Emerald Embrace, page 32
He was within her, part of her. His arms were around her and they slept together until she dimly awoke, aware of movement again, of magic, and the wildness, the cry, that was the wind, the passion that was the very Highlands.
And then again, she slept. Soundly, deeply. The wind had grown quiet, and even the waves washed gently upon the Dragon’s Teeth far below.
She was alone when she awoke suddenly, with a start.
Sitting up, she looked around. Daylight was filling the room. It was late, she imagined.
The soft blue silk gown was still upon her shoulders and she closed her eyes again, trying to remember the night. She had dreamed. Dreamed of witchcraft and dragons and the cliffs and the rocks and the waves that touched the shores. And in her dream, he had come to her.
No, that had not been the dream! she assured herself.
She swept her hand over the spot where he had lain. The bedding was cold. But his scent remained, husky, elusive, and still warming to her, and she knew that she had not imagined him. She hugged her arms about her chest and she knew, from the telltale feel of her body, that she had not dreamed the dragon laird in truth.
She jumped out of bed and came to the balcony. The cold wind instantly tossed and buffeted against her face. The temperature had dropped overnight.
All Hallows’ Eve had brought its own chill.
She slipped back into the room and crossed through the dressing room to the bath. Steaming water awaited her, as if the very minute of her awakening had been anticipated. She slipped off the gown and climbed into the delicious steam. She sank into it, and allowed it to warm and soothe her. All Hallows’ Eve. It was upon them, and she could feel it. In the air, and deep within.
Her teeth chattered and she told herself that she was allowing the castle to seep inside of her. She could afford no flights of fancy, not here. Not today.
She decided not to tarry in the bath long and rose quickly to take a huge towel from the cabinet. Wrapped in it, she came back into the bedroom and then sat at the foot of the bed, perplexed, wondering what she was to do for clothing. She rose and looked tentatively in the armoire and discovered that a few of her dresses had been brought over. She searched through drawers and found her underclothing as well and dressed quickly. Finding the laird’s engraved silver brush upon his dresser, she swept it through her hair, then left the room.
In the hallway she paused, certain that she heard whispers.
It was the wind, she told herself.
But it was not. Low, genderless whispers were coming from the stairway that led down to the ancient crypts.
She moved against the wall, trying to hear. The burrs seemed very thick. The ghosts were talking, she thought. And then, irritated with herself, she moved closer to the winding stairway.
“It canna be, ’tis come too clear—”
“It must be! ’Tis when she comes to the rocks—”
“He knows!”
“The Dragon’s Teeth will have their due, and that be it. Only we are privy to the trail. The walls will close around all others!”
She moved still closer. Her feet must have scraped against the floor, for the whispers were suddenly silent. She swore to herself and hurried for the stairwell and looked down.
Darkness greeted her. She could see no one, no one at all. Had it been the ghosts of Creeghan? How could anyone have disappeared so quickly?
The whispers had been swallowed up into the darkness. She hesitated at the brink of the stairway, and then she sighed. Only a fool would travel down into that darkness alone.
She bit into her lip, thinking that someone had been in the master’s bath to fill it with the steaming water. That someone had surely been Hogarth. Could he be among those who donned dark cloaks and whispered in dark passages? Bryan believed in him. He was the only one in the castle besides herself who knew Bryan’s true identity. Or was he?
It was an incredibly complex tangle, and one she dared not try to solve alone. If only Bryan were here! But he was not, she thought crossly. It seemed that he only crawled the tombs and chambers of the crypts in the dead of night.
Unless …
Unless he had been among the whisperers on the stairs …
She started through the tower across the long corridor to her old room and then to the main stairs. She hurried down those to the great hall. Only Elaina was present, sewing before the fire. She looked up at Martise with a warm smile. “Good afternoon.”
“Afternoon, is it?”
“Aye, you’ve slept the morning away. But then brides are supposed to do that, I hear,” she said, and grinned impishly.
Martise smiled. There was tea on the buffet and she moved forward to pour herself some. “Elaina, you’ll discover yourself someday. I’m sure of it,” she promised her new sister-in-law.
Elaina flushed. “Maybe,” she said. She set down her sewing. “Bruce said this morning that you would be going to America.”
Martise almost dropped her cup. “What?”
Elaina smiled. “He said that he thought the two of you needed to take a honeymoon. He said that you have property in the States and that the two of you should go look at it. And then, of course, he could look for my Niall MacNeill, and for our brother, too.” Her voice went very soft. “He warned me that I mustn’t hope too greatly that they live, but he will search …” She broke off again, shaking her head. “My brother is dead, I am certain.” Cold shivers ripped through Martise. She did not know how to answer. She couldn’t lie. Elaina’s brother did lie in a coffin below. Her brother Bruce.
“It was a long, hard war,” Martise said.
“You didn’t know that you were going back to America?”
“No, I, er, didn’t,” Martise said, sitting across from Elaina. The fire snapped and crackled.
“Ah, well, Bruce must want it to be a surprise. He probably warned me in case you two decide to disappear mysteriously in the middle of the night. Riding away by the light of the full moon, disappearing into thin air …” Chills shook her. Was Bryan planning that she should disappear into thin air this very night?
