Page 45 of A Scot on the Rocks

Jamie lifted both hands. “Then I’ll wait outside.”

She vanished behind the screen, muttering curses under her breath.

“If I hear one sound, Jamie Campbell, I swear on every bottle behind my grandmother’s bar, I will make your life a living hell.”

Wisely, he retreated through the archway and crossed the old hall where rain tapped through a rather large hole in the roof and gathered in shallow hollows across the stones. He made it three steps towards the door before Olivia’s voice rose from behind the screen.

“Pox-faced cabbage of a century.”

By the time she emerged, chin held high, carrying the chamber pot outside with a look of disgust on her face, Jamie had arranged his face into something he hoped resembled respectful neutrality. When she returned carrying the empty pot and took it behind the screen, setting it down with a clang and cursing some more, his shoulders shook but he didna laugh. Olivia stepped out from behind the screen and narrowed her eyes.

“You heard.”

“Only the cursing.” He cocked a brow at her. “Do all Boston ladies speak like ye?”

“No.”

“A pity.”

She scowled at him. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

“I’m wounded ye would think so.”

“You’re delighted that I swear as much as you do.”

He grinned. “A wee bit.”

She sat in one of the chairs near the hearth, rubbing her hands together. “Why does everyone believe this place is haunted?”

“Come on, I’ll show ye.” He picked up the lantern and led her through the chamber to the oldest parts of the castle.

He went over to a tattered tapestry hanging on the wall, reached behind it, and pulled a cord. A length of white linen slid slowly from behind it while the lantern threw a wavering shadow across the damp stone.

For one deeply satisfying moment, Olivia merely stared. Then her gaze traveled upward, found the pulley, followed the cord, returned to the cloth, and finally settled on him.

“That’s your ghost?”

The tone of her voice made him scowl as he crossed his arms. “I’ll have ye know, it has frightened excise men, travelers, cattle drovers, and one rather drunk minister.”

Olivia crossed the room and ducked beneath the linen to examine how it had been hung. “It looks like laundry.”

“It looks better at night.”

Jamie rested one booted foot against the wall as she tested the pulley and peered behind the tapestry as if she had every right in the world to inspect his handiwork.

“You’re verra critical for a woman who ate my food and slept beneath my roof without paying a farthing.”

“I’m just trying to help. There has to be more than this.” She straightened and studied him. “There is. You’ve got the look.”

“What look?”

“The one that says you think you’re clever. Well, go on then, show me.”

There was absolutely no reason to indulge her, which was why Jamie found himself reaching for the second cord. He gave it a sharp pull, and three hollow knocks sounded from the far side of the hall. Olivia jumped as he grinned.

He pulled again, and three more knocks echoed through the stone. This time she followed the sound, crossing the hall, then stopped and crouched beside the wall where she found the narrow wooden panel concealed behind a loose stone, and ran her fingertips along the edge before sitting back on her heels.

“You made a knocking system.”