Page 3 of The Castle of Carnal Desires

I let my feet touch the slate floor and automatically lifted them back up again. It was freezing. I was going to have to invest in a pair of uggs or something, otherwise I was going to lose all my toes to frostbite.

I hop/skipped my way to my suitcase and pulled out the floor-length dressing gown gran had given me before I left. It was just one of her old ones, but it was soft, fell right to my toes and buttoned to my neck, and it smelled slightly of her, which made me happy. I stood in front of the dying embers of the fire, my toes curling guiltily in the bear skin rug. The rug was going to have to go to storage, and I would have to get another from town, because I’m fairly sure they’d revoke my P.E.T.A membership for enjoying the feel of the soft pelt between my toes. I put it on my to-do list.

After a life-restoring shower, I dressed in jeans and a soft cashmere sweater and tried to navigate my way back to the kitchen. The castle hallways were beautiful in the daylight. The stone walls had been worn smooth with time, and they had high vaulted ceilings. I could picture the halls adorned with beautiful works of art, paintings and tapestries, the odd hall table filled with fresh wild flowers and ornate wall sconces. If this was going to be a normal hotel, it would be an amazing place for Gran to come and visit. As it was, she’d probably drop dead if she knew what was going on behind those thick, wooden doors.

Somewhere on the second floor, I got turned around following a row of particularly ornate wood panels that ran along the ceiling. They looked in okay condition, and I hoped we could restore them to their former glory. I made a note to myself to talk to Harris about it.

I stopped and realized I had no idea where I was. Was I meant to go left at the last hallway, or right?

I rounded the next corner and ran straight into a giant of a man, dressed in a kilt. Well, I should say I ran through him. He was there and then I was on the other side of him. I whipped around and got my first good look at Durell, the ghost of Dun Durell.

And then I screamed.

I’m ashamed to say it wasn’t a little squeak either, it was an almighty screech. The man, uh ghost, raised his hands placatingly, and I backpedaled down the short hall that ended all too soon. Even though the McTavish twins had told me he was here, being faced with the real thing and accidently walking right through him, well it wigged me the hell out.

Durell’s eyes were wide, and I finally registered that he was saying something in Gaelic that I couldn't understand.

I had never been happier to see another human being as I was when Derek slid around the corner of the hallway, obviously drawn by my screams. He instinctively stood in front of me and faced off against Durell, somewhat unnecessarily. Durell spoke rapidly in Gaelic, and Derek interrupted from time to time to ask a question, the flow of his speech a lot more halting than that of Durell. Finally, he turned to face me. He was smiling, damn him.

"Tis quite a shock, aye? Durell would like ye to know that he didn't mean to frighten you, but ye were getting lost and the floorboards in this area are old and unstable. He wanted to guide ye back towards the kitchen. He apologizes again."

The Ghostly apparition bowed deeply at the waist. Then, in a more modern gesture, thrust his hand out to be shook. I cocked my head. I just walked through the man, how was I supposed to shake his hand?

I didn't want to be rude, so I reached out and put my hand in his. And I let out a little squeak as my palm met with his calloused palm, solid and real.

I gaped and my eyes flew to his. His previously solemn countenance lightened and his eyes crinkled with mirth. Just as suddenly as it happened, my hand slipped right through his again.

I looked at Derek. "What was that?"

Durell spoked and Derek translated. "He said if he concentrates, he can make himself corporeal for small amounts of time, but it’s very draining.” I just nodded. There was not much else I could do.

Now I wasn’t frightened out of my mind, I could take a good look at the ghost of the last Laird of Dun Durell. He was wearing a kilt, interwoven deep blues and greys, and it landed just below his knee, displaying impressive muscular calves. My eyes rose up and took in his simple white shirt that billowed around his torso and then over a pair of strong, broad shoulders that looked like they’d been wielding a sword since birth.

His face was broader and rougher than the modern man, kind of as it had been cast from rough-hewn stone. He had scraggy mahogany hair, and thick, dark eyebrows. Underneath his eyebrows were the saddest blue eyes I had ever seen. They turned down slightly at the corners, reinforcing the impression of sadness. But there were crinkles around those eyes, like he’d known laughter once.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, it’s been nice meeting you. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”

Derek laughed and even Durell’s mouth lifted at the corner at the inane comment. “You know what I mean. I better get to breakfast. Big day ahead, you know.” I walked around them both and back down the hall. Derek was still chuckling from where he stood behind me. “Left, Aili,” he called. I huffed and retraced my steps. I needed coffee; maybe I’d lace it with whisky too.

Derek met me ten minutes later in the kitchen. I’d almost finished my first cup of coffee and was feeling much more stable.

He opened his mouth to say something, and I just knew it was going to be about Durell. I raised my hand to silence him. “Just don’t. I need time to process our walk-through landlord. Let’s talk about something else.”

Derek just smiled and nodded. “Aye, that’s fine. Do ye wanna talk about the themes for the rooms?”

I nodded, more comfortable on the topic of the hotel. “Sure, that would be good. Ellengrew wants at least fifteen rooms; five suites and ten rooms. Each of the suites needs a separate theme, but the other ten rooms can just be decorated in quality luxurious furnishings that fit with the castle theme, think lots of antiques, bright and open spaces. We don’t want it to look like a dungeon. Well not those rooms anyway. I'll get an interior designer in to do the generic rooms. What I need from you is input into the suites. I need each one to feel as decadent and hedonistic as possible. I want people to leave this place feeling like they've had the most incredible sexual adventure of their life. Like spending the night in one of our suites is a rite of passage. But I don't want it to feel like a cheap brothel either. Balance is what we need.”

Derek was nodding, writing points down in a notebook he pulled from his pocket. "I was thinking welcome packages that are complementary with all the rooms that can inspire the libido. Just the usual things: silk scarves, massage oil, blindfolds, chocolates and champagne and so on. Ye ken, the general stuff. Each of the themed rooms can have a deluxe package that is inspired by that suite in particular. Perhaps a selection of the more eclectic provisions that could be ordered from the front desk."

I was nodding, it was a great idea. They did something similar at their mainstream chain of boutique hotels, but without the sex toys of course.

"Sounds great. I'd like to go into town today. I want to make myself visible, maybe assuage any doubts or problems the townspeople might have. And I want to source as much of our products and labor as we can locally, so we can prove that this hotel can only be a boon for this place."

"Some are already seeing the benefits. Harris’s crew are locals, and he's ordering the building materials through the local businesses so they are seeing some of the profits too. If ye are looking for locals for employees, the unemployment rate out here is quite high, a lot of our young people eventually move to Inverness for school and work. I’m fairly sure a lot of people will be grateful if ye hire locally.”

“That had always been my plan. Management will have to be brought in, of course, but it is more economical for everyone if we hired from the town.” I grabbed a banana and headed towards the door. “I’ll come with ye, lass. Might help smooth the way if ye have a local boy carrying ye bags.” I couldn’t argue with his logic, so I grabbed my tote bag and we headed out.

Hours later, I shuffled into the kitchen dejectedly. When Derek and Harris had said there was resistance, I didn’t realize they were being kind. Everywhere I went, I approached people with a positive and professional manner, only to get the proverbial door slammed in my face over and over again.

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