They reached the portico and stepped beneath the overhang, the rain dripping steadily behind them. St. John stood on the covered steps and frowned up at the stone castle. “Bloody hell, the place looks deserted. Is no one up?”

Paul set aside the lantern and went to the large knocker. “Per’aps they thought ye’d be delayed ’cause of the rain. I’ll knock and see if we can’t rouse someone.” He grasped the knocker firmly and rapped. After several more raps, each progressively harder, a light finally appeared between the cracks of the large oak doors.

After what seemed an eternity, the door creaked open to reveal a rather scrawny-looking woman wearing a coat hastily donned over a night rail, large unlaced boots sticking out from beneath the hem. An assortment of keys hanging about her neck on a cord proclaimed her the housekeeper.

She stood in the opening, a brace of candles in one hand, her thick, gray braid flopped over one shoulder, squinting at the two men as if they were gargoyles come to life. “What do ye want?” she asked in a thick Scottish brogue.

“Is this Kilkairn Castle?” Paul asked in a haughty voice that made Devon smile.

“Indeed ’tis. And who might ye be?”

The footman drew himself up to his most impressive height and announced, “Mr. Devon St. John to see Viscount Strathmore.”

The housekeeper’s gaze traveled from Paul to Devon. After a grudging moment, she stepped out of the doorway and motioned for them to follow her. “I don’t know any St. Johns, but ye’re welcome to step inside a bit whilst we sort it out.” She set about lighting the lamps in the hallway, muttering as she went. “Where is that blasted butler? Never where he should be, that’s where.”

James, one of the St. John underfootmen, came with the luggage. Devon watched as James stacked the valises beside the door, bowed, then left. Really, it had been a simple plan—all Devon had wished to do was leave England for a few weeks. A few simple weeks, and all would be well.

But fate was not cooperating. First the rain, then he’d found that blasted ring hidden among the carriage blankets on the seat, and now no one was awake to greet him at Kilkairn Castle. What was supposed to be a haven was rapidly becoming something quite different.

Devon met the minatory stare of the housekeeper and managed a smile. She sniffed and turned away. Devon had to hide a grimace of his own as he gave the castle a quick appraisal. They were not in a foyer, but a great hall of some sort. Heavy timbers hung overhead, while stone made up the outer wall. In contrast, the inner walls were heavily plastered and hung with battle antiquities, augmented by a scattering of standing sets of armor.