Cait hurried past her and into the cellar, dropping to sit on a sack of flour. She crossed her arms and hugged herself in an attempt to stop the trembling. “I saw a ghost down there.”
“No, she—” Jason started.
But Mrs. Twentyman interrupted. “Gilbert,” she said matter-of-factly. “Our resident ghostly monk. One of the passageways leads to the old friary.”
Caithren looked at Jason, still standing in the open doorway. “I told you he was wearing robes.”
“Gray, with a hood?” The woman nodded sagely. “That’s Gilbert, all right. But don’t you worry, dearie, he’s never hurt anyone. Though he does sometimes move bottles around in here—the serving maids dislike coming down to the cellar alone.”
Jason shut the door to the tunnel, and Cait released a shaky breath. He came over and helped her stand, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I apologize,” he said to Mrs. Twentyman, “for trespassing. She was curious—”
“Bosh. Think nothing of it. You’re not the first guests to take it in your heads to go exploring, and I’d wager you won’t be the last.” She winked at Jason. “And quite certainly not the first fellow to bring a lady down here and scare her into his arms.”
Embarrassed, Cait jumped away from Jason just as he quickly dropped his arm. What must the Twentymans think of them? And her wearing an English doxy’s dress.
The kindly woman turned to Caithren. “Your bath is likely getting cold, though, so you’d best run along.”
She needed no more of an invitation to bolt up the stairs.
By the time she reached the taproom, Jason caught up to her. He reached for her hand, clasping it as he had in the tunnel. “I’m sorry she thinks that of us. I know it disturbs you.”
Low and kind, his voice made her remember the warmth of his body embracing her protectively. His hand felt strong and sent tingles up her arm. She wished he would hold her again…when she wasn’t frightened of a ghost. Just thinking that made the blood rush to her face, and she brought her free hand to her cheek.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” Falling in behind him on their way up the narrow staircase, she slipped her hand into the gown’s pocket to touch Adam’s picture. She needed to shake these ridiculous thoughts. She didn’t even like Jason. “You still don’t believe it, do you?”
“That you saw a ghost? No,” he said flatly. “I reckon someone was down there, same as we were. Perhaps taking a shortcut or searching for forgotten valuables.”
“He was floating. If you’d seen him, you’d believe.”
“But I didn’t.” Jason reached the landing, turned, and shrugged. “Can we agree to disagree? Though I fought going down there, I thank you for coaxing me. It was fun.”
“Fun?”
He grinned. “I haven’t done anything impulsive in a long while. Maybe ever.” His mouth reversed into a frown. “Other than taking you with me, that is.”
“And you’re not sorry for that either, are you?”
“I cannot say that I am.” She digested that surprising statement as he guided her down a short corridor. He’d sounded as if he meant it. “Here we are. Room four.” Releasing her hand, he unlocked the door and waved her inside. “I’ll leave you to your privacy.”
“And my bath.” She clenched her other hand around the one he’d dropped, but it didn’t feel anything like when he’d held it. “I can still smell the mustiness from the tunnels. It will feel good to be clean.”
“Oh,” he said. “I almost forgot. I have something for you. From the marketplace this morning.” He dropped the key back into his pouch and withdrew a tiny, corked ceramic bottle.
Puzzled, she took it from him.
“Smell it,” he urged.
She pulled out the cork and waved the bottle under her nose, drawing a deep whiff of the fragrant scent.
“Flowers of Scotland,” Jason said proudly. “Or so the woman at the marketplace told me.”
Caithren was stunned. “It-it’s lovely,” she stuttered.
“It’s the oil you use in your bath, no? And to wash your hair?”
“Well, I press my own myself. But aye, from Scottish flowers. Flowers of Scotland.” What a sweet gesture. From an Englishman who had as good as abducted her.
It was confusing, to say the least.
“It’s lovely,” she repeated.
“I’ll replace whatever else you lost as well.” He backed up, easing the door closed. “I never meant to cost you your belongings.”
She gazed at him mutely, then nodded.
“I’m glad you understand, Emerald.”
But she didn’t. She didn’t understand anything. Least of all why she found herself warming to him when he still called her Emerald.
And he was staring at her amulet. He found a green stone more convincing than all her protests.
“I understand,” she said, although she was more confused than ever. With a small smile, she added, “Jase,” and then shut the door in his face.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“MARY! NO!”
At the sound of a muffled yell, Caithren startled awake. Wide awake. She sat upright, her gaze frantically searching the room.
Across the chamber, Jason jerked and twitched. The fire had burned so low she had difficulty seeing him, but his face looked slick with sweat although it wasn’t overly warm. The room had two beds, and she’d awakened in hers alone—but she felt disoriented and dismayed to find herself in a dark room with a man.
“No…” The single word was forced through a mouth contorted in pain. “No, no…”
Her stomach knotting with compassion, she rushed over, tripping on the hem of Mrs. Twentyman’s much-too-long night rail and stopping her fall with Jason’s bed.
“Jason, wake up.” She put a hand to his shoulder, jiggling it a little. When he only moaned, she shook him hard…harder. “Oh, please wake up!”
He half-rose and threw his arms around her. Her legs tangling in the night rail again, she tumbled on top of his long, solid body.
She lay upon him in shock, both of them trembling.
The thick white night rail had a high ruffle around the throat, full sleeves to her wrists, and enough fabric to