Cast upon the shoals below …
Buried within the castle walls.
She felt ill. How could she suspect a man who loved her so passionately and tenderly?
How could she not suspect him?
Because she loved him.
“Where is Bry—Bruce?” she asked Elaina.
“Gone, out. There’s much to be done today. Tomorrow is a high holy day for us, which means that tonight, the villagers will play.”
“Oh?”
“Aye, ’tis great fun. They come to the castle in masks and disguises, and we provide marzipan candies and pasties and treats.”
“It sounds wonderful,” Martise said uneasily.
“We can dress, too, if you like.”
“Perhaps.”
“Let’s!”
“But—”
“Come on!” Elaina said. She reached out a hand to Martise. “We’ll find costumes.”
“Where?”
“In the wine cellar. We’ve a lot of old clothing stored there, very old clothing. Some from the twelfth century.”
“In the crypts?”
“In the wine cellar!” Elaina repeated.
Martise rose with her. She had wanted to go to the crypts. The wine cellar was in a different direction down the broad hallway, but perhaps she could see something.
“This shall be fun!” Elaina promised her.
They ran down the steps, past the chapel, still fragrant with the flowers from the wedding service. While Elaina opened the gate to the wine cellar, Martise stared down the hallway. But she could see nothing. The hallway was too long, and too dark, and the crypt, which the circular stairs from the master suite descended to, was shadowed in absolute blackness.
“Come on, back here!” Elaina encouraged her. Martise turned around and followed Elaina into the wine cellar, past the bottles and racks, some of them covered in dust.
“Back here!”
Behind all the rows, there was a cavern in the wall. It was lined with trunks. Elaina blew the dust off the top of one and plunged into it. “Oh, look! These are beautiful, aren’t they?”
Martise took the gowns from Elaina. They were both from the Napoleonic era, elegant silks trimmed with fur, with high bodices and low necklines and slim skirts.
“And there are hair crowns in here!” Elaina said. “Oh, they were so pretty! However did we come to wear these monstrous skirts after these beautiful sleek things were worn!”
Martise shook her head. “I’m sure I don’t know,” she murmured. Then she fell silent, leaping to her feet. She was certain that she had heard someone else down here with them. Footsteps … that led toward the crypts.
“Elaina!”
“What?”
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Footsteps?”
Elaina held still, listening for a moment. Then she shrugged. “Nay, I heard nothing. Give me a hand, Martise, let’s bring this trunk off of this one. I believe that the really old gowns are down here.”
Martise dutifully helped her. They both laughed, looking at one another, realizing that their faces were smudged with dust.
“Oh, well, ’tis worth it—” Elaina began, then she paused, frowning, listening.
“What is it?” Martise asked tensely.
“Someone is down here,” Elaina murmured.
Martise left her, hurrying through the wooden racks of wine to the entryway. She burst out into the hall and stared down the long corridor.
Nothing greeted her but silence. Silence and darkness.
Still, she felt as if her skin were crawling. She hurried back to Elaina. “No one is here.”
“Maybe Hogarth was down here, cleaning up the chapel, setting flowers, I don’t know.” She smiled. “It could have been anyone. Look at what I’ve found. It’s perfect for you.”
She lifted up a gown that resembled a tunic. It was white and soft and exquisitely crafted, with shimmers of material falling upon one another. There was a golden braid belt beneath the breasts, and then the gown fell in a soft sparkling splendor to the floor. “And there is a circlet, a crown of jewels, with a train of the silk, to go with it,” Elaina said.
“It’s stunning.”
“Wonderful! I shall be the Empress Josephine and you—well, you shall be Queen of the Castle, of course!” Then she broke off again, frowning. She looped the gowns over her arm and smiled. “I do hear something … Excuse me, Martise.”
Martise sat down upon a trunk and heard Elaina’s footfalls grow softer and softer. She waited several minutes, wondering where Bryan was, and when he would return.
Then she heard something else. A whisper of sound. A grating. A sliding, and then a grating.
It seemed to be coming from behind her.
She leapt off the trunk. She gasped, certain that the wall was starting to move, that stone was scraping against stone. She backed away and closed her eyes. She heard it again, the grating.
But even as she stared, the wall became one again. As if it had never moved.
She stepped forward, touching it, leaning against it.
Then she heard a clanging.
The gate to the wine cellar had slammed shut. “Elaina!” she screamed. She swung around and raced through the racks of wine once again. She reached the iron gate and threw herself against it. It had been locked, padlocked, from the outside.
“Elaina!” she screamed. “Elaina!”
There was no answer. Her voice echoed through the empty halls.
She swore, she kicked the gate. Cold crept along her spine. Elaina … she had never suspected Elaina. Beautiful, melancholy Elaina. Perhaps she was just barely on the edge of sanity. Perhaps …
She clenched her teeth and sank down to the floor. She was panicking, and it was foolish. She was locked in with bottles of wine this time, no corpses. And surely there was some mistake. Elaina would come back for her.
But already, the dim light that filtered in through the chapel windows was fading from the hall. And if she wasn’t locked in with the corpses, they still were not very far away.
