Lea Carloth was placing dust sheets on the furniture in the now deserted northern wing of Brathellae Castle when she heard the sound of a firm footfall on the stairs. Goosebumps peppered her skin like Braille, and a cold draught of air circled her ankles like the ghost of a long-dead cat.
No such things as ghosts. No such things as ghosts.
Her old childhood chant wasn’t working any better than when she first came to live in the Scottish Highlands castle as a frightened and lonely twelve-year-old orphan. Taken in by her great-aunt, who had worked as a housekeeper for the Borthman family, Lea had been raised in the kitchen and corridors of the castle. In the early days, downstairs had been her only domain, upstairs was out of bounds. And not just because of her limp. Upstairs had been anot
