Free In Bed with the Highlander by Ann Lethbridge Page B

another
arch revealed three stone steps winding up to a door. Please let them arrive at
en suite plumbing. She didn’t fancy trotting down the corridor with her
lally-bag, toothbrush and towel in hand. She trotted over to investigate. The
steps did indeed end up in a bathroom—shower, bath, bidet and a
black-and-white-tiled floor expansive enough for a ball. Lovely. She’d survive
the night. And be on the road in the morning to find a place she could
afford.
    Although, a few days might be nice in the back-of-beyond, in a
castle... Quite romantic. If she wasn’t alone.
    Duh. Alone was the story of her life, since she kicked Alec the
Snake out of her bed and her apartment. And she was better off, too. She should
just enjoy this unexpected little jaunt into luxury and pay up and look big in
the morning.
    The phone on the desk rang. She leaped sky-high. Well, not
quite. Five-inch heels didn’t allow for sky-high. It was her heart doing the
jumping. She picked up the receiver of an old phone with a dial. “Hello?”
    “Given the late hour, Miss McLellan, you’ll be wanting your
supper in your room.” The soft voice proclaimed the answer to a question she
hadn’t asked. Why not? At least she wouldn’t have to mix and mingle and be
polite to a bunch of starstruck tourists, if any had been lucky enough to
stumble on this place. Stumble? They’d have had to fight the mist to find their
way here.
    She glanced at her watch. Almost ten. She hadn’t realized how
late it was, or how long she’d been driving. “What’s on the menu?” she
asked.
    “There’s haggis, and deer and rabbit—”
    “Whoa!” And yuck. “I’ll have fish—trout if you have
it—vegetables, no starch and a half bottle of chardonnay. Is that possible at
this hour?” She crossed her fingers behind her back.
    “Yes, Miss McLellan. It is, with pleasure. It will be with you
in half an hour.”
    “Thank you.” She dropped the receiver into its cradle and
kicked off her shoes. She wiggled her toes to restore some feeling. She loved
those damned shoes, but not after five hours of working accelerator, brake and
clutch.
    Half an hour would give her time for a shower. After dinner a
bit of news on the TV and a good night’s sleep would set her up for another
drive in the morning. She glanced around and frowned. Odd? No TV. She poked in
the cupboard in the desk and opened the armoire, which looked like an original
antique, but didn’t find a television or even a radio in disguise. Instead she
found a book on the history of the castle next to the teapot.
    Well, she’d hoped to learn something about the district while
she was here. Perhaps this would help.
    First thing in the morning, she’d speak to the hotel’s manager,
apologize for the misunderstanding and be on her way right after breakfast.
    The shower turned out to be a wonderful gush of hot water,
instead of the halfhearted trickle she’d expected and she’d eaten her dinner
sitting on the bed in her pajamas. After half an hour of the history of
Glencovie Castle, she could barely keep her eyes open. She flipped off the light
and drew the bed curtains closed. Perfect darkness. Ah, she really was sleepy.
All that driving....
    * * *
    Moirag’s eyes shot open. Her heart was pounding
pneumatic-drill style. She felt nauseous, the way she’d felt as a kid when
someone whirled you round and round before you pinned the tail on the donkey.
Only, she never made it that far. To her it always felt as if she’d been sucked
down the drain with the water from a bathtub. She recalled having the same
feeling when Granny had shown her that image of a castle in the water. Why was
she having it now, in bed? She must have been dreaming. She waited for the
horrible feeling to subside.
    God, it was dark in here. Where the hell was here? Right. Road
trip. Castle. Bed curtains. She must have been mad to pull them closed against
the draft from the open window. And what was she doing dreaming about being spun
in