Chapter 2
Later that night Kettle House, Flourmill Lane, Aberdeen
Ophelia Raines creptas quietly as she could up the backstairs of Nettle House, as she secretly called her aunt and uncle’s home. Moving about the house often felt like maneuvering through stinging nettle, so the name fit. Fortunately, her favorite escape route, the original servants’ stairs usually proved nettle-free. Deemed unsafe ages ago, the stairwell began gathering dust after a more modern stair was built for the householdstaff.
The expenditure was justified because her uncle, Irwin Russell, held that servants shouldn’t be seen orheard.
Leastways, as infrequently aspossible.
Fortunately, the old stone house was large enough to allow such a luxury. Dating from the 16thcentury, Kettle House gained fame as the dower house for the nearby and equally ancient provost’s mansion. In medieval times, one of the provost-widows living there had been a good-hearted soul, always keeping huge kettles of soup and fresh-baked bread ready to serve the needy – whenever such unfortunates called at her kitchen door. And so the house earned its name, along with the reputation of aiding thepoor.
Ophelia frowned as she climbed the musty-smelling stairs, blessedly lit well enough thanks to the moonlight slanting through the air slits cut into the house’s thick stonewalls.
She wouldn’t exactly call herself poor, though some would surelydisagree.
But she was in need of a roof over her head, food in her belly, and so she imagined Kettle House was still deserving of itsname.
Even so, she wasn’t a servant – however much she was expected to help where and whenneeded.
She did so gladly, was even grateful when, after a regrettable and disastrous scandal, her too-pious-for-her-taste aunt and uncle opened their home to her. Still, she was her own good self, and found it difficult to ignore her passions. To her, harmless but fascinating pursuits, mostly her interest in anything odd orotherworldly.
So she hadn’t complained when she’d been offered a cell-like room on the top floor. The true servants might also sleep there, but most slumbered like stones, their snores assuring her privacy to access the seemingly forgottenbackstairs.
A boon she took advantage of as often as possible. Not that her adventures were wrong, orbad.
Theyweren’t.
She just did not care to becontained.
A trait she’d inherited from her late mother, according to her AuntSarah.
No matter, at the moment her only concern was to reach her room unobserved. Most nights everyone would be in their beds by now. But this was Samhain Eve. Her aunt and uncle would surely be sleeping. The clutch of women she’d seen at the kirkyard would likely have returned bynow.
She just hoped they didn’t immediately seek theirquarters.
Like as not, they’d gather in the kitchen to gossip and sip cider. They might prattle about the Samhain lovers, perhaps blaming a harlot and her conquest for keeping the spectral pair from appearing. As most of the staff came from the Highlands, there would also be tales of faeries and magic and blazingbonfires.
Samhain was a good time to remember how Scots of old celebrated the paganholiday.
She’d gone to look for ghostlylovers.
And though she hadn’t seen them – not for more than an eye-blink, anyway – she had beenkissed.
Her first kiss in more than three years,and...
Dear heavens, but it’d reminded her how much she loved kissing. How much she missed it. Her frown deepened for she didn’t want to have enjoyed thekiss.
But shehad.
The kiss had meltedher.
A shame a rogue had done the honors. How sad that didn’t surprise her. For sure, it fit the story of her life. Regardless, she could still see his handsome face in her mind. If the moonlight hadn’t lied, a small scar on his left cheek added to his appeal. Tall, deliciously dark, and imposing in height and build, he was the embodiment of the ‘sweep her up on his steed and carry her away’ kind of hero she’d once dreamed of, long ago when she’d still believed in suchfoolishness.
Now she knewbetter.
Even so, his kiss was a memory she’d carry with her all her days. She doubted she’d ever again experience such athrill.
A shame she also recalled hisbaseness…
