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she had imagined it, he was
sitting on the edge of the table with his back to her. At the
moment, he was preoccupied with wrenching the ball of cheese out of
Max’s mouth.
    “Now, don’t force me to get rough with
you!”
    She studied his broad shoulders. The warrior
was larger, by far, than any of the men her father had kept in his
service. The red of his tartan was muted and dark. As he stood up
for a moment, she drew back, but he only crouched over the dog
again. He was certainly a giant, and not just for a Lowlander. His
long dark hair was tied with a thong at the nape of a strong neck.
In wrestling with the dog, he turned his face, and she got a quick
glimpse of his handsome profile. Suddenly, she was aware of a
strange tightening in her chest. Drawing back further, she felt her
face flush with heat. What was wrong with her? she thought,
fighting for a breath.
    What did it matter that the man was handsome,
she thought with annoyance. What difference did that make to her, a
ghost! In the dark of the kitchens, it was easy to let imagination
control reality. In the light of day, he might be the ugliest man
in Scotland, though she would never see it. Darkness. Perhaps it
was the place for both of them, she thought angrily. Who knows, in
the gloom of this chamber, he might not even see her deformities.
Bringing a shaking hand up before her eyes, she gazed at it
momentarily, and then pulled her hood forward over her face.
    Nay, no one was that blind.
    “As your laird, I order you to share that
cheese. Och, you are a pig. You’ve eaten it all.”
    Laird! Quickly, Joanna drew back behind the
hearth. Her face grim, she slipped through the panel and into the
blackness of the passageway. Feeling her way down the stone steps,
she continued past the wooden door that led into the root cellars.
Silently, she made her way through the winding, narrow passages,
down more carved stone steps, and through wide, cavernous openings
until she was far from the kitchens. Climbing to the top of another
set of steps, Joanna stopped, trying to catch her breath, and
leaned back heavily against a rough-hewn wall.
    Laird! She wished she had never laid eyes on
him. It would be ever so much easier to mourn his death if she’d
never seen him. The poor soul, she thought, starting to move
quickly along the tunnel again. He wouldn’t have a chance against
the evil that surrounded him.

CHAPTER 3
     
     
    The smell of fire and rot hung in the air
like death.
    “‘Tis a grievous thing for me to see
Ironcross Castle like this, m’lord.” Allan’s voice was tight. “It
looks sound enough from the outside, but in here...” The steward
looked back at Gavin and shook his head.
    Gavin said nothing, but motioned for Allan to
continue up the circular stairwell. They had almost reached the
second floor landing, which was as far as they would be going.
Gavin gazed upward through the twisted and charred timbers that had
once been steps, into the steel gray sky.
    “Aye,” Allan said, following his master’s
gaze. “Nothing to keep the rain out here.”
    The new laird grunted and climbed over a
burnt beam. Reaching the landing, he pushed past the steward into
the corridor.
    “This part of the castle seems much newer
than the rest,” Gavin said gruffly. The destruction was extensive,
though he was beginning to think the building might be saved. He
would need to get his men in here clearing out the debris before
they could make a good judgment about the soundness of the
walls.
    “Aye, m’lord,” Allan responded. “This wing
was built by Sir Duncan MacInnes, father of the last three lairds.
God rest their souls.”
    Gavin looked at the splintered sections of
the beams above. The ceilings were high in the south wing. On this
floor, at least, the corridor faced out on the courtyard, and the
long, narrow windows let in light and air. Some of the chamber
doors to the right hung open at rakish angles, and cobwebs and
filth were everywhere. “How did Duncan