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softly.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œWe don’t blame you just because you were the one who found it on the Internet and got us all going. We all—every one of us—read the agreements.”
    She hesitated. They were staring at her sorrowfully. And despite the denial, she felt a certain amount of blame. Sure, they’d all wanted to do this, all been excited. But she’d pushed it. She’d been the one to do the actual work. But what had there been to question?
    She bit her lip, feeling a little resentful and a lot guilty. If this really was totally messed up, to herself, at least, she would be the fall guy.
    â€œThanks,” she said.
    â€œGet some rest. We’ll all get some rest. When we’re not so tired and surprised, we’ll be much better at sucking up!” Kevin said cheerfully.
    Toni nodded, gave him a weak smile and departed.
    In the great hall, she paused. They had been so happy here. This place had truly been a dream. And they had been like kids, so excited.
    She hurried up the stairs to the upper landing. There were rooms on the third floor, as well, but the main chambers were here. Servants had once slept above. Her group had chosen rooms in the huge U that braced around the front entry to the main keep of the castle. Hers was to the far right and she had assumed that it had once been the master’s chamber. It was large, with both arrow slits and a turret with a balcony that looked out over the countryside. After claiming the room she had discovered that it also had the most modern bath, and that the rug and draperies were the cleanest in thecastle. Still, she remembered uneasily that her room also contained the huge wardrobe that had been locked tight—something to explore at a later time.
    As she walked to the room, she felt a growing wariness. She hesitated, her hand on the antique knob, then pushed the door open.
    There was a naked man in her bedroom. Nearly naked, at any rate.
    A fire was beginning to burn nicely in the hearth. The dampness was already receding. A reading light blazed softly near the huge wing-backed chair before the fire.
    The chair was occupied. Bruce MacNiall was seated, already showered, his hair wet, smooth and inky-black, his form covered in nothing but a terry towel wrapped around his waist. He was reading, of all things, the New York Times.
    â€œYes?” he said, looking up but not setting the paper aside. “Don’t you knock in the States?”
    â€œNot when I’m entering my own room.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œI’ve been living in here,” she informed him.
    â€œBut it’s not your own room, is it?” he queried.
    â€œSo…this was your room,” she murmured.
    â€œ Is mine.”
    Suck up! They had all warned her. But she was tired—and aggravated.
    â€œIf you’re the one in the right,” she reminded him, regretting her words at once.
    â€œI do assure you that I am,” he said solemnly.
    â€œAt this particular moment, I don’t really have any legal proof that you’re telling the truth, so I’m not entirely convinced that it is your room, that you have theright to claim it from me,” she said. “You’ll note my things at the dressing table. They do look like mine, unless you customarily wear women’s perfume, mascara and lipstick.”
    He stared at her politely, and maybe a bit amazed.
    â€œMy wardrobe, you’ll notice,” he pointed out. “Since you’re ever so observant, I’m sure you noted that when you came in and made yourself so thoroughly at home, you had no place to actually hang clothing since the wardrobe was locked.”
    He had won from the beginning and she knew it. She didn’t know why she was still arguing. She loved this room, though, and she was settled into it.
    Maybe she was just incapable of giving up a fight, or accepting the fact that they could have been taken, that their dreams had been