Tall, Dark and Kilted Read Free

and mistake it for a bat.
    Reaching again for her pullover, she thought better of it and rolled her shoulders instead. She was not exactly a Lilliputian, and so cramming herself into an economy window seat from Newark to Glasgow had left her feeling stiff, achy, and more than a little cranky.
    The endless drive north hadn’t done much to defrazzle her, however breathtaking the scenery. Thank goodness she’d had competent escorts and hadn’t had to brave the left-sided driving and spindle-thin roads herself. Equally good, she knew exactly how to banish her body aches and tiredness.
    A long, hot shower was what she needed.
    And no matter how Transylvania-like the high-ceilinged, wooden-floored room struck her, its spacious and airy bathroom looked totally twenty-first century.
    Already feeling the restorative pounding of a good, steaming shower, she stripped with lightspeed. But just as she reached to unhook her bra, she noticed the framed poster of her Aunt Birdie and Uncle Mac on Dunroamin’s steps.
    She had a copy of it in her apartment back in Yardley, Pennsylvania. Hers was mounted in a tartan frame and had pride of place above her living room sofa. This one hung near the shuttered windows, its Old World-looking frame as dark as the room’s paneling.
    But at least its familiarity took away some of the room’s eeriness. Thankful for that, she tossed aside her bra and went to look at the poster.
    It was a Christmas card photo she’d had blown up just last year, thinking that her aunt and uncle would appreciate the way a slanting ray of winter sun highlighted the stone armorial panel with the MacGhee coat of arms above their heads. Theirs, and the dark head of a tall, broad-shouldered man standing a few feet behind them, close to the castle’s open door.
    “Huh?” She blinked, certain she was now not just jet-lagged, but seeing things.
    The man—who looked quite roguishly medieval—hadn’t been in the poster before.
    Nor was he there now, on second look.
    He’d only been a shadow. A trick of light cast across the glass.
    She shivered all the same. Rubbing her arms, she stepped closer to the poster. He’d looked so real. And if she was beginning to see imaginary men, handsome, kilted, or otherwise, she was in worse shape than any jet lag she’d ever before experienced.
    Certain that had to be it—the mind-fuzzing effects of crossing time zones and lack of sleep—she touched a finger to the poster glass, relieved to find it smooth and cool to the touch, absolutely normal-feeling, just as it should be.
    But whether the man was gone or not, something was wrong. In just the few seconds she’d needed to cross the room, the air had grown all thick and heavy. Icy, too. As if someone had set an air conditioner to subzero, deliberately flash-freezing the bedchamber.
    She frowned. Unless she was mistaken, Dunroamin didn’t have air conditioners.
    It did, however, have strange shadows in posters.
    No, not shadows.
    The man was back, and this time he’d moved. Just as dark and medieval-looking as before, he now stood next to Aunt Birdie and Uncle Mac instead of behind them.
    “Oh, God!” She jumped back from the poster and raised her arms across her naked breasts.
    He cocked a brow at her—right through the poster glass!
    Her heart began to gallop. She couldn’t move. Her legs felt like rubber, and even screaming was pointless. Her throat had closed on her and her tongue felt stuck to the top of her mouth.
    Disbelief and shock sweeping her, she looked on as the man, illusion, or whatever, sauntered away from her aunt and uncle to lean a shoulder against the door arch. Devilishly sexy—she couldn’t help but notice—he just stood there, arms and ankles crossed as he stared back at her.
    Once, he flicked a glance at something that looked like a round medieval shield propped against the wall near his feet. She thought he might reach for it, but he only looked up to glare at her.
    “You aren’t there.” She found