by Ava Stone
Sidney’s stomach turned with those words. “Just awful,” he whispered. “Boys in the stables heard the screams, but it was too late to do anything by the time anyone got here.”
“Awful indeed.” Quent heaved a helpless sigh, “We’d better send for Sir Cyrus.”
Sir Cyrus was possibly the worst magistrate in all of England, but there was little choice in the matter. He was the local magistrate. “Let me know if you need any help.”
Quent shook his head. “Wolf and Daphne are here. Just see to them, will you? I shall have to shirk my hosting duties this evening.”
“Not to worry in that regard.”
Sidney returned to the castle, relieved to be tasked with hosting Wolf and Daphne. Seeing to his oldest friend was hardly a task at all. Much better than dealing with inept magistrates and dead blacksmiths, most certainly.
Lord Wolverly, better known as Wolf to his friends, and his fairly new bride, Daphne, awaited him in the main salon upon his return. Sidney was glad to see his old friend, especially on a day like today, where his emotions were filled with more ups and downs than the Welsh countryside. He welcomed a hug from Wolf, and probably held on a little too long for his friend’s taste, and then he delivered a chaste kiss to Daphne’s cheek.
Word of the fire would spread eventually, but Sidney didn’t want to be the one to share it with Wolf and Daphne. Not right away, at least. He preferred to shift his thoughts to happier topics.
“I do hope you’ve brought some rum butter with you from London,” he said to her as they all took their seats.
“Already been delivered to Cook,” she replied with a pleasant smile. Daphne was always pleasant. “She’s bringing it with our tea and biscuits in a few minutes.”
Sidney patted his stomach as he rested back against the sofa. “My stomach and I are most eager.”
“So how are you, old friend?” Wolf asked. “You seem a bit…different, though I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
“I agree,” Daphne put in. “Are you well?”
“As well as one can be when living at Marisdùn Castle.”
Wolf leaned forward and stroked his dark goatee, his eyes narrowed with concern. “What do you mean?”
Sidney filled them in quickly on the priest’s hole and the fire at the blacksmith’s, but he omitted the part about Tilly. No need to start rumors through the town, not when her father was so opposed to men of his ilk.
“But couldn’t it all just be a coincidence?” Daphne asked.
Sidney leveled her with his gaze. “My dear Daphne, do you really believe in coincidence after all that happened last year?”
“She only hopes for coincidence,” Wolf put in with a little wink for his wife. “She’s hoping for less excitement than last year…now that she’s carrying our child.”
The words took a moment to settle over Sidney’s ears, but when they did, he leapt from his seat and gathered his best friend’s wife in a not-too-tight hug. He didn’t want to injure the baby, after all. Then he turned to Wolf and held out his hand. When Wolf took it, Sidney pulled him into a hug. A tighter one, since he didn’t have a baby to worry about there.
“This is happy news,” he said as they all took their seats again. “Most welcome news, really. When shall I expect Baby Wolf?”
Daphne laughed at this, and Wolf cracked a smile.
“Sometime in the spring,” Daphne said. “Graham thinks April sometime.”
“I assume London is agreeing with your brother?”
Daphne nodded. “He is quite thrilled to be working with Dr. Pritchard.”
Sidney was glad to hear that. He didn’t know Dr. Alcott well, but he knew Daphne and her brother hadn’t had an easy time of it before Sidney and his friends had arrived in town last October. He was happy to see they were both doing so well. “And where will you convalesce?”
“Not here!” Daphne replied. “That much is for certain.”
“We’ll go to our country estate in Lancashire,” Wolf supplied.
Sidney sat back with a smile. “I shall come and visit you there, then. It will be great fun to climb that old oak tree we used to love.”
“We shall see how much fun it is,” Wolf said, “when you cannot move your arms and legs the next day.”
“Come now! We aren’t so old, are we? Surely we can still climb a tree.”
“Now that,” Daphne laughed, “will be quite the sight. Two grown gentlemen scaling an oak tree. I think I shall have to hire an artist to capture the moment.”
“And then you can hang the rendering in the nursery to prove to Baby Wolf that his father and Uncle Sidney were once young and spry.”
“What makes you think that Baby Wolf will be a boy?” Daphne asked, a challenging smile on her cherubic face.
“Ah, well, I am not so certain at all, only hopeful. I’m afraid if you have a girl, my friend here might lose all good sense.”
“Thankfully,” Wolf countered, “if you have a girl, that won’t be a concern at all, for one must have good sense in the first place in order to lose it.”
