“Have you now?” His smile was warm, even teasing, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
They had already been to Old Kilpatrick, where they’d taken in the view from the site of the ancient Roman fort above the beautiful Firth of Clyde, and Duntocher, where they’d seen a section of the stone base of the Antonine Wall. After so many days of gray and rain, it was wonderful to see blue sky again.
Though Quinn seemed to be enjoying sight-seeing, too, Elizabeth could tell from the shadows in his blue eyes that he was hurting, whether from the nightmare he’d had last night or because of the murder investigation or all of it together. He’d refused to talk about the dream or the investigation over breakfast today, instead asking her what she wanted to see.
They strolled together through the ruins, the remnants of stone walls and floors revealing where the different pools had once stood. The frigidarium, or cold bath, had a horseshoe shape. The caldarium, or hot pool, was missing its stone floor. The tepidarium, an area like a dry sauna, still had visible ducts that had carried heated air from a furnace creating a kind of radiant heat.
“To think that the Romans had radiant heat two thousand years ago.”
Elizabeth came across another sign, which she read aloud. “‘When the Romans abandoned the Antonine Wall and Scotland for good in one-fifty-eight AD, they burned and destroyed their forts and buildings, including the baths.’ How sad.”
“They couldnae give their enemies a place to shelter or leave anythin’ that might give them a tactical advantage, aye? Tribes of Picts occupyin’ Roman forts along the wall would have made the emperor shite himself.”
She smiled up at him. “I guess your ancestors were one group the Romans couldn’t conquer.”
It felt good to be with him. It felt natural to share the day with him.
He grinned. “Aye, it’s true. That job was left to the bloody English.”
After that, they made a short drive south to Crookston Castle, Elizabeth reading about it on her phone. “It says the first castle was built there in the eleven-hundreds. What remains today was built in fourteen-hundred. Mary Queen of Scots was betrothed to Lord Darnley there.”
“A match made in hell.” Quinn parked at the edge of a grassy area. “There it is.”
Elizabeth stepped out of the car and looked toward the top of the hill. There, peeking out from amid the bare branches of deciduous trees, stood Crookston Castle. “It’s not as big as I thought it was going to be.”
Quinn grinned. “You were singin’ a different tune yesterday, doll.”
Had he just made a dirty joke? Yes, he had—and he’d called herdoll.
Oh, she liked that.
She laughed. “You bampot.”
But now he had her thinking about his big, gorgeous cock and all the lovely things he could do with it, namely fuck her silly.
They walked hand-in-hand up the hillside, the grass wet beneath their shoes.
An idea came to her. “Have you ever had sex in a public place?”
Quinn looked down at her, one brow arched. “Why are you askin’ me that?”
“Sex in a castle might be fun.”
“You’re serious.” He glanced around them, and she knew he was considering it. “There are people out walkin’, families wi’ wee ones. It’s a weekend, aye?”
“I don’t see anyone around the castle.”
“You’ll be givin’ Wilson a real reason to arrest us, you will.” Quinn shook his head—but he was smiling.
* * *
Quinn was disappointedto discover that they weren’t the only ones exploring the castle. An older couple poked about, speaking with very proper English accents.
“This is the northeast tower.” Elizabeth read from her phone, pretending to be absorbed by the history of the place. “The two western towers were destroyed in the fifteenth century and never rebuilt.”
But Quinn could tell what was truly on her mind.
Sex.