My Heart's in the Highlands Angeline Fortin (easy to read books for adults list TXT) 📖

been hard enough just to recoverfrom her upset of the previous afternoon. Kris had been forced toliterally drag her down to dinner. The big circular room beneaththe Round Drawing Room that had once housed the billiards room hadbeen converted into a small restaurant. Kris had bravely sampledthe local favorites while Mikah had, in essence, drank her dinner,downing pint after pint until Kris had practically had to drag herback up to their room.

Mikah had woken that morning in the bed,dazed with the impression of a male body next to her. Though sheand Kris had shared a bed dozens of times, Mikah had beendevastated that he was the one there, and in the hours since haddetermined that this whole trip was adding up to be the worst moveof her entire life.

“Pay attention,” her friend hissed as thefirst items were brought out. And Mikah did, watching the contentsof Cuilean being sold off to the highest bidder. One by one, theywere brought through a side door that connected to the long hallwayof the nursery, where Mikah guessed the items had been collectedbefore the sale today. Most of them she recognized, but there weresome she did not from the years following Hero’s death.

Unwittingly, she sighed and moaned over everyitem until Kris nudged her painfully in the side. “You sound like asick cow. If you’re going to throw up, please go somewhereelse.”

She scowled at him but managed to keep hergrief to herself after that as the items continued to go by.Smaller items would be sold that day and the following. Thefurnishings and larger items were to be sold the following day witha walking group that would go to the items rather than moving themhere.

When the music box she and Ian had danced tocame up on the auction block, Mikah bid fervently. The price wentup and up until Mikah fell in defeat to a persistent buyer in thefront row. Dozens of lots were sold off while Mikah stewed withresentment. She could have gone higher, but there were other thingsshe wanted more. The morning dragged on. Lot after lot waspresented and sold. Mikah bid on small items but never seemed towin them. In years of attending auctions, she had never seen buyersso persistent.

From the pleased look on the owner’s face,the bidding went much higher than was anticipated. Reggie Smith,the owner, had introduced himself the night before. He was a verylikeable man, and Mikah was glad that he was making money hand overfist, but part of her wanted to climb over the crowd and pummel thepeople outbidding her.

Then her painting Mongin’s Vue deMarly was brought in. Again she bid furiously, determined towin it, pushing the bid upward until almost all of Mikah’s years ofsavings were obligated. She thought that perhaps the other biddersfinally just let her have it. Mikah wryly thought she might havehad a bit of a crazed look about her, scaring them off.

Other items came and went, but Mikah hadlittle left to bid with, so watched them go on to others. Jewelry,dresses from the 1850s through to the 1960s. Furniture, silver,art.

They stopped for lunch and a short breakbefore it all began again. Mikah bid on other items as well, losingwhen the price exceeded the amount she had remaining. The rest ofthe afternoon would see all but the barest bones of the castle soldaway. But for the three bedchambers and public rooms that wouldremain as part of the historical tour once the hotel closed itsdoors, all the décor—more than a thousand items over three days—wasgoing to go, taking with it the essence of Cuilean.

That realization found Mikah’s enthusiasmwaning into depression. It was so sad to see it torn apart, butbarring a sudden Powerball windfall, there was no chance of meetingthe tens of millions of dollars the castle was worth to keep itwhole. It would come apart as easily as Ian and Hero’s dreams of alife together.

“Item 279. A cavalry sword belonging to theThird Marquis of Ayr.”

Mikah, whose attention had been drifting forthe last fifty items, pulled out the catalog with a frown. Sheflipped through the pages until she found it as the auctioneercontinued. “The marquis was a major in Her Majesty’s army, servingduring the Crimean War. It is believed that he used this saberduring the infamous Charge of the Light Brigade.”

Mikah snorted at that, only to be shushed bya couple in front of them. She frowned fiercely back. “He wasn’teven there for that!”

“What is it, Mikes?”

“It’s his,” she whispered. “That’s hissword.”

“Do you want it?” Kris asked.

“I don’t have any money left.”

“I could get it for you,” he said. “AChristmas present.”

Mikah looked back up at the sword, thatlittle part of Ian Conagham. “No, Kris. Thanks anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

Suddenly, Mikah was almost glad she hadn’twon all of the items she had bid on. What was she thinking? Thingscouldn’t replace what she had lost. Her hand curled around the ringin her coat pocket. They would forever remind, not soothe.

“I’m sure.”

Perhaps, Mikah thought, she would just donatethe painting to the museum instead of keeping it. Why did she needa reminder if she was going to move on?

The sun was starting its downward turn in thesky, the sun finally peeking from beneath a layer of clouds andspilling its light across the room, when the auctioneer held upanother item, tiredly. He looked as run down as Mikah felt. Seeingher life—well, her past life, at least—being sold off had drainedher. Knowing that coming to Cuilean had been utterly futile filledher with melancholy.

“Item 280. A portrait of the ThirdMarchioness of Ayr, painted in 1847,” the auctioneer announced,drawing their attention to the large portrait being carried intothe room.

Unaware of the dozens of heads that turnedincredulously in her direction and the whispers that followed,Mikah stared at the portrait and remembered how much Hero haddisliked it … and conversely, how much it had meant to Ian. Enoughwas enough. “Let’s go.”

She slipped out of the room with Kris in herwake as the auctioneer continued, “There is some conjecture thatshe is the Lady of Ayr, one of our resident ghosts here at DùnCuilean. She is said to haunt the ramparts looking