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in front of the lock dangling from the front of the trunk.
    She fished in the envelope and came out with a key, her lips quirking. “Another skeleton key.” She tossed him a quick glance. “If I’d only suspected when I got the first one just how appropriate it would be.”
    He held her gaze without comment, merely recrossing his arms and settling his weight on his other foot. She didn’t seem to notice as she went to work on the lock. It took several tries, but eventually it sprung open. She was a determined lass, he’d give her that.
    Her sudden intake of breath caught his full attention.
    “Would you look at this?” Her face fairly glowed with wonder.
    He took a step closer despite himself, all thoughts of returning to warm himself by the fire vanished. He didn’t feel any chill at the moment.
    Maggie covered her mouth with her hand as she stared at the contents of Lachlan’s trunk. It was filled with plain leather bound books that looked like journals of some kind. The idea that there might be something of her heritage recorded inside those pages filled her with excitement. For the first time it felt odd that through her entire life she’dnever questioned her family history. Staring at the journals it seemed impossible to fathom. Her interest in what lay between the burgundy and deep blue leather covers close to consumed her.
    She felt Duncan come up behind her. There wasn’t enough sun for a shadow, but then, she wasn’t sure he’d cast one anyway. Not that he needed to—ghost or mortal, Duncan MacKinnon had presence in spades. She recalled his touch. For a dead man, there had been an incredible amount of energy generated by that simple brush of his fingers on her skin. She’d been well aware that the disturbance hadn’t been totally one sided. What had he been like in real life? His life.
    “A stack of musty old books.” Duncan all but sniffed in indifference.
    Maggie ducked her chin and smiled. She was beginning to understand Duncan MacKinnon. Perhaps better than he could imagine. That he’d troubled himself to wander over to look inside the trunk at all belied his lack of interest. That he’d bothered to make a comment all but proved he was as consumed with curiosity about their contents as she was.
    “Yep. There go my dreams of buried treasure. No gold coins or lavish silks.” She sighed in feigned disappointment. “Just musty old books.”
    Duncan’s eyebrows drew together as he considered her in silence. He was no fool either, she decided. Something she would be wise to remember.
    She considered him for a moment too, then couldn’t help herself. “Probably should have left the old thing in the car and taken it to an antique store to have it appraised.”
    “You would sell yer heritage?”
    She had no intention of selling anything, still she was surprised at the vehemence of his reaction. “You say that like it’s blasphemy or something.”
    “ ’Tis worse than that, lass.”
    “It’s just an old, moldy trunk. Not the crown jewels.”
    “What of the volumes?” he demanded. “You would sell them off as well?”
    “Oh no, they wouldn’t be worth anything to anyone else. We can use them for fuel I suppose, when the logs run out.”
    She’d only said it to get a rise out of him, but he looked so sincerely aghast at the suggestion she felt a moment of shame.
    “Just like a Claren! Ye have no need of a thing, toss it awa’ like so much excess baggage.” He raised his arms in the air and she almost shrank back at the imposing figure he made. “Burn it, sell it, give it awa’. Wha’ do ye care? ’Tis only yer history yer sellin’ and destroyin’.” He stared at her with a mixture of disgust and resignation, then made a swiping gesture and spun on his heel. “Och, to hell with ye and yer blasted trunk. Do what ye please as Clarens ’ave been doing since the dawn of time. More the fool I am fer carin’.”
    Maggie scrambled to a stand. “Wait.”
    He continued to stalk