A voice broke through the darkness.
“State your name and business in Lochlann!”
Joanna felt herself tense as the sentry challenged them. She watched as Angus jumped down briskly.
“It's MacConnaway. And ye should ken as well as I do what our business is. We're here for the wake. It's lady Amabel's kinswoman.”
“Oh.”
The guard was suddenly very polite. With no more hesitance, he waved them through.
On into the castle of her vision.
The instant they were there, Joanna felt a shiver. It was the place. She was almost sure of it. Shivering with cold and nerves, she waited for Angus to lift her down. Then, hesitant, the cold eating into her bones despite the dress and fur-lined cape she wore, she walked up the steps beside him to the great door outside the vast central hall.
“It's Lady Joanna,” Angus said curtly to the man who met them there. “Amabel's daughter.”
The man stood aside smartly. Not wholly surprised at the respect her mother's name still commanded, Joanna walked through the doors and into the building.
It was dark. That was the first thing she noticed. Which seemed strange, on her last visits to Lochlann, there had at least been torches and lamps lit in the entrance. Now, there was almost nothing. On the landing of a vast set of stairs, a single torch burned in a holder on the wall. All else was in blue darkness. Why?
Joanna slit her eyes, trying to see. Trying desperately to make herself be less afraid.
It's not a nightmare. It's not like it. It's my great uncle’s funeral. My mother's old home. It's not a nightmare.
As she repeated the words to herself, Joanna walked up the steps. At the top, Angus turned to his right.
“I'd best head downstairs to the kitchens, my lady,” he said quietly. “Forgive me. However, I'd better not intrude in the family quarters. They're up those steps.”
“Of course. Thank you, Angus,” Joanna said quietly.
Feeling her vague fear become more powerful, Joanna walked up the night dark steps. She held her breath, saying the same words in her head over and again.
It's not a nightmare. It's not. It's not.
At the top of the steps, she followed an instinct and turned right. She found herself in a wide hallway, the right side open with vaulting arches that looked out to the courtyard where she had just stood. She saw something move in the colonnade and drew in her breath with fright. A white form darted there. She sighed with relief when she saw it was just a dog.
It's not a nightmare. It isn't.
She walked on up the hallway. The place was dark and silent, as quiet as a graveyard. She walked on, feeling her skin prickle and her hair rise and a sense of terror slowly grow inside her.
It's not a nightmare.
She reached the end of the hallway. On her right, a doorway opened. In it, a lamp suddenly lit.
In the light of the lamp, its pale fire flickering where he held it on his palm, she saw him.
The man.
The tall, dark-haired, lean-faced man of her dreams.
He was here.
Heart pounding, feet suddenly swift, Joanna turned and ran the other way.
Back to the great hall. The torches. The presence of the guards and some kind of life, of normality. She had just seen the man from her dark dream. Here, in the castle of her nightmare.
He was real.
Which meant everything else she dreamed was, too. Joanna had never been more frightened in her life. She was stranded, alone, in the depths of her nightmare. What could she do? Ever practical, the first thing that occurred to her was to go and find some dinner.
Grasping the bracket where the one torch stood, she hefted it from the sconce and walked lightly up the stairs. She would not let the darkness defeat her.
CHAPTER THREE
FIRST SIGHT
FIRST SIGHT
“I hate the countryside.”
Dougal Blackheath, heir to the dukedom of Buccleigh, sat in the solar and looked at his father sourly across the dinner table.
The room was dark and, somewhere, the fire smoldered behind him. A vast dish of stew filled the space between them, but they had barely touched it.
His father sighed.
“Son, I know. It's miserable up here. But you're the heir to the place now. And I need you to keep it stable.”
“I know. I know,”
Dougal put a hand over his eyes, suddenly weary. It wasn't just the long ride here from their Edinburgh residence that had drained him. It was the place itself. It seemed to drain all the life from him, leaving him cold, tired, and angry. His father looked affronted and he sighed.
“I'm sorry, Father. I'm out of sorts this evening. It's this place. You'll be out of it, lucky fellow.”
His father laughed. “I know, son. It's hard out here. Miserable, cold, dangerous, and so far from court! But you'll make the best of it.”
Dougal sighed. It wasn't the aspect of threat that troubled him. Used to commanding the garrison at their castle home, as his father was often away on the king's business, taking command was second nature to him at twenty-four years old. The castle itself plagued him.
“Well, they have good wine,” his father commented, as if reading his mind. Dougal rolled his eyes.
“Yes. They do. Though I am, if you noticed, saving that pleasure for when I can afford not to have a clear head.” He raised a glass of small ale, boiled so that the alcohol was gone.
His father grimaced. Shook his head. “Son, I have only one complaint. You work too hard.”
Dougal snorted. “Look who's talking.”
His father gave him a weary grin, and yawned. “Point taken. Speaking of which,” he added, “I think I'll go to sleep. It was a long ride here and I'll be making it again, just tomorrow morning.”
“Quite,” Dougal said. “Well, goodnight, Father, I'll leave you to what rest you can get in this place.”
His father stood, and smiled placidly. “Son, cheer up.”
Dougal pulled a face at him. “Goodnight, Father.”
