“Yes, well,” she begins again, “what’s done is done, and Griffin isn’t around very often.” Thankfully, she doesn’t say, but I hear it anyway. “Think about it at least. The invitation, I mean.”
I agree that I will when she begins to speak again.
“One other thing, Holly. I don’t think I need to say this, but you know we don’t stand on ceremony at Kilblair.”
“You’ve been very welcoming,” I agree.
“Sandy and I, we don’t think of ourselves as any more important than anyone else here. Each of us has a role, yes, but we’re all equally important, and I’d like to think the respect we have for each other is mutual.” She kind of half rolls her eyes as she adds, “Sandy might have a very high opinion of himself from time to time, but he usually remembers to pull his head from his rectum in the end.”
“I might’ve noticed that,” I answer with a watery laugh. His instinct is to lean towards arrogance, but his heart is usually in the right place. But the rest? I choose not to examine her words. There’s no denying the fact that he’s a duke and she’s a lady of the aristocracy, and they might fool themselves that there’s no difference between us, but the rest of us can see it.
I can’t help but like them anyway. I like them a little too much, truthfully.
“You’ve been a wonderful help to us, Holly. I hope you know that. And you’re welcome back to Kilblair anytime.”
It’s nice of her to say so, but I think we both know I won’t be taking her up on that.
Two weeks, I think to myself. Maybe he’ll think I still need space? Maybe I can tell him I need time to think?
Somehow, I know that’s not going to work. If anything, after what happened on the stairs, he’s likely to go the other way, increasing the likelihood of us bumping into each other. And why wouldn’t he when I’m so melt-y and yielding in those moments I’m in front of him?
I need to come up with a plan.
Something to make him keep his distance.
Despite the gathering dark clouds, the rain has yet to put in an appearance as I make my way around the castle, like all around the castle, in the quest to get to my bedroom. The early evening is a little cool, and I’m pleased I have my hoodie as I trudge through the longer grass, a little off the beaten path, in an effort to avoid, well, everybody, but especially Alexander.
How am I going to manage to avoid him for two more weeks?
A few days have been hard enough. I wasn’t cut out to be a spy. Plus, I’ll be so sick of ramen and cake by then. Okay, maybe just ramen.
How to avoid Alexander . . .
Maybe I could accidentally “borrow” his phone and download one of those tracker apps that parents use to monitor their child’s movements. Well, parents and suspicious spouses, I guess. But that would mean I’d need his password. What’s more, it would mean being near him. And I know how that usually ends.
Me with a smile on my face and less functioning brain cells
Maybe I could tell him I’ve decided to date Cameron after all.
No, that won’t work, not now that he seems to be dating Mari.
Cooper?
Something tells me he wouldn’t be interested.
Probably the way Alexander stared daggers at him the night he dropped me off.
I pull out my dog-eared map that isn’t really a map, but a sketch of the castle Chrissy had drawn on the back of an envelope for me my first week. According to this, there’s another door into the old wing of the castle, and from there, I can make my way, via an alternative route—a long-ass route—to the service staircase and up to my room.
I sigh. On two counts. This is going to be a long two weeks. Two weeks of many steps. And two weeks that needs a plan or an idea to keep Alexander at arm’s length.
What does he hate most in the world? Is there anything he fears? What can I use as leverage or a shield to keep him at bay?
I spot a green-painted door about five feet high. I guess they were made shorter back in the day.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, pushing on it, surprised when it creaks open.
The hallways smells dank and dusty as I take another look at my map, Chrissy’s words drifting into my memory.
“He’s taken over the steward’s office in the old part of the castle,” she’d sniffed when Griffin’s name had come up in conversation. “Nothin’ so fancy for the likes of him.”
I find myself wondering what Griffin is still doing here. It’s not me, that’s for sure. It’s clear he doesn’t like his brother, and the feeling seems mutual. Isla was very careful about what she said, but I guess Griffin must rub everyone the wrong way.
Me included.
As I close the door behind me, the hallway falls dark. Boy, Chrissy must really not like him. Not only is this the ass end of the castle but it’s also more than a little creepy.
My footsteps echo against the ancient stone as I trudge along, praying I’m going in the right direction and that I won’t end up in the dungeons. Or come face-to-face with any of the castle’s ghosts. But then I hear a noise echoing from the end of the hallway. It sounds as though someone is in pain. Like centuries of pain as a long-drawn-out wail echoes along the walls. A fist clamps around my suddenly rapidly beating heart, my feet shuffling to a stop and almost turning in the other direction.
Another moan sounds.
Where the fluff is a crucifix when you want one?
The next moan comes as I pivot on my toes. I’d rather risk bumping into Alexander than whatever lurks down there. But then the tenor changes, and I freeze in place.
Did that moan include the words, yes, daddy, again?
Surely, that’s not . . . there must be better places in the castle to have sex on the down low.
Say, the kitchen. Or behind a screen in a display room.
My steps are almost silent as I make my way along the hallway to where the light spills from an open door. I’m not a voyeur, but there’s no point in backtracking if I don’t have to. And if the “daddy and his baby” don’t want to get busted, they should’ve closed the door behind them.
Nope, not a voyeur, I think as I draw closer. Especially as it might be, say, Mr McCain and Dougal. Or Chrissy and Mr McCain. Or maybe all three of them!
Eww. I press my hand to my mouth to stifle a giggle.
“Yes! Yes! Fuck me like that!”
I’ll just close my eyes as I pass.
But then, something other than a moan sounds from the open door.
“Okay, so what do you want?”
I freeze again, this time due to the distinct lack of sexual undertone in that question. Weird, considering only a moment ago, it sounded like someone was about to . . . you know.
I hear the voice again, though the conversation is one-sided and mostly indistinct. It’s Griffin, I know that for sure, but who’s he with?
I move closer as Griffin growls, “I need more time. You’ll get me fucking struck off, then I’ll be no use to you.”
I take a super quick peek around the open door, my head immediately swinging back before I try a second time once I realise he’s facing the other way. But Griffin isn’t looking out of the window. Rather, his head is dropped between his shoulders. He’s sitting at a desk that looks nothing like Isla’s or Alexander’s. It’s easily as old but less ornate, the patina worn, and the wood scarred.