Making not a sound, she peered through the opening. The sight made her gasp and blink rapidly, trying to make sense of the shocking figures entwined within. She ought to run, but her limbs had frozen stiff. Saint Columba, ’twas the most outlandish sight she’d ever seen. Had she plunged into a ritual of pagan Beltane sin?

Garry, a stable hand, wore only a shirt, his kilt around his ankles, his hairy arse completely bare. Another sigh filled the chamber. He stood behind Fiona, her skirts pulled nearly over her head, while he plunged himself in and out of her from behind.

Divana clenched her fists, ready to barrel in and give Garry a good kick in his naked backside, but from the sweet sounds of pleasure coming from Fiona, she liked it—liked what he was doing to her a great deal.

Taking a step back, Divana wanted to hide her eyes, yet her fists remained stiff at her sides. As Fiona’s moans grew, Garry moved faster and faster, throwing his head back with his panting breath.

“Oh, oh, oh, now!” the lass cried.

A deep bellow erupted from the stable hand’s throat as he withdrew, spurting like a stallion and collapsing over the lass, gasping as if he’d run for miles.

In a blink, Divana reclaimed her wits and stepped aside, shoving her back against the wall. She buried her face in her hands. What horrors had she just witnessed?

Good glory, when she’d kissed Kennan, the hardness between them was his manhood. Did he desire her in that…that…that completely unusual way?

Divana trembled, surprised not to be completely disgusted by the thought of doing…that…with Kennan.

“We’d best hurry,” said Fiona from inside the chamber. “Ma will be searching for me.”

“We ought to tell her, ye ken.”

“Never. She’d take the switch to me.”

He’d best offer to marry her, the lout!

Not wanting to be caught, Divana tiptoed down a flight of steps and waited on the landing until she heard footsteps and giggles approaching. Pursing her lips, she did her best to look taken aback. “Fiona, no lads are allowed in the women’s quarters.”

“Shhh.” The lass dashed toward her and grasped her hands. “Ye must promise not to tell. Pleeease. It would mean my position if you did.”

Divana squeezed her fingers and gave a nod. “Och, after all ye’ve done for me, I’d never speak out against ye.” Then she shifted her gaze to Garry. “But I’ll have your promise that ye’ll respect this young maid always.”

“Ah…” He shot a dubious glance to Fiona, who winked. “I-I…uh…always. Of course.”

“Very well then. Good evening,” Divana said, praying she hadn’t turned as red as a scarlet rose. She gripped her trembling hands against her midriff, unable to race up the stairs fast enough. Beltane certainly was as wild as everyone claimed. And it made her all too self-aware. Too many emotions pulsed through her. She needed to crawl under the bedclothes and think.

Survival might be easier at Achnacarry, but living under Lochiel’s roof was far more complicated.