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She felt the nimble touch again, more familiar this time, then it stopped and she was able to breathe and then sit up. She turned on the light, hands at her throat, gasping for air. Her heart was pounding out of control. What in the hell had just happened?
You had a bad dream. Get up, get a book—not a ghost story, fool—and get your mind off of it.
She couldn’t believe she was nervous about getting out of the bed again. There was no safety within; she’d already proven that. Should she ring the bell? Call Memphis and have him come sit with her? She didn’t want to be alone.
She heard footsteps in the hall again. Okay. She was tired of this. She pulled her sweater on and went to the door, flung it open.
Trixie was standing in the corridor, four feet from the door. She was slightly turned away, like she was about to leave.
“All right, mum?” she asked, eyes full of concern. Fake concern, Taylor knew. Trixie had no love for her.
“I’m fine,” Taylor answered, her voice barely above a whisper, but working.
“Forgive me, mum. I heard you screaming fit to wake the dead. I came to see if you were sick.”
Great. If she’d awakened the servants, had Memphis heard too? He’d come to her last night after she’d cried out, but not tonight. She didn’t know how to feel about that.
“Is Memphis awake?”
“I don’t rightly know, mum. Shall I fetch himself to you?”
“No, no. There’s no reason to bother him.”
“Aye. I have some tea for you, should you be needing it. Will help you sleep.”
Over Trixie’s shoulder, Taylor saw the tray on a linen-covered rolling cart. It was a singularly kind gesture on the older woman’s part. Maybe Memphis was right. Once she saw Taylor wasn’t going to try and take Evan’s place, she’d warm up.
“Thank you.”
Trixie brought the tray in, got the tea arranged and poured. “’Tis chamomile, from the gardens. Will knock out a horse if needs be. Drink up your cuppa, and you’ll have nae more bad dreams t’night.”
Taylor sat in the chair and put the porcelain to her lips. The tea was very hot. She blew on it and took a tiny sip, then set the cup in its saucer.
“Trixie?”
“Yes, mum?”
“You were Memphis’s nurse when he was growing up, right?”
“Aye, mum.”
“So you’ve been in the castle for many years.”
“Aye. Seen it all from this lot. Drink your tea now, that’s good.”
Taylor took another sip, surprised at how relaxed she felt. The tea was good. She didn’t normally care for chamomile, but this one was lightly sweetened and went down easily.
“Trixie, have you ever seen a ghost in the castle?”
The housekeeper laid a finger on her mouth for a moment, then answered with a nod. “Och, aye. The castle’s full of ’em. Is that what happened then, one of the wee beasties came to visit? Can put you right off your sleep, they can.” Her voice had softened. Taylor could see that she might make a good nursemaid to the children after all.
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Taylor said.
“Of course you don’t. You’re American. Lacking in imagination.” She said it without rancor, just a statement of fact. “We Scots are surrounded, always have been. We know there’s more to life than work and death. Our people stay with us, guide us through, so we don’t make too much of a hash of things. Now, you must be feeling better. Get yourself into bed and get back to sleep.”
“Let’s not mention this to Memphis, all right?”
“No, dear. I won’t breathe a word.”
Taylor allowed herself to be talked to like a small child and, ushered back into the bedroom. She, climbed into the bed. But after Trixie left, she went to the door and double locked it, tilting a chair against the handle. No one would be able to get in without making a racket and waking her.
She went to the window, looked out onto the blackened landscape. The snow had stopped. Quiet as death, the night outside. She started to turn away but saw a light, off in the distance. Bobbing, as if someone were walking with a flashlight.
She extinguished her lights so her silhouette wouldn’t be seen against the window and watched. The light grew closer, and she recognized the powerful beam of a Maglite. The shape of the figure came into view as it passed beneath the huge Douglas fir trees. A man. It was Memphis. What was he doing, out wandering around in the middle of the cold, dark night?
He looked up at her window then. She pulled back a bit—there was no way he could see her, it was dark in the room except for the firelight, and she was back far enough away from the window as to be out of the line of sight, but he watched for a few minutes. She watched him back, wondering what in the world he was up to.
He finally turned away, toward the doors of the castle. She let the curtain fall across the sash and crept back to her bed. She was feeling strange. Hot. Dizzy. Yes, she’d definitely taken too many pain pills today.
She lay down, her body tired but her mind whirling. Memphis was up and about. Could he have gotten into her room? Could he have been the one touching her, wrapping his arms around her, holding her down, and she was simply so groggy from sleep and medicine as to not recognize it was him? The housekeeper had been lurking right outside her door. Had she been aware of her master’s intent?
A chill went down her body. Surely not. She was being ridiculous. Her imagination was getting away with her.
Just in case, she checked herself for wetness or telltale soreness. She felt nothing unusual, then felt insane for even entertaining the thought. As if Memphis would drug her, then sneak into her room and force her to have sex? That was ludicrous.
Wasn’t it?
CHAPTER THIRTY
It could have been minutes, or hours. Taylor stared at the ceiling until her eyelids drooped shut. The headache began to dissipate, and her body relaxed into the sheets. She heard a noise, like fingers scratching at her door. Not again. She couldn’t open her eyes, wouldn’t open her eyes. If she ignored it, it would go away.
The door opened. Her lids colored from the dim light of the hallway sconces. Then everything was dark again. Her heart began to race.
“Taylor.” The voice was deep, and strong.
Not a ghost.
Memphis.
He’d brought the chill in from the night sky. She could feel him shivering. She kept her eyes tightly shut. She didn’t want to see.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered.
“Don’t be. I’ll keep you safe.”
His hand cupped her cheek, the flesh cold, but warming as it touched hers. She didn’t move, didn’t dare. Soft, light touches on her face, her neck, followed by his lips. He kissed her scars, flicked his tongue against her earlobe, slid his mouth slowly down her neck to her collarbone. She began to squirm, and he said, “Be still.” She forced herself to stop moving. The exquisite agony continued, her breasts, her stomach. She was suddenly unclothed, naked in the bed, the crisp sheets cool against her bare skin. The heat from his body was enough to warm her.
He ducked his head between her legs and worked her into a frenzy. She couldn’t help herself. She arched to meet his mouth, dug her fingers in his hair. At the moment she was about to lose herself, as if he knew, he pulled back, left her panting, dying for more. He rose up above her, slid his hands up her rib cage, around to her back, down under her ass, and let his body move up the length of her, his mouth finding her lips as he lifted her slightly off the bed and entered her, fast and hard, with one thrust.
She moaned into his mouth. He didn’t move. They were touching from head to toe, co