She shrugged. “I’m curious. Maybe we’ll find some treasure.”
“I don’t think the Twentymans would appreciate—”
“Wheesht!” When she tried to pull away, she only succeeded in pulling him along with her. Other supper guests turned to watch. She lowered her voice. “Don’t you have any sense of adventure?”
Without waiting for any reply, she tugged open the door and started down the cellar steps. She heard him mutter to himself as he grabbed a candle off an empty table and followed.
The door above them shut, and the flame pierced the sudden darkness. At the bottom of the stairs, she swiveled to face him. “Do you always do what you’re supposed to?”
“Pretty much.”
“Boring,” she pronounced. With a swish of her English skirts, she turned and looked around. The cellar’s walls were lined with provisions, the air chilly. A shiver rippled through her, born of the cold or a tiny frisson of fear; she wasn’t sure which. But it felt a wee bit forbidden and exhilarating to be down here.
Jason looked annoyed and tense. And darkly handsome in the cellar’s shadows, if she were to be honest. “Has anyone ever told you you’re impulsive?” he asked.
“Cameron. Every day. He finds it endearing.”
Jason’s response was a muted snort.
A narrow wooden door was set into one corner.
“That must be it.” Her voice trembled a little.
He moved between her and the door and folded his arms across his chest, looking much like the man who had kept her from the coach. “I really think we should go back upstairs.”
“You don’t want to see the tunnels? There could be treasure—jewelry or money left since the war.”
He widened his stance. “It wouldn’t belong to you if you found any.”
“Of course it wouldn’t. I wasn’t planning to keep it. But it would be exciting to discover, all the same. Aren’t you intrigued?”
“No.”
With a small huff, she skirted around him. “Then I’ll meet you upstairs. Which room number?”
“Four. But—”
She pushed open the door.
A musty smell came from the cramped, dark passage beyond. A rush of excitement made her knees weak and forced a giddy chuckle through her throat as she stepped inside.
Jason slipped past her and held the candle high. “Come along, then,” he muttered.
Smiling to herself, she followed him along the dank, earthen tunnel. The curved walls oozed with moisture, and the place had a mildewy odor that spoke of long disuse. Something scurried across her path, and she jumped and let out a squeak, reaching for Jason’s arm.
Bobbling the candle, he turned to her and cupped the flame to prevent it from blowing out. “It’s only a mouse.” His smile was disarming. “Ready to turn back?”
“Nay. I wasn’t afraid, only startled.”
“Very well.” He cleared his throat and looked pointedly down at where her fingers were still clamped on his arm.
When she snatched her hand back, he proceeded.
His footsteps sounded loud on the deserted pathway. After a few yards, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “See any treasure yet?”
“Nay.”
He walked twenty more feet. “Any treasure now?”
In answer, she blew out an amused breath.
Ten more feet. “Now?”
She half-groaned, half-laughed. The candlelight disappeared as he took a sharp turn. She followed him around the corner.
And caught sight of something over his shoulder that made her stop short.
TWENTY-SIX
A SOLEMN MAN in a hooded robe stared at Cait, his eyes unbearably sad and hollow.
He floated four feet off the ground.
Even as a shocked gasp escaped her, he faded.
“What is it?” Jason whirled toward her, his eyes wide with alarm.
Shaking, she put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. “Didn’t you see him?”
“See what?” He turned to look, but the passageway was empty.
“He was there. I saw him, I swear.”
“What?”
“A ghost! A man dressed in robes. But his feet didn’t touch the ground. And then—then he just faded away. Into nothingness.”
“Calm yourself.” He switched the candle to his other hand and curved an arm around her shoulders. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. It’s spooky down here. You imagined it.”
“I did not!”
“Very well, then, you saw something. But there must be a logical explanation.”
“I want to go back.”
“Fine.” Brushing by her, he started down the passage. “I never wanted to come down here in the first place.”
She hurried to catch up and grasped his hand, not caring what he thought. As she ran to keep up with his long strides, she threw anxious glances over her shoulder.
The ghost didn’t reappear, but she shivered anyway. “Do you smell something?” Somehow, speaking aloud was reassuring. It blocked the echo of their footsteps and the eerie sounds that seemed to bounce off the walls. “The atmosphere down here is strange.”
Jason’s hand tightened on hers, making her already high-strung nerves tauten a bit more. “We’re nearly there.” He turned and walked backward, peering through the semidarkness to see her face. “Are you all right?”
Before she could answer, a blast of frigid air whooshed down the corridor and snuffed the candle, plunging them into darkness.
Caithren screamed long and loud, ceasing only when Jason pulled her into his arms and her mouth was muffled against his warm chest.
“Hush,” he commanded. “It was only a draft.”
The tunnel was black as the Widow MacKenzie’s ancient kettle. She heard the squeak of a mouse, a slow drip somewhere, the rapid beat of her own heart, nearly matched by the speed of Jason’s. “I don’t like it down here.”
“The door isn’t far.” He was clearly fighting to keep his voice even. “We’ll just feel along the wall.”
Gingerly she reached out, her fingers meeting grainy, clammy dirt. She jerked back.
“I’ll feel along the wall,” he amended, turning within her grasp. “Just hold onto my waist, and I’ll have you out of here in no time.”
They progressed a few feet, then stopped cold when light suddenly flooded the passage.
“I heard a scream.” Mrs. Twentyman stood in the open doorway, one hand to her ample chest and a lit lantern in the other. “Oh,
