Page 41 of An Outlaw’s Desire

“Thank you.” Inwardly, she cringed. How many lies had she told now?

Harlow’s arm dropped to his side. “Well. All seems in order here, so we will let you continue with your play.” He smiled. “I like your lady’s voice best, myself.”

Galven stepped forward. “At least you weren’t talking to a ghost, milady—or even his ghost.”

The widower sighed. “Do not give the lady a fright so close to her bedtime.”

Blythe met the wounded guard’s gaze. “I heard about your fall. I hope you were not hurt too badly.”

“I have endured worse. Luckily, I will not have to miss any of the revelry this Christmas.”

“’Tis good news.” She looked between the two men. “The ghost you mentioned.”

Harlow grunted and shook his head.

Galven nodded.

“Whose spirit is it?”

“Folks around here believe ’tis the ghost of Lord Worrell. No one knows for certain. He is seen so seldomly, and only in December.”

How strange. Intriguing, though. “Lord Worrell lived at the castle?”

“He was a guest years ago.”

“’Tis doubtful there is even a ghost,” Harlow said. “No one I know has encountered him. Those who’ve claimed to have seen him were usually drunk.”

“What happened to his lordship?” Blythe asked. “If his ghost haunts this fortress, I am guessing something untoward befell him?”

“Aye,” Galven said. “Lord Worrell went missing a few days before Christmas.”

“How tragic.”

“He left behind a wife and young son. His lordship’s body was never found. Some folks said he fancied a younger woman and ran off with her, but he would’ve had to have died to become a ghost.” The guard gestured to Blythe’s chamber. “Might be more about him in that book of Lord Montgomery’s.”

Galven knew she’d borrowed the tome? The way gossip spread in castles, most of the other servants likely knew by now as well.

Frowning, the widower nudged his colleague.

“Apologies, milady.” The injured guard’s expression turned sheepish. “’Tis not my concern that you enjoy reading or what books you choose.”

“We have bothered you long enough, Blythe. We will be on our way now.” The widower bowed. “Good night.”

Blythe would have loved to hear more about Lord Worrell. She’d never seen a ghost, especially a Christmas spirit. Encountering one would be fascinating, and an adventure that would make this holiday even more special. But, Pitt was still hiding in her room. Once he’d gone, she’d look in the tome to see what was written there about the missing lord. “Thank you. Good night to you as well.”

She closed the door.

Shaking dust off his cloak, Pitt stood and sheathed his dagger.

“Well done,” he murmured.

She dropped into a low, elegant curtsy, and Pitt chuckled.

“I just hope the guards do not return and ask me to do a man’s voice for them,” she said with a wry laugh.

“I am sure you would be most convincing.”

Admiration warmed Pitt’s voice. A heady glow tingled to life inside her, reminding her anew of the wondrous way he’d pleasured her a short while ago. She mentally pushed the thoughts away to swoon over later.