Page 8 of Madly Deeply

"Right. It’s time." She opened her own door, something he wouldn’t have stomached before.

"Let’s go see what these chancers have been up to.”

“I’ll settle for a night where no one makes me cry.”

The front door opened before she reached it and a cloud of yummy smells floated out to greet them. Bronagh McLeish's welcoming smile made Alexandra's chest ache--she hadn't realized how much she'd missed these people.

"There she is!" Bronagh pulled her in for a fierce hug that made her bones protest. "Come in, come in. Everyone's dying to see you."

Spreag snorted at the unfortunate word choice. “Care to make bets on who will be the first to make ye greet?”

Alex ignored him.

The rich aromaof lamb stew wrapped around her like a warm plaid as she moved into the heart of the house. The living room buzzed with conversation and laughter and hovering above it all was Bronagh's enormous painting. The subject was a clearly 18thcentury Wyndham resplendent in red tartan, the vivid color a perfect contrast to his tanned complexion.

Bronagh had painted it back when she thought she was only imagining her husband’s ghost.

As if drawn by the power of his own image, Wyndham stood beneath it now, unconsciously mirroring the pose.

"Third time tonight," Bronagh whispered, while they waited for others to notice her arrival. "He does it without even knowing."

"I heard that," Wyndham called out, quickly dropping his arms to his sides before heading over.

"Caught again," Spreag murmured near Alexandra's ear. "Poor sod can't help himself. Picture's too flatterin’ by half."

She bit her lips together to keep from laughing.

Meg Houser and Wren Buchanan waved from the sofa where they were browsing a scrapbook. Their husbands stood on the far side of the room, caught up in a common debate over brands of whisky.

"Alexandra!" Wyndham scooped her up and spun her in a circle. "I wasnae sure ye'd come."

"Neither was I," she admitted.

"Well, we're glad ye did." His brows lifted and his face lightened. "Ye look...better."

"Amazing what a good lunch can do."

Spreag positioned himself near the fireplace, close enough that she could see him clearly but not so near that she'd be tempted to acknowledge him. Smart man.

The evening progressed pleasantly. The food was excellent, the table conversation light. Alexandra found herself genuinely laughing at Duncan's stories about adjusting to modern life after centuries as a ghost.

"--so there I am," Duncan was saying, "trying to walk through the automatic door at Tesco like I always did, andbam!"He smacked the table. "Broke my nose."

"Served ye right," Meg said, but she squeezed his hand affectionately.

"Watch yerself," Spreag murmured from his spot behind Alexandra's chair. "Wren’s about to knock over yer coke."

The woman’s arm nudged the glass, but Alex caught it before it could spill.

"Nice save," Wren said.

Shug watched her closely. Too closely. Had he noticed something?

Wyndham cleared his throat. "Alexandra, ye never did tell us what ye plan to do about the university. Will ye be returnin’ to teach?"

She shrugged and pushed food around her plate. "Everything's still up in the air."

"Ye should go back," Spreag said. "Ye love teaching. And it’s not like money will ever be an issue again. Ye’ll find I’ve set up an account for ye…with a little help from Wickham and some of the King’s Treasure."

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