Highlander's Hope by Collette Cameron Read Free Book Online

Little good it did her. Mrs. Pettigrove plowed about the room, banging into things, and muttering beneath her breath, before stopping beside the bed, breathing heavily.
    “Miss Stapleton, are you awake?”
    Yvette held her breath.
    “Miss Stapleton?” She was nudged by a pudgy finger.
    Yvette didn’t move.
    Mrs. Pettigrove shook Yvette’s shoulder, none too gently. “I need your help to undress.”
    Bother it all. Yvette sat up, then swung her legs off the edge of the bed. “Let me light the lamp.”
    It had been no easy task to undress the half-foxed Mrs. Pettigrove and see her tucked into bed. And Yvette wasn’t the least bit surprised when rhythmic, grating rattles filled the room mere moments after the dame’s head settled on her fluffy pillow.
    Yvette wasn’t as fortunate. She lay awake staring at the flickering moonbeams slanting across the ceiling. Her thoughts shifted to earlier in the day, to Laird McTavish. Thank goodness he’d happened by when he did. He had saved her from God only knew what. He disturbed her in the most intriguing way. Even now thinking of him brought a ripple whispering across her flesh.
    A rude noise rumbled throughout the room, interrupting her fanciful musing. Yvette wrinkled her nose in disgust. She closed her eyes and sighed. The grittiness under her eyelids, and the thickness in her head, were evidence she had cried herself to sleep and had slept but minutes before Mrs. Pettigrove had lumbered into their room.
    How she had wanted—no needed—a peaceful night’s sleep. She attempted to turn on her side and stopped short. Mrs. Pettigrove was lying on her hair.
    “Oh for pity’s sake.” Tugging, Yvette managed to extract her hair from beneath the matron’s hefty arm. She rose from the bed, then eyed the armchairs on either side of the room. They simply would not suffice. “There isn’t even an extra blanket to create a pallet on the floor,” she muttered.
    Mrs. Pettigrove rolled to the middle of the bed, threw her arms wide, and released a ponderous expanse of wind.
    Yvette swirled away from the bed in fatigued exasperation. Her gaze caught a bright reflection. A moonbeam angled through the billowing curtains, pointing its frail finger at the brass knob on the adjoining room’s door. The handle, illuminated by the enticing glow, drew her persistently closer. “I couldn’t,” she said, even as she reached for the handle.
    “‘Tis way past midnight. If the other guest was going to arrive, wouldn’t they have done so by now? Hadn’t Mrs. Quimby said this room was only used on occasion?”
    Yvette bit her lip in indecision. “I haven’t heard any movement.”
    Mrs. Pettigrove snorted, releasing another startling round of thunderous expulsions. They echoed grotesquely throughout the bedchamber.
    “That tears it.” Before she allowed her conscious to stop her, Yvette seized her dagger, then turned the key and twisted the knob. The door glided open.
    The curtains were parted. The moon’s bright rays bathed the chamber’s large, empty bed. With a small huff, she released the breath she held. The room was unoccupied. She tiptoed to the window and peeked at the street.
    Nothing.
    Not a hint of movement. Stepping backward, her decision made, she drew the panels.
    Before she changed her mind, Yvette returned to her chamber door, and edged it closed. The key rested in its keyhole on the other side. Walking to the room’s outer door, she tried to open it and found it locked and the keyhole empty. She pressed her ear to the door.
    Silence.
    Exhaustion wrapped its arms around her, claiming what scant reason she had left. It would not be too great a sin to sleep a few hours in this unused bed, would it? It was perfectly safe here. She had her small dagger and the door was locked from without. Her chamber was a few scant steps away. She would slip into her room before dawn, and Mrs. Pettigrove would be none the wiser.
    Too tired to think, Yvette succumbed to the beckoning of