Free Top O' the Mournin' by Maddy Hunter Page A

childbed. The name of the Irishman who dared marry an English lady has been lost to history, but the name of the castle is…Ballybantry.”
    I stared at her, spellbound. “Has anyone ever seen the ghosts?”
    “A handful of people swear they’ve seen the girl rattling doors in the hall in search of her lover. Others claim she moves chairs close to the window so she can sit and wait for him to appear. And she’s blamed with filching articles of a personal nature from guests’ rooms, items that might provide small comfort to her as she wanders through eternity.”
    KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!
    “EHH!” I leaped out of my chair. I liked scary stories, but I wasn’t so keen about finding myself at ground zero. “Don’t anyone move,” I said bravely, ignoring the goose bumps that were tap-dancing up and down my spine. “I’ll get the door.” I was pretty sure a ghost wouldn’t bother to knock.
    “That’s an awful good story,” said Nana. “Maybe they could use this place as the location for the next Survivor series. If you’re a contestant in a haunted castle, maybe they’d even let you order takeout ’stead a forcin’ you to eat rodents and bugs.”
    I checked the peephole and opened the door. Etienne stood before a baggage trolley crammed with luggage. “If you see your suitcase, point it out. And by the way, I missed you today.” He cupped his hand around my neck and kissed my mouth. Unh.
    “Why are you playing porter?” I asked dizzily. “You’re one of the paying guests. You get to have your luggage delivered to your door.”
    “I haven’t mastered the art of how to stand around doing nothing. If there’s activity going on, I need to be in the middle of it. Besides, I assume the guests would like their bags tonight. I feared that being the bastion of inefficiency he is, Michael might not finish unloading the luggage bays until next week.”
    Bless his little Swiss heart. “That’s so sweet,” I gushed. Was this guy proving to be a perfect ten or what? He probably even liked animals and small children. He was the catch of the century, and even though I was a little squeamish about this sudden possibility of another marriage, intuition told me that if I didn’t reel him in, some other woman would be only too happy to do the honors.
    But what if I was jumping the gun? What if the question he wanted to ask me was more basic, like what side of the bed did I like to sleep on, or was I the type of woman who’d freak out if he left the toilet seat up? Hmm. Maybe I needed to see the whole picture before I got too far ahead of myself. “About the question you’ve been meaning to ask me,” I hedged. “Would now be a good time for you?”
    “Now?” He looked around him. “I’d envisioned a slightly more intimate setting than a hotel corridor, darling. Say, something with candlelight, and champagne, and an obscene amount of bare flesh.” He trailed a slow knuckle down my cheek. “What if we synchronize our watches and meet in my room a little later? I’ve seen the room. I have a king-size bed.”
    This job was starting to cramp my style. I hesitated. “I have a teensy problem. Rule number eight of my Escort’s Manual. I have to be available in my own room in case any of my group needs me.”
    He nodded supreme understanding. “Then shall I plan to come down here? Your Escort’s Manual doesn’t prohibit guests from visiting you in your own room, does it?”
    I sighed. “As it happens, I have a teensy problem with that too.”
    Nana poked her head out the door. “I thought I heard Inspector Miceli’s voice. That was real nice a you to help Mr. Malooley with the luggage. Poor man needs all the help he can get. Makes you wonder what line of work he was in before he took up bus drivin’.” She eyed the luggage trolley. “My grip’s right on top there if you wanna haul it down. The big red one.”
    “What’s your room number, Mrs. Sippel? I’ll deliver it to your door.”
    “You just did.