“Well, geez, thank you, Baodan. You really shouldn’t flatter me so.” She laughed again and continued. “It’s been a long day, okay? And sure, a bath sounds wonderful.”
She turned and looked at him. “Goodnight, Duncan. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
On impulse, he leaned down low to whisper in her ear. “I think ye look lovely, lass. Sleep well, Madeline. Thank ye for yer kindness today.”
Without another word, the lass whirled and took off toward the castle at a much quicker pace than she’d left it.
No wonder he was still alone. He’d never had much of a way with the lassies.
Madeline
I was still trembling by the time I made it to my bedroom, but this time my shaking hands had nothing to do with watching my stepmother faint. The feel of Duncan’s warm breath against the side of my face had quite nearly undone me. It took me until the tub in my room was fully filled and ready for me before I was able to compose myself.
I was too old for this nonsense. Too old to be lusting after a man I didn’t know. Too old to be imagining what he looked like underneath his kilt, and just how good it would feel to have his hands rip my dress right off of me.
Shaking my head, I thanked the young woman who’d drawn my bath and moved to undress in front of the mirror. The moment I gazed back at my reflection, I reared back in horror.
No wonder Baodan had been so blunt. I looked as if I’d spent the past week sleeping in the stables. The day had been so strange and busy that I’d completely forgotten that when exposed to moisture—and without the necessary hairspray I relied so heavily upon in my own time—my hair would balloon up to three times its normal height and size.
I looked ridiculous. Not only was my hair almost out past the width of my shoulders, but the bottom of my dress was caked in mud from the hike back from Henry’s. And on top of everything, there was a giant piece of food stuck in between my two front teeth.
Mortified, I scrambled out of my dress and all but dove into the tub, putting my head all the way underneath the water.
Perhaps if I held my breath long enough, the lack of oxygen would help me to forget the entire embarrassing ordeal.
Duncan didn’t think I looked lovely—there was no way in hell that was true. He was just a kind man showing me pity.
I might as well have been in the skin of my thirteen-year-old daughter. Mortified by a boy. Embarrassed beyond comprehension. There was no coming back from this. No recovery. Nothing I could do to save face.
I was never leaving my bedroom again.
And that was simply the end of it.
Chapter 10
Rosie
Once again, Rosie found herself wide awake while the rest of the castle slept, but this time one of her beloved books wasn’t the source of her insomnia.
The events of the day ate at her, churning over and over incessantly as she tried to figure out what she could do.
She loved her new grandmother. She understood her desire to protect Baodan and keep him from feeling the loss of his first wife again.
But her grandmother’s decision was wrong. She could feel it in her bones.
If Osla wanted to be back in this castle badly enough to haunt Duncan until he brought her here, Rosie knew being locked deep down in the cellar wouldn’t do.
Osla had once been the lady of this castle. She deserved to be put in a place of respect—she deserved to be loved. She deserved to be seen and looked at and acknowledged. If Rosie could do nothing else, she could at least do that.
Rosie glanced around her room as the idea took root. There was so much space in her new room, plenty of places to keep a portrait.
Setting her mind to it, Rosie slipped on her shoes, picked up her candle, and left her bedroom in the dead of night.
She would see Osla out of the cellar and into the best room in the whole castle. It was the least the poor woman deserved.
So what if the portrait really was haunted, Rosie thought to herself?
She’d always wanted to see a ghost anyway.
Chapter 11
Duncan
For the first time in a week, he slept dreamlessly. When he woke with the sun, all of the anxiety of the past week was lifted. His mother was right. Returned to her home, the lass in the painting no longer haunted him. If that were the only result of his trip, the journey would’ve been worth it. But now, with a job secured—a good paying one at that—he found himself almost grateful to the lass for haunting him as he slept. Without Osla’s haunted portrait, he would’ve never had reason to travel to McMillan territory.
A restful night’s sleep, a day of hard work ahead of him, and—the thought that appealed to him the most—another chance to speak to the strange and intriguing lass, Madeline. For the first time in a long time, Duncan found himself excited for the days ahead of him.
A soft knock on the door to his room preceded a voice he’d grown quite familiar with over dinner the night before—wee Cooper.
Stepping away from the letter that was now ready to send his mother’s way, he rose to answer the door.
“Good morning. Are you hungry?”
Confused, Duncan nodded slowly. “Aye, I am lad. Why are ye here at the inn?”
“I work here.” The boy smiled and shrugged. “Well, I say work. It’s really more like I volunteer here. I don’t really need the money, but I do need to keep myself busy—at least that’s what everyone at the castle tells me—and I just love Isobel and Gregor, so I help out here when the inn is really full. She sent me up here to see if you were hungry. She said she has food for us downstairs if you want some.”
By God, the lad spoke quickly.
“For us, ye say?”
The young boy shrugged again. “Yeah. If it’s all right, I thought I would join you again. I’m pretty hungry too.”
“O’course. Give me but a moment to seal me letter, and I shall be right down.”
