The second was worse.
By the third, she knew two things with certainty: someone was in Ciaran’s tower, and whoever it was had no business touching a piano.
She gathered her skirts and hurried up the stairs, already half-annoyed and half-curious. The sound that met her as she climbed made the whole thing harder to believe. It was not music. It was an assault. A heavy strike, then a pause, then another cluster of notes that landed in no sensible relation to each other at all.
“Bruce,” she muttered under her breath. “If that is ye, I swear I shall sell ye to a monastery.”
Another wrong note rang out.
By the time she reached the tower door, she was almost laughing with sheer disbelief. She pushed it open and found exactly the disaster she deserved for not catching him sooner.
Bruce stood on the piano. All four paws were planted on the keys with full confidence. His little body was stiff with indignation, and his ears were perked up. One paw struck again as she came in, producing a sound so offensive that she stopped short and put a hand over her mouth.
“Bruce.”
He barked at her, then at the room itself, then stamped once more on the keys as if defending his position.
Ava crossed toward him at once.“I kent ye were up to nay good. That is exactly why I came looking for ye.”
Bruce answered with a low growl meant to sound formidable. It did not. He was too small, too dusty, and too pleased with himself.
“What do ye think ye are doing?” Ava demanded. “This isnae yer instrument.”
He struck another key with his front paw and looked directly at her, as if the point were under debate.
A laugh sounded behind her, and she froze.
She had felt him before she heard him. The tower had become one of those rooms where her body knew he was present before her mind caught up. Even so, the sound of his amusement moved through her with a quick, foolish warmth she had not expected.
She turned anyway.
Ciaran stood near the door with his arms folded, looking at Bruce with a composure that would have been more convincing if a laugh had not just escaped him.
“Ye find this funny?” Ava asked.
“Aye.”
“That is because it is yer piano and nae mine.”
“He has taste,” Ciaran said. “Questionable skill, but he does have the chops for this.”
Ava rolled her eyes. “Thechops. Really?”
Ciaran shrugged. “Aye. Considerable nerve, too.”
Bruce barked again, while Ava tried to glare at Ciaran and failed because the whole thing was too ridiculous. “Can ye do something, please?”
Ciaran came forward at last, but Bruce turned on the piano with speed and planted himself more squarely over the keys, ready to defend his claim. Ciaran merely bent, slid his hands under the little beast, and lifted him clean off the instrument.
Bruce wriggled at once and let out a series of sharp, offended barks. It was to no avail.
“Aye, ye monstrous creature,” Ciaran rumbled. “The performance is over.”
Ava folded her arms and watched as Ciaran carried him to the door. Bruce twisted around in his hold to glare at both of them, then barked once more when he was set outside.
“Stay there,” Ciaran ordered.
Bruce scratched once at the wood in protest. Then his furious footfalls retreated down the passage, and the room went quiet.
