Page 4 of Wild Scottish Fortune

Right, okay. Yeah, this place was creepy.

Yet, also intriguing. The door opened directly into a main room, but I could see that the building itself stretched much farther back as part of the wall across from me had crumbled. If that was a supporting wall, it was best that I not explore much farther into the room, because I wasn’t the least bit interested in having the roof cave in on my head. Murky light filtered through dirty windows, and a musty breeze wafted through the broken panes. The floor was dirt, whatever wood that had once covered it long gone now, and a few broken chairs were piled in the corner by a massive stone fireplace.

Were those bones in the fireplace?

Intrigued, I stepped gingerly forward, my eyes narrowed on the pile in the fireplace grate.

The door slammed behind me.

Whirling, I held my hands up as the temperature of the room dropped to frigid, ice crystals forming on the windowpanes, and my breath came out in visible puffs in front of my face. Icicles dripped from the ceiling, a virtual ice cave forming around me, and I dug my nails into my palms just to feel the pain.

This isn’t real.

Whatever was happening was a figment of my imagination—too much work and too little sleep,that was all. Keeping calm, I eased myself toward the door, reaching out for the handle.

A shriek, more demonic than human, reverberated off the walls of the room, and I froze as an icicle shot directly at my head. I recovered my wits seconds before it hit my face, ducking and pivoting to avoid the blow. When it shattered against the wall at my side, the fragments piercing my cheeks with their icy cold, I’d decided I’d had enough.

Maybe it wasn’t real. But it sure as hellfeltreal and I needed out. Now.

Grabbing the knob, panic rose as I struggled to open the door, something blocking me from moving. Another icicle shattered near my head, and I ducked, throwing my arms up to protect myself as they pummeled against my back.

“Stop!” I shouted, grabbing the knob, pulling as hard as I could, but the door was wedged securely shut. “Help!”

Another shriek sounded, fear lodged in the very marrow of my bones, and I realized I could very well die here. What the hell was wrong with this door? No matter how hard I tugged, turned, or pushed, it was lodged tightly shut. Ice crusted over the hinges, and I tried to chip it away with my hands, scratching at the door, but to no avail.

“Please, help,” I begged.

Turning, certain that I was about to meet my maker, I gasped as a woman in a green dress, hooves poking out from the bottom, flitted through the window. Tossing a rock at the door behind me, she gave me a lingering look, as though she was sizing up my very soul, before the ice cave disintegrated around me. The shriek came again, lessened in itspower now, and the floating woman nodded to the door behind me, urging me to go.

I didn’t need to be told twice. Turning, I grabbed the knob, wrenching the door open before tumbling outside, gasping for air.

“Whoa there, lad. What’s wrong?”

Orla sprung from where she crouched on the ground, cuddling two dogs, and I bent at the waist and gasped for air. The panic that had grasped me now thickened around my neck, making it difficult for me to take a full breath, and I sincerely thought I might pass out as I struggled for air. Sweat dripped down my back as Orla took my arms in her hands.

Her work shoes had hearts on them.

I hadn’t noticed before that her worn leather steel-toe boots had tiny hearts etched into the leather, but it was all I could focus on as I struggled to breathe, staring down at the ground.What the hell just happened?

And what was I supposed to say?

That the cottage was haunted?

She’d laugh in my face.

One of the dogs, a corgi-type mix, a fat tartan bow at her neck, waddled forward into my line of sight and bumped her head against my leg, looking up at me with her tongue lolling out.

“Here then, just breathe, lad. In and out. Nice and slow.” Orla basically cooed at me, rubbing her hands up and down my arms, her warmth and nearness soothing me. My legs shook, and she must have noticed because she insisted on easing me to the ground. “Sit here. Just sit.”

“My trousers.”Of all things to be worried about now.But I had this innate need to take care of my things. I worked hard for everything I had, and I didn’t like when my clothes got dirty.

“I’m sure you can afford another pair.” Orla sat with me on the damp ground, at ease in her overalls, and kept quiet. Her shoulder touched mine, companionable, but not overbearing, and I reached out to run my hand across the dog that was currently trying to clamber into my lap.

“Is she yours?” I asked, needing to distract myself from the icy panic that was still lodged in my core.

“Lady Lola is the woman of the castle. The one growling over there is Sir Buster. He puts on a tough show, but he’ll get jealous of you giving attention to Lola soon enough and make his way over to fuss at us.”

I glanced to the chihuahua in a tartan collar who was currently pretending he wasn’t the least bit interested in either of us, occasionally shooting us a glare and raising his lip in a growl.

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