“Goodnight.”
When his father had gone, Dougal put his elbows on the table and laid his head in them. It was hard here – he had not told his father half the story. The day before his arrival, the servants had started to leave. When he arrived, five or six more left and the process had continued, the staff sneaking away in the night, leaving him with less ability to manage the place each succeeding day. He had questioned one of them.
“It's the old earl,” the servant had said, crossing himself. “He doesn't like you bein' here.”
Dougal had refrained from hitting the man in sheer anger. For all the rudeness of it, it was evidently the truth. The servants did not want to be here when he ruled. The old earl would curse them, and so they left in fear.
“I hate the countryside.”
Dougal reached for his glass of ale.
I should go to bed.
He sighed. He had no appetite, no hopes for the next day.
I wonder if there's anything pleasant to expect in my future.
At that moment, she entered.
The girl was tall, long hair down to her waist, glossy in the candlelight. In the darkness, he could only see her eyes, which shone luminously, and moist lips, which also glowed. He felt his heart skip a beat, loins tight.
Who is she? What is she doing here? I must know.
She hesitated in the door, eyes wide with surprise, as if he was the intruder here, in a castle he now owned, and she with right here.
“What are you doing here?” he growled. He was surprised at the intensity in his voice and cleared his throat.
The girl blinked, alarmed. Then her eyes narrowed, jaw hardening “I am here for the wake,” she said levelly. “Who are you?”
He laughed, a bitter sound.
“I own this castle now, and all in it,” he said curtly. “Though I doubt you locals know about me.”
“No,” the girl said shortly. Her eyes
had narrowed again at his dismissive tone.
He laughed again, surprised by her curt answer. Who was she?
“Rude, aren't you?” he commented.
Something about her confidence, her direct speech, annoyed him. He was the master here! Yet she held herself as if she owned it.
“I should think, if I needed a lesson in manners, you would not be the one I chose to teach me,” she said curtly. “I am a guest here. Yet you offer me no welcome. If you will excuse me, I will make my own way downstairs. Perhaps there is yet a trace of manners to be found in the hall, with your men at arms.”
As she stalked to the door, Dougal rose.
“Wait. Please. I am the lord here. I offer you welcome. Please, sit.”
She looked through him. Her eyes were gray, he noticed, dark and shining, like stone in storm. She had a long, straight nose, full dark lips, and a solemn oval face. She was, he realized painfully, exquisitely beautiful.
“You finally rediscover manners, I see,” she said quietly. “Well, then. Let us start anew.”
Dougal felt as if he was five years of age and someone smacked him for disobedience. He shook himself, and then stared her down.
“You also could be more civil,” he said testily. “I do rule here, you know.”
The girl fixed him with a hard look. “Civility! Well, then. Since you seem to have remembered it, we should put that into practice. I am Lady Joanna, great-great niece of the late earl. I would like to know your name and business?”
Dougal laughed. My, but the lass had cheek. He couldn't quite believe it. He found he rather liked it. It was a change from the women at court.
“Well, my lady. I am Lord Dougal, son of the duke of Buccleigh. I inherited through my mother, the granddaughter of the earl. So you see, I am now lord of here, too.” He bowed.
“Oh,” Joanna said. She seemed wholly unimpressed. “I think the castle has changed of late. I have never seen so few servants. What is happening?”
Dougal blushed. Luckily, it was dark. “The servants left. I am down to two. At the last count.”
“Left?” Joanna stared, wide eyed. “We had a staff of fifty! Why would they retire?”
He was surprised to find himself confiding in her. Why, when he had not told his own father, he had no idea. Nevertheless, he trusted her.
“I think they heard some stories.”
“Stories?”
Joanna had sat down at the table, and was helping herself to stew. Dougal, blinking with surprise, came to join her. It seemed as if the darkness was defeated, at least in this small space with her, for the candles seemed brighter and he suddenly remembered he was hungry.
“They say the place is haunted.”
Joanna, spoon to her lips, stared. “What?”
“Well, yes,” Dougal chuckled. “I think it's nonsense too, of course, but...”
“Oh.” Joanna was looking at the wall opposite him, her eyes focused on something he couldn't see. Dougal felt worried. “You think...”
“Hush,” she said briefly. He was taken aback enough to listen. “Sorry,” she added after a moment. “Hauntings are serious things. Though sometimes it's the living, more than the dead, who cause them.”
Dougal shook himself, feeling as if she led him into territory he had never seen before. “Hauntings? How could the living...”
“I don't know yet,” Joanna said frankly. “Just something I thought of.” She looked into his eyes and he looked back. He felt the strangest sensation, as if part of him was drawn to her. Had always wanted her. It was a bizarre thought, he told himself, but it wouldn't leave him. He felt his throat tight with emotion and he coughed to clear it.
“Well, my lady. I am glad to have you here,” he said. He couldn't quite understand himself but he meant it. “Mayhap tomorrow you could show me the way to the woodlands? I would like to explore them a little.”
“No,” Joanna said briskly. “Tomorrow, I have things I have to do. We need to find out where the servants are. Thank you for your offer, though, Lord Dougal, and your hospitality.” She indicated the stew, congealed and cold now, which she had nonetheless half-finished. Dougal looked at her, quite unbelieving.
