She slipped out of the rear doors with Kris in her wake as the auctioneer continued, “There is some conjecture that she is the Lady of Ayr, one of our resident ghosts here at Dùn Cuilean. She is said to haunt the ramparts looking for revenge on the man who killed her and her husband just a week after they married.”
“What’s going on, Mikes?” Kris asked worriedly, grasping her arm and pulling her to a halt before they reached their room. “Is it the painting?”
“I want to leave. This was all a mistake. A big mistake.”
He only shook his head. “I don’t think it was. I think you needed to do this.”
“Needed to do what?” Her throat tightened in anguish. “Needed to see my life passed off to strangers before my eyes? Needed to see things that once meant so much mean so little?”
“No.” He pulled her into his arms. “You needed to realize that all the things in the world aren’t going to give you what you want. You needed to accept that nothing is going to bring him back to you. And you did, didn’t you?”
“God, you’re such a bastard.” She sniffed and buried her face in his shoulder, hugging him desperately.
“I know,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“Can we go now?”
“Sure. Just one last thing.”
“Oh, Lord, what now?”
Chapter Forty-One
“You’re kidding, right?” Mikah said as Kris led her out the doors of the library that led to the eastern terrace.
“Not even a little.”
“Where are ye two off to?” They turned to find the hotel owner behind them. He must have been curious about their departure to follow them out into the cold. Smith studied Mikah with serious blue eyes that lacked the hint of humor she’d noticed in them before. Now that solemn gaze lent the impression that he saw more than he let on. “Ye’ll miss the rest of the auction.”
“She’s making me take a walk,” Kris complained good-naturedly as he tightened his scarf around his neck. “Even though it’s freezing out.”
She snorted at that before turning to Smith. The castle owner was a short, portly man with prominent ears, an engaging smile that excavated his wrinkles and an affable demeanor. He’d never met a stranger, she’d wager, a good quality in a man who’d made his living by dealing with them. “I didn’t mean to be rude, Mr. Smith. I just thought we’d take a little walk before we leave in the morning.”
“Leave?” His brows shot up and he scratched his balding pate thoughtfully. “But the auction’s just begun.”
“That’s all right. I got what I wanted.”
“Did ye now? All ye wanted?”
“Enough of it,” she assured him.
The old man still appeared doubtful but he lifted his head and looked out over the lawns. “There’s not much to see this time of year.”
“Isn’t there a cemetery south of the castle?” Kris asked. “A family plot?”
“Aye, there is.” He looked at them again with that probing gaze. “Ye think it’s worth freezing yer britches off for?”
“It’s not,” Mikah answered agreeably. “We should go back in.”
“Mikes…” Kris warned in a low voice, and then nodded to hotelkeeper. “We’ll be fine. Don’t worry about us.”
“Och, I’ll no’ worry for ye. I’m sure ye’ll find yer way about well enough. Be off wi’ ye then.” He nodded while Kris dragged Mikah away.
Within a few minutes, they were hand-in-hand past the south end of the terrace and at the gate of the heavy wrought-iron fence enclosing the private cemetery nestled in the far corner of what had once been the pleasure gardens.
“If I’d wanted to do this, I would’ve come alone.”
“There are many things I’ll let you do alone in this world, Mikes,” he said, shaking his head. “This is not one of them.”
