“Flip to the last page.” Ramsey nodded toward the file.
Collin did as he asked. He scanned the computer printed article’s headline:Psychic unable to predict the untimely and questionable death of fiancé who left her with a fortune.
“This disnae prove she had anything to do with his death.”
“It disnae prove she dinnae,” Ramsey said, rising. “As the chief financial advisor of your estate, and foremost, as your friend, I thought you should know who’s staying under your roof.”
Collin knew exactly who was sleeping in his bed. Quinn was a mystery to him in most ways, but there was no denying that she was the center of the curse, or that she was the first woman in a long time who reminded him that he was more than a laird. He was simply a man who had needs, wants, and desires. Exploring their chemistry was worth the price of keeping her around. Curse or no curse.
Chapter Six
Quinn woketo find dust motes dancing in the sunshine streaming in through the window. Her big lumberjack boots were gone, and the covers lay over her chest, the silky texture at odds with the large man who usually occupied the bed.
She pulled the covers over her eyes and groaned. The Highlander’s musky scent filled her nose. The trip hadn’t been a dream. She flung the covers off her body and stared up at the stone ceiling. “This ispayback for everything I’ve ever done wrong in my life, isn’t it?”
“No, dear, it’s destiny.” She heard the unmistakable ghostly whisper as the temperature dropped, chilling her cheeks.
She sat up to find not one but three ghosts staring back at her from the foot of the bed. The sight of them would have sent normal people screaming and running from the room, but she’d never been confused with normal. The man in the middle had a full red beard and matching hair color. A scar covered his left cheek and dipped down his neck, disappearing into green checkered plaid. His eyes were the same baby blue that matched Collin’s.
The woman in the royal blue dress, from the north tower, stood next to him. Her hand clutched where her heart would be. Her brunette curls were secured with a ruby-accented comb.
The ghost on Redbeard’s left didn’t resemble Collin at all. His hair was white and wavy, but there was no mistaking the colors of his tartan. She’d seen the exact same pattern yesterday on McGrabs-a-lot. He was related to Ian without question.
“Funny how you’re not haters because of the color of your plaid in the afterlife. Care to tell me how to get out of your motherland?”
“I told you she can see us,” the woman announced.
“Gwinnie, isn’t it?” Quinn said, sliding off the bed. “I don’t suppose you can explain to Collin, your great-great-whatever, that there isn’t a curse?”
They glanced between one another before turning their stares back to Quinn.
“You will set things right,” Gwinnie announced before all three of them shimmered out of sight.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Quinn grumbled, not even trying to cover the irritation lacing her voice. She spotted her boots by the door and slipped them on. After running her fingers through her hair, she used the rubber band on her wrist to pull it up in a ponytail. If she’d had her way, the doctor and police would give her access to her room and clear Johnny and her to return home.
Quinn stepped into the hall to hunt down Collin. The sickly sweet smell of last night was gone. Intrigued, she peered into the bedroom next door. Not a single petal or leaf was in sight.
“He kept his word.” Warmth that she hadn’t felt in five years flooded her chest. She shoved the feeling away. He was just a man trying to accommodate her because she’d returned his gem. Still, the gesture was sweet. Quinn went out on the landing and stared below. Maids were dusting theroom. The vase that had been sitting on the antique table was gone, and a smile split her lips.
Jogging down the stairs, she smiled politely at the maid who’d pinched her yesterday. “Can you tell me where to find Collin?”
“Aye, Miss Thatcher.”
“My friends call me Quinn, and since we’re already on a pinching basis, I guess that includes you.”
“Your friends pinch you?” she asked, her brows dipped in confusion.
“That and worse.”
“I’m Abigail, miss. If you’ll just follow me, the others are sitting down to morning breakfast.”
“Thanks, Abby.”
Quinn walked alongside her as she made several turns down different hallways. They passed by another large entrance where Quinn slowed to get a better look. Old-timey paintings hung on the wall, along with a crest and crossed swords. Suits of armor did indeed line the wall, making her chuckle. “Must be the ballroom.”
“Yes, miss.”
“Quinn,” she reminded her.