With wax already melting, he sealed the message to his mother, and made the short trip downstairs to breakfast. The entire inn smelled heavenly. Fresh baked bread and some sort of seasoned meat had his stomach growling by the time he reached the table.
As expected, the moment he sat down, Cooper began to speak again.
“How did you sleep?”
“Better than I have in ages. It seems returning the portrait did just as me mother hoped. I am no longer haunted by her.”
“Huh?”
Duncan’s blood suddenly chilled all the way through as his mistake reverberated through him. How could he be so daft? The boy’s familiarity had confused him. Cooper hadn’t been the child there when he arrived. It had been Madeline’s daughter. This child knew nothing of the haunted painting.
“Ach, nothing, lad. Doona fash over it.”
Cooper didn’t believe him. The expression in the young boy’s eyes made that clear.
“It doesn’t sound like nothing. What painting? And what haunting? I really don’t like ghosts.”
“Have ye seen one then?”
“What?” The young boy’s voice went up an octave. “Of course not, and I really don’t want to either. Is there a ghost haunting you?”
“Nae, lad.”
“But there was?”
The child was relentless. Mayhap ’twas a blessing he’d ne’er had any of his own. His patience grew thinner by the second.
“I was speaking nonsense, lad. Please. Leave this be and eat yer breakfast.”
Cooper hesitated, but Duncan could see that the boy was incapable of doing as he’d asked. It only took a handful of seconds for Cooper to insist once again.
“It didn’t sound like nonsense. You said that now that you’d returned it you were no longer haunted. Where did you return it? The castle?”
The child’s voice was still pitchy and panicked. He hurried to reassure him.
“Fine, lad. Ye have worn me down. I will tell ye, but ye must promise no’ to tell anyone else. Do ye understand?”
“I promise.”
/> “Aye. I returned a portrait to the castle. Aye, ’twas haunting me, but now that the painting is returned to its home, it will no longer haunt anyone.”
“So there isn’t a ghost at the castle?”
Duncan shook his head.
“You promise?”
He gave the boy one simple nod in assurance.
“Good. Can I ask you one other question?”
Duncan laughed and bit into a piece of steaming hot bread.
“Ye shall anyway.”
“Can I work with you today? Help you out? I like learning new things and maybe you could teach me how to do what you do.”
Duncan sat silently a moment. The lad was a handful. He wasn’t sure he could stand a day of the boy chattering away, but the job was a large one. A helping hand would go a long way.
“If yer Ma and Da doona mind it, and ye promise to do as I tell ye, then aye. I canna pay ye though.”
“I don’t want you to pay me. I just want to learn.”
Duncan smiled. He liked the child. Even if the boy talked far too much.
“Perfect. Then I shall welcome yer assistance.”
For the briefest of moments, the two ate together silently before Cooper spoke up again.
“Everyone at the castle really likes you.”
Duncan smiled. The wee lad really couldn’t help himself.
“Well, I am glad for it. I want those employing me to be satisfied with me service.”
“Yeah. Someone at the castle really seems to like you.”
Not keen to take the child’s bait, Duncan continued eating his meal.
“Don’t you want to know who it is?”
“No’ particularly, lad. I doona care for gossip.”
Duncan glanced up from his breakfast to see Cooper frowning.
“I don’t gossip. I’m just trying to tell you something that I think you’d like to know. I heard Madeline tell Mom that you were the most exciting thing to happen to the castle since she moved here. And I gotta tell you, Duncan. Ms. Madeline doesn’t get excited about much.”
Duncan detested gossip, but in this instance, the boy was right. He did enjoy knowing that Madeline liked him. Mayhap he hadn’t made a total dolt out of himself the night before. The next time he saw her, he would make certain to test the waters further.
Chapter 12
Three Days Later
Rosie
Rosie couldn’t take it another moment. She couldn’t be startled awake for another night. This had to end once and for all.
Returning the portrait to the castle hadn’t done what Duncan hoped. Rather than putting the poor woman’s soul to rest, the painting had simply moved on from haunting Duncan. Now she spent her nights haunting Rosie, and Rosie couldn’t bear another moment of it.
Sure, she’d wanted to see a ghost in theory. And while she hadn’t seen an actual ghost yet, what she had seen was enough to put her curiosity to rest.
For the third night in a row, Rosie found herself awake in the darkest hours of the night. Only this time, she wasn’t going to allow Osla to wake her. This time, she would see it happen in real time. Perched on the end of her bed, her blanket wrapped around her shoulders, candles lit around the room so she could keep a close eye on the painting, Rosie waited.
She would see the painting start to rattle. She would see Osla’s eyes shift ever so slightly. She had to see it. She needed to witness the act herself to know for certain that her late-night horror story readings hadn’t caused her to imagine all of it.
The first night, it was easy to convince herself that it was only her imagination at play. Tell someone a house is haunted and it won’t take long for something to happen to convince them it’s true—even if it isn’t. Her reading had shown her that much. She imagined a painting could work much the same way.
