Free Once Upon a Plaid by Mia Marlowe

of glamour about it, Nab would use it to wish himself to blend into the cold stone of the tower, invisible as a spirit, so Dorcas wouldn’t see him and would go away. But since he could still see his own hands, he figured the scepter didn’t work that way.
    Dorcas peered over the lip of the floor as she cleared the last of the stone steps. “What are ye doing here, Nab?”
    She’d never believe he was reading. He tucked the book under a flap of his kilt.
    “I’m . . . I . . . ye canna be here.”
    “And yet, here I am, so I most certainly can.” She tipped her round face to the side and raised a brow at him. “But ye probably shouldna be here either. The stairs are in such disrepair, I shouldna wonder if the whole tower isna about to tumble into the loch.”
    “Nay, ’tis safe enough.” He’d made sure of that, pacing the length of the small chamber and examining the walls for crumbling mortar. “Leaks a bit when the weather turns soft, though.”
    She peered at the overhead thatch. A watermark stained the stones to the right of the window. “Someone needs to scrub that or it’ll go black with mold. I’ll bring a pail and brush when I come next time, shall I?”
    “Next time. Ye mean to come again?”
    “Aye, and why not? D’ye think ye’re the only one who’d like a place to disappear to from time to time?”
    Yes, he had. That was exactly what he’d thought. He was the only one who needed to get away, who needed to distance himself from all the noise and chatter. All the poking and prodding and people pressed up against each other . . . Sometimes living in such close quarters with so many others made him feel like a swarm of midges were loose inside him.
    Dorcas turned her pale eyes on the contents of the small room, her gaze darting from the chest to the sorry-looking rugs and meager stash of candles. Seeing it as she did, he realized the place was hopelessly shabby, but surprisingly enough, she grinned at him.
    “We canna bring more furniture up the stairs. The opening in the bricks below is too small and even a pair of chairs would overwhelm this wee space. But I found an old wolf pelt in the lumber room last week. It would warm the floor better than those rugs, I’ll warrant.”
    “Ye want to change things?”
    “Only for the better, Nab.”
    “When things change, ’tis usually not better. Things usually get worse.” Hadn’t he warned William of that?
    “Not necessarily. Dinna ye have a hope of something better?” Her cheeks pinkened as her gaze darted away from him. “Findin’ a lass and gettin’ married someday, perhaps?”
    There was a strange twinge in his chest at that. He’d never considered getting married, but he supposed it was different for a girl. Working in service, Dorcas had little chance of making a decent match. Nab felt sorry for her. He decided to try to cheer her up about it.
    “I wouldna worry that ye’re not a wife, or be in a hurry to marry, were I ye.”
    “Did I say I was in a hurry to wed?”
    “Nay, but—”
    “Then I’ll thank ye not to put words in my mouth.”
    Who knew girls were so touchy? Nab hunched his shoulders, making himself as small as possible. “I just mean that since ye have no property or dowry, any husband ye might find is likely to be some old boar with no teeth and one foot in the grave, so marriage isna something ye should covet. Especially since—”
    “Let me be the judge of that,” she interrupted and then went on to denigrate his parentage for several generations.
    Her words tumbled on top of his. He sometimes imagined that words hovered in the air like little soap bubbles, unheard until they burst in someone else’s ear. Now he wondered if his wee floating wordlets felt as overwhelmed as he did by the way she ran roughshod over them.
    “And have a care with yer predictions, Master Nab,” she said archly. “In my family, women have the Sight. And I know I shall marry for love.”
    “Ye’ll not wed at all unless Lord