“What, what, what?”
She grinned. “Are we pretending to be Englishmen, what-what?”
To her delight, his frown faded to a bemused expression. “I’m no’ quite certain what to make of ye, Leanna Oliphant.”
“Excellent! Then my plan is working!”
The chuckle which escaped his lips wasn’t planned, judging from the surprise in his eyes, but it faded as his chuckles grew, and her heart warmed.
When his shoulder touched hers and they unconsciously leaned toward one another, she might have accidentally announced, “I like ye, Kenneth.”
Before she had the chance to wince—again—at her own foolishness, his grin grew. “Good, because I like ye too. What’s this about a ghost?”
Well, now she was feeling rather proud of herself—and her castle and her clan.
“We have quite a few ghosts, but the Ghostly Drummer of Oliphant Castle is the most famous.” Normally, talking about their resident hauntings was a pain in the arse, but today, she was enjoying it. “He hasnae been heard so often in the last few generations, but ‘twas said to hear him foretold doom.”
Was it her imagination, or did he shudder slightly as he glanced down the corridor?
“Och, dinnae believe it, Kenneth.” The pounding was already growing fainter, and as she continued, it tapered off all together. “There’s never been any doom—ghostly or no’. If he’s real, the only doom the ghost manifested might have been a particularly boring sermon from Father John, or Mother’s embroidery lessons. My personal record was pricking myself three times during one of those lessons.”
His expression went carefully blank as they began to stroll. “Pricking yerself…?”
“With a needle.”
“Och, aye, with a needle. I thought ye meant with—ye ken—a prick.”
She giggled and liked the fact he was so willing to tease her. “That would’ve been more fun, for certes, than some stupid embroidery lesson.”
He was smiling again. “Truly, ye were doomed.”
“Three pricks,” she repeated. The back of her hand brushed against his—purposefully—and when he took the hint and grabbed it, she didn’t bother hiding her smile. “I’m no’ kenned for my coordination or balance.”
He chuckled, but instead of teasing her about her clumsiness, his focus returned to the original topic. “So ye have more than just the one ghost?”
“Aye!”
They began to stroll down the corridor.
“We have the Mad Monk—he’s no’ angry, but he willnae stop laughing, so we assume he’s mad. Then there’s The Lady, who’ll only speak to my sister Wynda. The Twins, of course”—she gave a little shudder at the memory of her one and only interaction with those spirits—“and the puir man who carries his head around under his arm—although he seems quite cheerful about it, and doesnae mind if ye hold it, which can be a little disconcerting. Oh, and the lizard.”
“The lizard…?” he repeated doubtfully.
She curled the fingers of her free hand into claws and tucked it against her chest, making a scary face as she explained. “A great big lizard, which stands on two feet, with little bitty arms and a huge mouth—plenty of sharp teeth—and makes nae sound. Sometimes he just goes thundering across the great hall.”
“Ye have the ghost of a lizard haunting yer castle?”
“No’ just any lizard, but a big one. Terrible. Tremendous, even.” She grinned. “We call him Fergus.”
“Fergus the Tremendous Ghostly Lizard?”
“Ye forgot terrible.”
“Ah.” He seemed to be having trouble keeping a straight face. “Fergus the Ghostly Terribly Tremendous Lizard?”
She beamed. “Aye, close enough.”
A sudden wailing screech caused Kenneth to pull her to a stop. His head fell back to stare up at the roof—as if he could see the source of the din.