"Investigations?" Was this really something he wanted to know?
"Of the paranormal kind," she whispered. "And believe me, the place is ripe for 'em."
Thomas was certain now that he had crossed some kind of line. Maybe it had to do with lack of sleep. Maybe it had to do with too much motorway stress. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he'd just signed in at a place where the proprietress was running her own Ghostbuster squad, be-kilted Scotsmen were appearing and disappearing near sideboards, and he was beginning to take both very seriously.
No wonder Megan had laughed so hard when he'd told her he was looking forward to a few days of quiet contemplation in the inn before he took stock of the situation up the road.
Mrs. Pruitt shoved a key at him. "Be off with ye," she said briskly. "Up the stairs and down the hallway. Go lie down before ye fall there."
He frowned as he took the key. Was he supposed to find some kind of hidden meaning in her last words? Was he supposed to give up before someone forced him to? Or was the woman really just trying to get him out of her way so her entryway remained tidy?
Maybe it was better not to know.
He made his way to the stairs, then paused and looked back over his shoulder. No bekilted Scotsmen loitering there. No ruddy-complected Scotsmen wearing mouse ears either. Maybe those were good signs.
He dragged himself up the stairs and down the hallway. He checked his room number against the number on the key, let himself in, and found that a bed did indeed await him. He dumped his stuff on the floor and considered a shower. No, sleep was more attractive. He stripped, crawled into bed, and sighed gratefully over something beneath him that didn't move.
As he tried to wind down, he wondered absently if the carpentry tools he'd sent over earlier had made it. He'd also sent his Everest gear. Though he supposed he could have stayed indefinitely in Megan's inn, he'd planned for the possibility of wanting to camp on his own soil. And he suspected, based on the pictures Megan had taken, that the castle wasn't all that hospitable. At least not yet. He hoped he was equal to the task of making it so.
After barely surviving the trip north, he was beginning to have his doubts about that as well.
He blew out a deep breath and consciously made the effort to stop thinking. Sleepy thoughts were generally unreasonable thoughts, and he wasn't served by entertaining them.
But even so, he couldn't resist a last bit of speculation. What would he find up at the castle? That he owned a castle at all was remarkable, no matter its condition. But could he turn it into something useful? Would he find it beyond redemption?
Would he find it empty?
That last thought came at him from out of nowhere, and it was almost enough to rob him of any notions of sleep. His father had basically told him Megan's inn was haunted. Thomas had seen with his own eyes some sort of apparition in the entry hall.
What did that bode for the castle up the way?
He rolled over, punched his pillow a couple of times, then settled back in. He closed his eyes determinedly and concentrated on sleep. Either his castle would be just a pile of stones, or it would be home to all sorts of ghosts. He'd just have to go up as soon as he'd slept off his jet lag and see what he found.
Which, he was certain, would be nothing. His sister had a very active imagination. His mother even more so. They were toying with him, those two, and had somehow brought his father in on their little scheme. He snorted as he kicked the blanket off him. The castle was just a castle, and mat was that His biggest worry would be keeping his hands warm while he rebuilt. Maybe his survival gear would come in handy more than he'd hoped.
With any luck, he'd have some of his keep habitable before really nasty weather descended. That was a worthwhile goal and one he could easily achieve.
But first, sleep. He sighed a final time, turned his mind away from plans and schemes, and considered the fact that there wasn't a mountain in the entire United Kingdom higher than five thousand feet.
So what was he doing there?
He certainly didn't have the answer.
He could only hope Fate didn't, either.
Chapter 4
The woman stood on the parapet and looked out over the windswept moor. She stared up at the early-morning sun and wished that it could warm her. The heaviness of her heart weighed upon her so that she felt as if she'd almost become part of the stones beneath her feet, stones that had been standing for centuries. She felt as if she'd been standing atop those stones for centuries.
Which she had been, actually.
She sighed deeply. Normally, she wouldn't have allowed herself to wallow in such misery, but today she was powerless to rise above it. What a miserable existence she led with no fine form to enjoy the sunshine, yet all her wits about her to wish for the same. Who would have known that losing her life so unwillingly would have brought her such grief?
She had long since resigned herself to her condition, of course, but that didn't make things any easier. She had kinsmen about her now, aye, 'twas true, as well as others who had sought refuge at her crumbling keep, but that didn't ease her heart. She couldn't look at mortals without longing for what they had.
If only she'd had more time during her life. If only she'd found what her heart sought before her untimely demise. If only the bloody stones beneath her feet had been near the seashore, instead of deposited in the midst of what was surely the most uninspired landscape along the