They all laughed at the good-natured banter, and Sidney was grateful to have his friends here at Marisdùn with him. They saw one another often enough in London, but life there was different. Rushed and too formal. Out here, in this haunted castle, tucked into the Lake District, they could relax and laugh and truly enjoy one another’s company.
That was, of course, until all the hubbub of the masquerade began tomorrow. People would start arriving in droves by mid-afternoon, and by sundown, the place would be swarming with masked revelers, including himself. And hopefully his sweet Tilly. What would she wear? How would he know it was her? Would she reveal herself to him, or make him guess?
“Sidney?” came Daphne’s voice, pulling him from his thoughts.
“Yes?” he said, bracing himself for a line of questions from Daphne.
But she surprised him with merely a knowing smile. But just what did she know? And how? Was it woman’s intuition that told them when a man was in love?
Love? Damn and blast, where did that come from? He couldn’t be in love, for pity’s sake. He’d known the girl a day. A day. Such thoughts were absurd.
“I think I ought to go and rest before dinner,” Daphne finally said, pushing to her feet. Wolf and Sidney did the same.
“Shall I join you?” Wolf asked, and the low gravel to his voice told Sidney it wasn’t rest that his friend had on his mind.
“No!” Daphne said definitively. “You most certainly shall not. When I said I had to rest…I meant I had to rest.”
Anyone else would have been uncomfortable being a bystander to this conversation, but Sidney was rather used to it by now, so he merely laughed to himself as he strode to the sidebar. By the time Daphne quit the room, he had two snifters full of brandy for himself and Wolf.
“Thank you,” Wolf said, accepting the drink and holding it aloft. “To Marisdùn.”
Sidney held his up as well. “To Baby Wolf.”
Wolf cocked his head. “To…a special someone?”
Damn, was he that obvious that even Wolf had picked up on his lovesick behavior? “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, and followed it with a hearty chug of his spirits.
“Don’t you?” Wolf replied, settling into his chair again. “I know that look, my friend. It’s the same look I wore from the minute I met Daphne right up until…well, I don’t suppose it’s gone away yet, has it?”
“Definitely not.”
“Come now, won’t you tell me about her?”
The smile on Wolf’s face was so blasted happy, Sidney was actually considering it. Almost. “No.”
Wolf sat back and draped his arm across the back of the sofa. “You’ve changed, you know?”
Sidney did know. If he thought back to a year ago, he was practically a different man. Having a woman die in his arms had been rather life changing. “Yes, I know,” he said, sobering a bit at the thought of Emma Slade. And then remembering the blacksm
ith all charred and lifeless. Facing one’s humanity was a most unpleasant thing. Perhaps that was why he so longed to be at Marisdùn. Perhaps cavorting with ghosts made him feel hopeful in some ways. Hopeful that maybe life didn’t just end when one died.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He did and he didn’t. It might feel good to let it all out, but he didn’t really want to let it all out in front of his friend. Sure, he’d seen Wolf cry lots of times, but that was when they were boys, and Wolf’s father had died, leaving him an orphan. In comparison, Sidney didn’t have much to cry about. A blacksmith he’d never even known, and an actress he’d only dallied with on occasion.
“You’ll think me ridiculous if I tell you,” Sidney admitted.
“Why not let me decide if you’re ridiculous or not.”
Sidney took a deep breath. “When your father died, did you question your own humanity?” he asked his old friend.
Wolf sat forward, his brow furrowed in memory. “Perhaps a little, but I was young, remember? And Father was old. I think I was more scared than anything. I wasn’t certain if I would have a place to go or anyone to take care of me.” He gave a half smile to Sidney. “I was lucky enough to have a very good friend by my side.”
Sidney smiled back. “I couldn’t leave my Wolfie behind,” he said, and then turned serious again for a moment. “Remember Emma Slade?”
Wolf crossed one leg over another. “The actress?”
Sidney nodded. “I was there when she fell from the stage. I was watching her from the front row.” He paused, his stomach churning, before moving on. “She was distracted by me, and wasn’t paying attention.”
“Dear God,” Wolf whispered.
“She didn’t die right away,” he went on, coming to the worst part of the story. “She seemed fine. Got up and finished the play, actually. It wasn’t until later, when we were…”
“Dear God,” Wolf whispered again, this time leaning forward and dropping his head into his hands. “Sidney, I am so very sorry.”
Sidney shook his head, eager to be rid of the memory of Emma, lying lifeless in his arms. “And then to see the blacksmith today…I suppose it just brought back memories of Emma.”
“People die, Sid,” Wolf said, his tone gentler than his words. “That is why we must love with all our hearts.”
