Not that I’m stopping my kitty, though.
“Nothing for ye to worry about, lass. They’re fiercely loyal to the women we bring home, and they'll be happy to tell ye the most terrible things about me.”
Feeling a sharp twinge in my chest, I ask, “So, you’ve brought a lot of women home?”
“It seems like a MacTavish tradition,” he admits. “But no. You’re the only one.”
Why does that make me feel better?
Walking to the window, he watches dusk creeping over his yard. “I’m thinking this would be a grand night to take ye sightseeing.” He gives me a little grin. “If ye like Salem, I’ve got something even better to show ye.”
“Really?” I raise a brow. “Something with a dark history? Restless spirits?”
“Aye, the dark side of Edinburgh is a fascinating journey.” He crosses his arms over that unfairly broad chest, his head down a bit, looking almostwolfish as he watches me. “Are ye ready for it?”
“You don’t scareme,mister,” I scoff. “I was raised on this stuff.”
“Excellent!” Wallace claps his hand together. “Let’s get ready.”
“What? Do I need an eerie, black hooded robe or something?”
“No, but your boots are a good idea. It can get wet and dank where we’re going.” He gives me another mysterious smile.
“You’re really selling this,” I sigh. Secretly, I’m excited. Morgan’s told me stories about some of the dark history of Edinburgh. I was honest, though, when I told Wallace he couldn’t scare me. I’ve lived in my own hell for the last two and a half years.
Changing into a pair of leggings and a blue sweater, I pull on the boots Wallace ordered for me. They’re Burberry, so I know they likely cost around two thousand dollars. Supple black leather, just a bit of a heel, but they’re very sturdy and perfect if we’re going somewhere filled with moss and graveyard dirt.
“Murder Mittens, come on, baby.” I hold open my backpack.
My cat looks up from where she’s industriously grooming herself, but she doesn’t move. What is this? She always wants to come with me.
“Sweetie? Don’t you want to go exploring?”
She turns her head, licking her back leg.
Wallace is checking his phone when I come back down to the great room, and he looks almost edible. Black jeans, black boots, a light blue button up shirt and a black leather jacket and he is wearing thehellout of that jacket.
“Do you have a kilt?”
“Aye,” he says, amused. “Did ye want me to wear it tonight?”
“It’s not necessary,” I flush just a bit. “I just wondered.”
Of course, I wondered. Wallace is perfection in male form, and even if the man wasn’t built like he could wrestle a bear, he’s got those beautiful amber eyes and those lips…
Those lips that are wearing a grin and I realize I’ve been staring at him the way a starving man looks at pie.
“So! Let’s do this!” I say briskly, feeling like a fool.
“Where does this go?”
We’re standing at the top of the stone steps leading to a very,verydark tunnel. Wallace drove through Old Town, pointing out Edinburgh Castle, and Arthur’s Seat before parking on a sidestreet and guiding me here.
“We’re starting at the South Bridge Vaults,” he says. “Though the real fun lies deeper.”
“Uh-huh…” This doesn’t seem like a public entrance, more like a portal to hell. “I’ll have stories to tell Morgan.”
Wallace holds out his hand. “Are ye ready?”