“Did you just say you wouldn't go with me? And that you're going to interview my servants?”
“I'm sorry, Lord Dougal,” she said formally. “But yes. You have to trust me in this. You are new here. I spent months here as a child. I know how the place works. And my mother wishes me to do as her uncle would wish. I thank you for the supper,” she said again. “Now I will leave.”
“But...” Dougal shook his head. “What do you think you're doing?”
“I don't think I'm doing anything, Lord Dougal,” Joanna said. She had stood, and he stood with her. They faced each other across the candle, the red warmth dancing on those soft eyes. “I am here to put things to rights. I know the way and you don't. Goodnight.”
Dougal raised a hand, as if to stop her, but she had already turned. She was walking to the door. He sighed and waited as she walked along the hall, footsteps soft.
“Well, I never saw such a thing.” He sat down, dazed, on the chair beside the fire. He felt broadsided, as if he sailed and a wave had rolled the boat, taking his balance with it.
He ran a hand through his hair, feeling strange. He liked Joanna, he realized more than liked her. His body cried out for hers in a way he had not felt before. She was beautiful, indeed. However, it wasn't her beauty alone, that trim figure, the fine hips, the slender form. The soft hair or the high breasts that cried out for kissing. It was her. Her directness, her honesty. Her smile. He wanted her in a way he never felt before. However, she, it seemed, disliked him.
Never mind disliked! I think she'd put a dagger between my ribs while I slept.
He chuckled. Yes, he liked her. Admired her. Nevertheless, part of him was a little scared, and a little angry at her rebuffs.
Well, I suppose my time in the north can't get much worse. Maybe she'll make it better – or at least different.
He already had a cold castle with no servants – or almost none – a wake to coordinate, tenants to manage, a horde of household guards to train and support, and no idea where to start.
Now, his heart had been touched by a wild spirit, a woman of these moors and rocky hills. Now she, too, would torment him in those moments when he would have found his rest.
Sometimes he wished these things wouldn't happen to him. However, he was the eldest son. His brother could romp with his friends, hold parties, drink, eat, sleep, ride, and dance. He had two estates to manage, and no clear way to do it. Now, it seemed, he had been rebuffed as well.
“I really ought to just go to bed.”
Heaving himself slowly out of his chair, he walked across the darkened room towards the hallway. At least in bed, alone, nothing worse could happen.
He nodded to the guard at the head of the stairs and walked slowly up to bed.
CHAPTER FOUR
HAUNTED CASTLE
HAUNTED CASTLE
In the chamber that her mother and aunt had once shared, long ago, Joanna sat on the bed. She sighed.
That man! Of all the arrogant, unmannerly louts...
She shook her head, suddenly, laughing at herself. This man had haunted her for the last few years! That gaunt, handsome face that had looked out at her from the gray of terror. He was, it turned out, nothing but a bully.
I know what to do about that.
Having been raised around the children of the local landed class, she was used to bullies. There were plenty of boys and girls whose families spent their time following the hunt and left the children to find attention of the worst kind from their peers.
The best thing I can do is ignore the man. All he wants, like those children, is attention.
She smiled. She was resolved to ignore him, but she had to admit, she felt a strange feeling inside her when she thought of him. A sort of fluttery feeling, as if wings moved inside her. She sighed and lifted her comb.
She was being silly.
I am not here to exchange words with that man. I am here to set things to rights.
The dream preyed on her mind as it had from the moment she arrived.
The castle had been the same in her dreaming as it was now, which was what bothered her. Uninhabited, deserted, cold, dark, and dank. The state of the castle had mired her whole family, darkening their lives, hampering their way forward. That was why she was so worried.
I need to fix it. I was the one with the flame.
It was a responsibility, and one she would not shirk. She would not let herself be distracted by her feelings for this man. Feelings, she admitted, she barely understood herself.
I would not...
A scream broke the substance of her thoughts. She dropped the comb and ran.
It rang out again, a bloodcurdling yell, coming from the end of the hallway.
Joanna hurled herself up the corridor, heading towards the source of the sound. It was here, on the same floor as the bedchambers, and it was getting louder. She rounded the corner and saw a figure, dressed in white, standing in the middle of the hallway. She recognized her face as one of the servants, the chief cook. She called out to her.
“Bet? Hush!”
The sound of her name seemed to strike through the terror of the woman, calming her. Her eyes cleared and she focused on Joanna.
“Lady Joanna?” She stared at her, as if she couldn't quite believe it was her.
“Bet,” Joanna said firmly. She focused on the woman only. She ignored the shapes that had appeared in the hallway behind, people coming to investigate the sound. The guards were both there, and a third figure, the tallest one, who was carrying a candle.
Him.
She blocked out the muscled form of him, willing herself to ignore him. The woman needed all her concentration. “You're safe now.” She made her voice firm as she told her.
“Oh, milady! Joanna! I was terrified! It was him!”
“Him.”
“The ghost! Oh! I saw it! Oh...” Sobbing, the woman sank to the floor.
The Cursed Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 3
