She remembered the words he had spoken, just before he took the pistol ball in the arm:Look what you’ve done to me.The pain in his eyes had been unmistakable. She never imagined anyone could look so tormented.
She was still thinking about that when John dealt her a rather lucky hand. Soon they began to engage in some serious play, but after a time Catherine’s interest in the game waned.
“It’s been an exhausting day,” she said, laying her cards down, “so I shall bid you both good night.”
“Good night,” her grandmother replied.
John pushed his chair back, stood, and bowed to Catherine. She rose to her feet.
Deciding that a book might be a welcome distraction, she picked up a candelabra on her way out to light her way to the library.
Gingerly, she passed through the dark corridors of the manor, often glancing over her shoulder, checking every alcove along the way. Since she’d arrived at Drumloch, she often felt as if there was a presence nearby, a curious ghost perhaps, following her. It happened at all hours of the day, but was especially disconcerting at night. She had not yet told her doctor about it.
A slight chill blew through the corridor, causing her to pause while the candle flames danced. Perhaps there was an open window somewhere. She hoped there was.
At last, she reached the library and pushed the heavy oak door open. It creaked on its iron hinges. The light from her candles swung through the gloom and cast moving shadows across the bookcases. She felt the air stir against her cheek, and stopped abruptly on the carpet in the center of the room. A flash of apprehension shot up her spine.
Holding the candles high above her head, she called out shakily, “Hello?Is anyone here?”
The heavy drapes on both windows billowed softly and quietly.
She half-expected to hear the echo of her own voice, but there was no chance of that, not with so many musty books lining the walls. They were piled everywhere, on the tables and desktops, and they filled the room with the heavy scent of dust and knowledge.
She was acting a fool, she decided, as she strode to the bookcase and ran a finger along all the spines.
Finally, after a time, Catherine selected something. She set the candles down on the desk and opened the book to read the first few lines, but felt another breeze across her face. The drapes were floating on the drafts again.
She moved to check the window, but it was closed. Outside, the moon had risen high and full against a clear, starlit sky. She cupped her hands to the glass to look out at the gardens below, in full autumn bloom, then gazed farther across to the horizon, past rolling green hills and dark forests, silhouetted against the night sky. It was a beautiful night, and her senses quivered and hummed.
Again, the velvet curtain swelled beside her. She pulled the fabric aside.
There he was.The Highlander.
Her belly exploded in shock. How long had he been there? He had recovered his sword belt, pistol, and powder horn from the stable, but how had he gotten past the servants and found his way to this room? Was he the ghost in the corridor?
The fire in his eyes held her frozen in place, rigid with terror.
He raised a finger to his lips.“Shhh.…”
Catherine fought to suppress any sudden movement. Although she should have screamed. What was wrong with her? She was not without panic.
Suddenly she noticed the front of his shirt, stained with blood. Was it his own? One eye was black-and-blue. Had he been stabbed, or shot again?
“What happened to you?” she asked. “And how did you get here?”
He gave no answer. He simply pushed the curtain aside, whipped her around, and pressed a knife to her throat.
Chapter Four
Catherine fought against the Highlander’s steely grip. She squirmed and twisted, kicked his shin with her heel, but to no avail. He was like a brick wall behind her, all rigid muscle and incredible brawn.
“It’s your fault I’m cursed,” he snarled, “and after getting shackled and dragged off to prison, I’m not taking any more chances with you. You’ll not trick me this time.”
She felt the sharp point of the knife at the base of her throat, and clutched at his muscled forearm. “My cousin was right. Youarea brute.”
“I’m only trying to survive.” His breath was hot and moist in her ear. “Now stop squirming, promise you won’t scream, and I’ll let you go.”
“I promise.”