“No …” she mumbled aloud.
Someone would come for her. Hogarth would need wine for dinner. There was no reason, absolutely no reason, for her to panic.
Then she heard it again. The grating. As if the wall, far back in the little storage chamber, were moving. And she knew. There was a passage here. Like the passage from the laird’s library into her room. Like the sealed passage to the torture chamber, where the poor girl’s body had been discovered. There was a passage. And whoever had locked her in was coming for her now. Coming from out of the stone of the castle.
She threw herself against the grating, and she screamed. There was a figure there, a figure in the darkness, coming toward her. She screamed again. She was trapped, from within, and from without …
“My lady!” a voice cried out. The gate rattled.
The grating was silenced.
“Lady Creeghan!” the voice repeated. She blinked, because a match was lit against the wall, and a lantern came ablaze. It was Hogarth, the lamp in his one hand, the key to the gate in the other.
“Martise!” Elaina’s soft voice called out. And then, behind Elaina, she heard Bryan’s voice, breathless, angry.
“What in God’s name is going on down here?”
The gate swung open. She stepped out, and the mad pulse of her heart slowly subsided. She wanted to throw herself into Bryan’s arms.
He had been the last one to appear—after the grating sound had ceased. She didn’t know where he had been. She could only see in the shadows and the glittering lantern light that his ebony hair was tousled over his forehead, his eyes were aflame, and a furious pulse beat against his throat. And he was winded, as if he had come running.
“Bruce! I didn’t know that you were back!” Elaina cried.
“What’s going on?” he asked again.
“We were looking for costumes,” Elaina explained. “How did the door get locked?”
“You didn’t lock it?” Martise said.
“Of course not!” Elaina protested indignantly. “Martise, how could you think that I would play such a prank upon you?”
Hogarth cleared his throat. “Please, ladies, my Laird Creeghan. Forgive me—I locked the cellar. I’d no idea that the ladies were into the costumes. Forgive me, please. I should have called out first.”
Martise stared at Hogarth and felt relief flood through her. He smiled apologetically, uneasily, and she wondered if he was telling the truth.
Or if he was shielding someone.
Elaina shivered. “Let’s go up.”
“Aye, supper is ready to be served,” Hogarth said. “Early this eve so that the villagers might play.”
Martise turned and hurried for the stairs. Bryan set his hand upon her back to lead her up. She quickened her pace, avoiding his touch.
Ian and Conar and Peter were in the hall when she reached the top of the steps. “Aha, there’s the wayward bride!” Ian called cheerfully. “Holding up the meal,” he said, stepping toward her and taking her hands. “That’s not the way to our hearts, cousin-in-law,” he teased.
“Martise was locked in the wine cellar,” Elaina told them.
“First the crypt—then the wine cellar?” Peter inquired. “’Twas my fault, sir,” Hogarth quickly explained. “I brought out the wine and padlocked the gate.”
Bryan was behind Martise again. He pulled out her chair, and she felt the warmth of his touch. “They were acquiring costumes, Martise and Elaina,” he said. He took his own seat at the head of the table. “And did you find something?” he asked her.
“Aye, wonderful things!” Elaina said. “Bruce, shall you dress?”
“I think not, Elaina.”
“I shall wear my colors!” Peter said.
“That’s no disguise!” Elaina protested. “All right, then, be boring, my beloveds. But we shall be magnificent. I found Martise the twelfth-century bridal gown. She’ll be exquisite.”
“The bridal gown?” Bryan said, stiffening.
“Aye, Bruce, wait till you see her! A bride yesterday, a bride today. But you canna see her till we’re ready. We’ll dress in my room.”
“Indeed?” Bryan said.
Elaina nodded happily. “And you really must wear something out of the ordinary. All of you.”
Peter snorted, and Ian laughed. And the conversation moved onward to the festivities and the treats. “Tomorrow should be endless,” Ian commented. “All those men today worthless from the wine and ale and whisky of yesterday. And now, after tonight! Why, it shall take those drunkards a week to recover.”
“Ian,” Conar protested sternly, “the villagers are hard workers and not drunkards.”
“No more so than yerself,” his father taunted.
There was an awkward silence, then Ian laughed. “Aye, well, that’s a fact. I did overindulge yesterday. But then, I gained a new cousin. And a delightful one.” He winked at Martise.
Elaina pushed back her chair and tossed her napkin on the table. “Martise, are you done? Shall we?”
“Yes, I’m quite finished,” Martise said. She rose. Bryan’s eyes were bright and probing upon hers. He smiled, and his gaze remained upon her even as he spoke to his sister. “I do not mind my bride being stolen for a few hours,” he warned her, “but remember, all, that midnight is the witching hour this night above all nights, and I will have her back at that time!”
Elaina laughed.
Martise felt chills race down her spine.
“Of course, laird of Creeghan!” Elaina assured him, then hooked her arm in her sister-in-law’s and drew her toward the stairs.
As they entered Elaina’s room, Martise wondered if she shouldn’t find time to talk to Bryan alone. There was so much that she should tell him. About the whispers on the stairs. About her certainty that there was a passage behind the wine cellar.
