Highland Passage by J.L. Jarvis

happened since then that no one would believe. Ghost or not, she had felt creepy hands groping her bottom. With a shudder, she had to admit to herself that she believed in Black Andrew. But she believed in Ciarán more, so she would do what she must to save him—even if she had to go through Black Andrew to do it.
    When darkness fell and her work was done, Mac went to find Hamish and Fergus behind the stables, where they had agreed to meet. They had secured lodgings outside the castle, in a small byre with hay for a mattress. They produced an extra plaid for Mac to use as a blanket since the length of tartan she had brought with her was too fine to provide her the warmth she would need on a chilly summer night in the Highlands.
    After talking through what information and supplies they would need to free Ciarán, they settled into their sleeping arrangements. As they had been all along, the two men were perfect, if awkward, gentlemen. At this point, Mac was simply too tired to care where she slept. Drained by her first day of work as a kitchen maid, Mac made her bed with her two pieces of plaid and settled down for a welcome night’s sleep.
    As she lay there, a thought worried her. “How will I know it is time to get up?”
    Fergus mumbled, “I’ll wake you, lass.”
    “But how will you know?” It seemed a fair question to Mac.
    “Och, he’ll know,” Hamish said. “Go to sleep.”
    “Okay.” She lay still, unable to sleep, and breathed in the close air of the byre. It smelled just as a byre should. Mac accepted this without complaint, but doing so did not make breathing any easier. To distract herself, she turned her thoughts to the next day. “Guys—uh, lads?”
    “Aye?” Hamish grumbled.
    “The castle is haunted.”
    “Aye?” Fergus said, with a yawn.
    “He touched me.”
    “Black Andrew?” asked Hamish.
    “Wait. You knew about Black Andrew, but you sent me in anyway?”
    Ignoring her question, Hamish asked, “How did he touch you?”
    “With a lot of enthusiasm.”
    “That’s not what I meant.”
    “I know what you meant.”
    Mac could hear the smile in Hamish’s voice as he said, “So he’s friendly, then?”
    “Not exactly.”
    “Are you sure it was a ghost? Maybe one of the guards—”
    “I think I would know if a guard snuck up behind me.” Her biting tone silenced both men. “And if he were a man, I’d have felt something when I kicked him in the crotch, but I didn’t, because no one was there.”
    Hamish spoke slowly, with reluctance. “So the stories are true.”
    “Yeah, next time maybe you could share them with me.”
    “I didnae think they were real.”
    Mac’s glare was lost in the darkness. “What stories? You owe me that much.”
    Fergus chimed in. “Oh, there once was a laird who forced himself on the women until one day the people attacked him and hanged him outside the room at the top of the tower.”
    “You mean the room where Ciarán is.” Mac exhaled. “Thanks. Good to know.”
    Fergus’s breathing grew measured and loud. After long moments of quiet, Mac thought Hamish had fallen asleep as well, but he said, “Are you going to be all right? ’Tis not too late to change your mind.”
    “No, I came here to help you free Ciarán, and that’s what I’ll do.”
    “There’s a good lass. Now get some sleep.”

10
    A Simple Plan
    In the morning, Mac arrived at the castle with the sole objective of finding the key to Ciarán’s room. Once she did, Hamish and Fergus would find fresh clothing and a razor for Mac to slip under the door to Ciarán. His full, untrimmed growth of beard would make him easy to spot if Clan Ross discovered him missing, so he would trim his beard to blend in with the visiting merchants on market day, when he would make his escape. The plan was a simple one. Mac would unlock the door and lead Ciarán out of the castle to meet with Hamish and Fergus. From there, Mac and Hamish would create a diversion so Fergus and Ciarán could slip