She’d been told the painting was haunted. Now her mind was working overtime to prove to herself that it was. But it wasn’t her imagination that caused the painting to fall from its propped position against her wall, and she swore that Osla’s eyes shifted just a little that first night after she lifted her back up into place.
The second night was even more obvious. The corner of Osla’s mouth was most assuredly turned up at one side after falling and her eyes looked even more changed.
Still, she’d yet to see anything actually happen. Both nights she’d only witnessed the aftermath after being awakened by a clamor. This time she needed to see it.
One hour passed. Then two. By the third, she was almost convinced that perhaps it had been her mind inventing it all. Maybe the frame was bent at the bottom making it unstable and causing it to fall over onto its face? Maybe she hadn’t properly studied Osla’s face before and only thought that it had changed.
But then, three and a half hours into her stakeout, something in the room began to shift. A chill washed over Rosie as the air grew cold around her. Reaching up a hand, she quickly rubbed at her eyes to push the sleep away as her hand holding the candle began to shake.
Then, ever so slowly, the portrait began to tremble, back and forth, back and forth against the wall. Rosie wanted to scream but couldn’t manage to open her mouth enough to do so. Instead, she gripped her blanket more closely around her shoulders and watched.
Osla’s eyes suddenly jerked inside the painting, changing directions until it looked as if she were peering right at Rosie. Rosie locked eyes with Osla’s pleading gaze before the painting rocked hard once more and fell onto its face.
“That’s it. Enough.” Rosie said the words aloud as she stood with the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders. Still shaking, Rosie ran from the room, unsure of just who she intended to seek out until she found herself in front of Cooper’s bedroom door.
Knowing that Cooper shared his room with his younger siblings, Rosie pushed the door open as quietly as she could, tiptoeing toward the edge of his bed before placing a hand over his mouth as she lowered herself to whisper into his ear.
“Wake up. I need you.”
Rosie couldn’t see Cooper’s expression in the darkness, but his weary voice struggled to answer against her hand before she released him.
“Ro..Rosie?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Come here. I need your help.”
Without a word, Cooper rose from his bed and followed her out into the hallway. No matter how much he got on her nerves, she had to admit that Cooper never did let her down when she really needed him.
As soon as Cooper closed the door behind him, Rosie reached for his hand and began to pull him back toward her own bedroom.
“Cooper, I did something I shouldn’t have, and I need your help to get rid of it.”
Cooper’s voice was hesitant as he answered her.
“What did you do?”
“I think it’s better if I show you. It’s in my bedroom.”
Cooper
He couldn’t let Rosie see how frightened he truly was. She already thought he was too young—too little—as she so often liked to point out to him. No. Rosie was frightened. That meant he had to be strong for her. This wasn’t a ghost. This was just a painting—a haunted painting.
It didn’t matter how fast his heart beat in his chest. It didn’t matter how tired he was. His Rosie was scared, and he simply had to find a way to be strong for her.
“Why did you take it out of the cellar, Rosie?”
Rosie sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know. I felt bad for her. This was her home. I didn’t think she needed to be locked away in the cellar as if she didn’t belong here. I understand why grandmother didn’t want to make Baodan sad, but I just thought she needed to be somewhere where she could be seen.”
Rosie was the best girl in the world. Of course she cared about the woman in the painting. It was one of the many reasons that Cooper loved her so much.
“Well, what do you think we should do now?”
Rosie hesitated and a familiar apprehension built in Cooper’s gut. Whatever Rosie was about to suggest, he was likely to get i
n trouble for it. He could sense it in every part of his being.
“I think we should burn it.”
“Burn it?” Cooper knew his voice rose too loudly at the question, but it was the last thing he expected her to say.
Consult a grown-up? Likely.
Return it to the cellar? Possible.
Burn it? Never.
“Why would you want to burn it?”
“Maybe she’s trapped in the painting, Cooper, and burning it will set her free? Sort of like cremating a body—ashes to ashes and all that.”
Cooper shivered at the thought. He didn’t want to think about burning the painting—let alone burning bodies.
“Where would we even burn something?”
“Somewhere outside of the village. Far enough away that no one will see the smoke.”
Cooper sighed. Just like with the cake—Rosie’s mind was set. No matter what he said to her, there would be no talking her out of it.
“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
Rosie shrugged. “I don’t care. I’m doing it. You don’t have to come, if you don’t want to.”
Rosie knew he would come. She wouldn’t have woken him up, otherwise.
Chapter 13
Madeline
I saw little of Duncan after his first night here. I would pass him while on my way to Henry’s, but he was always so busy working and visiting with his new assistant, Cooper, that we’d only exchanged a polite wave and a smile.
Perhaps it was for the best. While a bout of uncharacteristic optimism had seized me at first, I could now see that pursuing a relationship with anyone in this century was asking for trouble. The men that lived among the modern women at McMillan Castle were not the norm. It wasn’t possible for that many more of them in all of Scotland to be so accepting as the group I was acquainted with.
The Curse of McMillan Castle - A Novella (A Scottish Time Travel Romance): Book 12.5 Page 5