed the edges of the thick metal slab. The gray-white scorch marks trimmed the inky black square like a border of ragged lace.
Holy crap.Trish traced a fingertip along the ancient curlicues and intertwined whorls forming the endless Celtic knot welded to the center of the door. The signet of the ancient magical seal. Blown right off its hinges. Trish shook her head. Nessa was right. They had to get Ramsay under control.
Trish inhaled a shaking breath. Ramsay was first born of Nessa and Latharn’s quadruplets. Not only had he always been the most stubborn, but he was also the most gifted of the four in the ways of magic.
Trish squeezed her way around the partially opened door, holding her breath as she moved to keep from brushing against its edges. The way the thing teetered against the one remaining hinge; it could crash to the floor at any time.Dammit, Ramsay.
She brushed crumbs of stone dust from her hands and clothes then raised the lantern higher in the air. The rascally eldest son of the MacKay brood had always held a little tighter hold on her heart than the rest of the entertaining bunch. But this time, with all this damage, Trish doubted she’d be able to sweet talk Latharn and Nessa into an early parole for the boy. Poor Ramsay was doomed.
A blue-white glow from several strategically placed lanterns revealed the damage deeper in the room. Trish hooked the metal handle of her lantern on an iron rod extending from the first partition of the floor to ceiling bookcase creating one of the walls.
Leather-bound books and partially burned sheaves of parchment littered the stone slab flooring. Ceremonial daggers, scrying bowls, and iron candelabras peeped out from between fluttering piles of torn yellowed pages. A biting blast of frigid night air invaded the dimly lit room. Trish hugged her jacket tighter around her as she peered closer at the night sky-filled gaping hole where a solid stone wall once stood.Yep. Ramsay outdid himself this time.
Speaking of Ramsay—Trish scanned what part of the room she could see from the weak light shining from the scattered lanterns. Where was the boy?
“I’m over here, Auntie Trish.”
“And how many times have you been told not to listen to other people’s thoughts?” Trish homed in on the sullen voice coming from behind an overturned work table.
A despondent sigh echoed up from the rubble as a dust-streaked face slowly rose above the edge of a broken board. “Sorry, Auntie.” Ruffling his hands through spiked tufts of burnt orange hair, Ramsay shook off bits of plaster and stone like a dog shaking off water.
“What happened, Ramsay?” Trish stepped over the broken spokes of a shattered stool and gingerly settled down onto an enormous chunk of displaced wall protruding from the hearth. “You know you’re not supposed to play with magic when your father’s not here to help you.”
“I was notplaying.” Clear blue eyes flashed beneath a pair of reddish-blond brows as Ramsay threw his broom to the floor. “I had everything all figured out until stupid Catriona spoiled it all.”
Trish brushed bits of rubble from the spot beside her on the stone ledge. “Come. Sit down here.” Trish patted the stone and urged him forward. Maybe she could talk some sense into the frustrated little rascal. She and Ramsay had always been close, sort of kindred adventuring spirits. “You do realize what you did was wrong?”
Ramsay nodded while wiping the back of his hand underneath his dripping nose. “I know that next time, I won’t tell Catriona where me and the boys are gonna be doing our spells.”
“Ramsay!” Trish held her breath against the urge to laugh. This was serious. She admired the boy’s tenacity but he had to realize he could’ve killed them all. “You know good and well that’s not what I meant. Now, don’t you?”
“I know.” Ramsay’s chest deflated with a dejected sigh as he scooted up onto the stone beside her.
Trish curled her arm around the boy’s shoulders and pulled him close against her side. Kissing the top of his filthy head, she rocked him back and forth like she’d done when he was just a tot. “You could’ve been killed, Ramsay. What would I have done without my favorite minion?” Leaning back a bit and brushing more of the grayish hunks of rock and plaster from his hair, Trish tapped once on the end of his nose. “What would I have done without another fiery redhead at the table to even out the odds against the less colorful folk?”
“Ye’ve cut your hair so short it doesna matter what color it is,” Ramsay glared at her with an accusing scowl as he edged out of Trish’s embrace. “And ’sides, ye’d be just fine either way ’cause ye are never here anymore.”
Ahh.So that explained Ramsay’s attitude toward her. Trish folded her hands in her lap and stared at the boy’s bowed head. Shehadbeen away longer this time. The dig on the Isle of Iona had kept her away from her favorite family in the Highlands longer than she had anticipated.
“I am sorry, Ramsay.” Reaching out to feather her fingers through his hair, Trish’s heart lurched as the boy shied away. “Aww…come on, Ramsay. You let me hug you just a minute ago. Now you’re going to pout and not even let me touch you?”
“Ye had a hold a me afore I knew what ye were doin’.” Ramsay thumped his heels against the stone as he sidled an angry glance in her direction.
“I see.” Trish folded her hands back into her lap. So, it was going to be like that. He was going to force her to choose sides and act like an adult. “You know I have to go away at times and tend to my digs. I can’t stay here and mooch off your parents all the time. As much as I would love to dump all my responsibilities and spend every day with you, it wouldn’t be fair to everyone else. I’ve made commitments, Ramsay. You know I always keep my word.”
“Ye couldha took me with ye.” Ramsay drummed his heels harder, the thunking cadence of his leather boots echoed through the chamber.
