against the wood.
“Brianna,” he said softly. “Forgive me. I would have never...” Well, of course he could claim no such thing. In truth, he did not know what might have happened. He’d hardly been thinking clearly. “I hope I would have controlled myself.”
“Goodnight, Mr. McKinnon.” Her whisper said it all.
He stepped back and straightened. “It shall not happen again, Miss Colby.”
As he walked briskly to his own cold bedchamber, he hoped he was telling the truth.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was a long night of arguing—with herself of course. She shouldn’t have run. Yes, she sure as hell should have. No, I was dumb. No, I was lucky to have gotten away. For an hour, she worried what she would say to him in the morning. After she decided to say nothing at all, to let him do all the talking, she fell asleep.
She woke with a headache, but decided to ignore that too.
It would do her no good to think about what she could be doing with the rest of her vacation time—if she could get away from there. Besides, if this place was snowed in, it was likely the rest of the Highlands were too. And she’d rather be stuck in a beautifully furnished castle than exploring castle ruins in bad weather or watching Scotland stream by out the window of a bus. At least here, in McKinnon’s castle, she had a much better chance of running into a painfully handsome Highlander every day. And if she ever told her friends the truth about her vacation, which wasn’t likely, they would agree with her.
But why had the coachman written that note? Did he think she was someone else? Impossible. He’d asked her for her full name. He knew she wasn’t his accomplice. So why write it unless he knew McKinnon would read it and it would upset him?
And would anything really happen on New Year’s Eve? They had to assume so because there was a little girl involved. They had to protect her, but protect her from what? Someone who had a grudge against McKinnon?
And why didn’t he go to the police?
Because he didn’t have a freaking car? What kind of twilight zone had she stumbled into?
She shook her head as she left her room. She couldn’t possibly be buying the whole 1806 theory. She just had to prove to McKinnon that it was time to give up the pretense. And she’d start at the top. She was a Colby, after all. No fear.
The door she believed would lead out onto the roof was blocked shut by snow, sadly. She had to settle for leaning out of windows to see the extensive bailey and outbuildings. The East tower was off-limits, Heathcliff had said, probably because it was his personal space. Since it wasn’t likely she’d find enchanted things in there, like they did in movies, she didn’t mind honoring his request to ‘mind her own business.’
Of course he would have never said it that way.
“ Do me the honor of avoiding the East Wing ,” he’d said. Mr. Formal. Always. Just like he’d speak if he was from the 19th century, just like he’d said.
She laughed at herself. She really hadn’t been drinking the Kool-Aid, had she? Besides, Heathcliff had admitted the truth on Christmas Eve. Or had he?
She continued her solo tour of Castle McKinnon that was really a quest for the tiniest proof of something twentieth century. It didn’t even need to be from 2012. It just had to be something more modern than 1806.
There was nothing in the bedrooms upstairs. She checked every drawer, every shelf. Nothing. Even the wall paper looked vintage. The linens were odd, but lovely. And every bed had drapes for keeping the heat around the occupants when the fires went out during the night. That made her think of heat vents, then she couldn’t find any of those either. But this was Scotland, and it was a castle; putting in a heating system would have probably cost a grundle of money. Probably more than plumbing. And electricity...
Bree found an odd pan with holes in the lid attached to a long handle. Was it a popcorn popper for over the
“Brianna,” he said softly. “Forgive me. I would have never...” Well, of course he could claim no such thing. In truth, he did not know what might have happened. He’d hardly been thinking clearly. “I hope I would have controlled myself.”
“Goodnight, Mr. McKinnon.” Her whisper said it all.
He stepped back and straightened. “It shall not happen again, Miss Colby.”
As he walked briskly to his own cold bedchamber, he hoped he was telling the truth.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was a long night of arguing—with herself of course. She shouldn’t have run. Yes, she sure as hell should have. No, I was dumb. No, I was lucky to have gotten away. For an hour, she worried what she would say to him in the morning. After she decided to say nothing at all, to let him do all the talking, she fell asleep.
She woke with a headache, but decided to ignore that too.
It would do her no good to think about what she could be doing with the rest of her vacation time—if she could get away from there. Besides, if this place was snowed in, it was likely the rest of the Highlands were too. And she’d rather be stuck in a beautifully furnished castle than exploring castle ruins in bad weather or watching Scotland stream by out the window of a bus. At least here, in McKinnon’s castle, she had a much better chance of running into a painfully handsome Highlander every day. And if she ever told her friends the truth about her vacation, which wasn’t likely, they would agree with her.
But why had the coachman written that note? Did he think she was someone else? Impossible. He’d asked her for her full name. He knew she wasn’t his accomplice. So why write it unless he knew McKinnon would read it and it would upset him?
And would anything really happen on New Year’s Eve? They had to assume so because there was a little girl involved. They had to protect her, but protect her from what? Someone who had a grudge against McKinnon?
And why didn’t he go to the police?
Because he didn’t have a freaking car? What kind of twilight zone had she stumbled into?
She shook her head as she left her room. She couldn’t possibly be buying the whole 1806 theory. She just had to prove to McKinnon that it was time to give up the pretense. And she’d start at the top. She was a Colby, after all. No fear.
The door she believed would lead out onto the roof was blocked shut by snow, sadly. She had to settle for leaning out of windows to see the extensive bailey and outbuildings. The East tower was off-limits, Heathcliff had said, probably because it was his personal space. Since it wasn’t likely she’d find enchanted things in there, like they did in movies, she didn’t mind honoring his request to ‘mind her own business.’
Of course he would have never said it that way.
“ Do me the honor of avoiding the East Wing ,” he’d said. Mr. Formal. Always. Just like he’d speak if he was from the 19th century, just like he’d said.
She laughed at herself. She really hadn’t been drinking the Kool-Aid, had she? Besides, Heathcliff had admitted the truth on Christmas Eve. Or had he?
She continued her solo tour of Castle McKinnon that was really a quest for the tiniest proof of something twentieth century. It didn’t even need to be from 2012. It just had to be something more modern than 1806.
There was nothing in the bedrooms upstairs. She checked every drawer, every shelf. Nothing. Even the wall paper looked vintage. The linens were odd, but lovely. And every bed had drapes for keeping the heat around the occupants when the fires went out during the night. That made her think of heat vents, then she couldn’t find any of those either. But this was Scotland, and it was a castle; putting in a heating system would have probably cost a grundle of money. Probably more than plumbing. And electricity...
Bree found an odd pan with holes in the lid attached to a long handle. Was it a popcorn popper for over the
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