A small snort of laughter escaped Sidney. “My, what a romantic you’ve become in your old age!”
“Well, we weren’t all born with your charm and charisma, Sid,” Wolf said with an amused grin. “Some of us need a very special woman to inspire us.”
“Daphne is quite special,” Sidney agreed.
“And what of your special woman?”
Sidney sat back with a heavy sigh. “I’ve known her slightly more than a day.”
“So?”
“And she’s the vicar’s daughter.”
“Ah.” Wolf nodded in understanding, and then, after a long pause, said, “Well, that’s never stopped you before.”
That somehow broke the pall that had sat over them, and they both burst into laughter. “Very true, my friend,” Sidney said, basking in the lightness he felt all of a sudden. Wolf was right. He’d not been stopped by a girl’s father before, and he wasn’t about to let this time—the time that really mattered—be the first time. “Mark my words, Wolfie,” he said with a new determination. “Matilda Southward will be my wife.”
David turned just in time to see Brighid heading back toward the castle and hurried after her.
“I should escort you home, Brighid.” The longer she was here, the more livid Chetwey was going to be when he found out. If he could return her soon, maybe there was no reason for Chetwey to ever learn. It’d be safer for all of them. Not that he’d harm Brighid, but his friends might not escape so easily. “You should be resting. Not traipsing around Marisdùn.”
“I can’t leave just yet.” She brushed aside his concern and entered the garden she’d spent so much time in last year and entered the castle through a back door. He knew this was right off of the herbarium and where she kept her spells, potions and books. Surely she knew she couldn’t help the man. She might be a powerful witch, but bringing someone back from the dead was even beyond her capabilities.
At least he assumed so.
“Does Chetwey even know you are here?”
She stiffened barely a moment before entering the herbarium. “No, but that can’t matter at the moment.”
Now she’d gone mad. If she thought Chetwey was going to let her remain here above a moment, then she had lost her mind. And Chetwey would kill him if he didn’t make her leave.
“Well, gather what you must,” he gestured about the room. “And I’ll deliver you home.”
With a sigh, Brighid settled on the stool. “I’m afraid I won’t be going anywhere for some time.”
Bloody hell! “Though your skills are rather impressive, I don’t believe the smithy requires your services.”
She grimaced at the reminder. “You’re quite right, of course, but something is not right here.”
“Is anything ever right at Marisdùn?”
A short laugh erupted before she sobered. “You have a point, but I fear there is a very real evil brewing.”
At her words, the hair stood up on the back of his neck. He’d never forget what they’d all gone through, and done, last year to bring Callie Bradenham back. What was brewing couldn’t possibly be worse. “All the more reason to get you away from here.”
“All the more reason to remain, just a bit.”
Chetwey was going to have his head. It would be placed on a pike above Torrington Abbey as a warning to all about for not delivering the man’s wife home when they should.
Brighid looked up, pinning him with her eyes. “Has anything odd, more out of the ordinary than usual, happened recently?”
David could only shrug.
“Tell me everything that’s happened since you arrived.”
“There isn’t anything to tell.”
“Something has happened. Leave nothing out.”
So, he told her from when he arrived, the lost earbob, discovery of the items in the Priest’s hole.”
None of this seemed to interest her. “The children take items all the time, so that isn’t it.”
“Why do you think something is wrong?” David finally asked.
All she did was blink up at him, as if stunned. “Don’t you feel it?”
“Feel what?” he asked slowly. He’d definitely felt something, but he put it off as just the unusualness of the castle.
“The heaviness, the foreboding, the darkness.”
A chill went down his spine and he tried to shake it away.
“Well, the sàisde fiadhain isn’t going to do any good.”
“The what?”
“Sàisde fiadhain. To burn, I thought it would help with the odor.”
“I’m not sure anything can get rid of that stench,” David agreed.
“At first I shrugged it off. My sense of smell is rather strong at the moment and there are many odors I find disturbing.”
This he did not need to know about her condition.
“I should have known it was more,” Brighid said as she got up from her seat.
Finally, they were leaving. There was still a chance Chetwey would not have David’s head.
Instead, she went to the trunk, opened it and pulled out a book.
“As you’ve given me no hint, I must figure this out on my own.”
“I have an idea,” David offered hopefully. “I’ll personally load everything into a wagon and take it to Torrington myself. There, you can do whatever it is you do, in the safety of your home while your husband hovers, waiting for his child to come into this world.”
Brighid simply rolled her eyes at him before turning the next page. “Do ask Cook to bring a kettle of water. Oh, and if you could move the cauldron, I need a nice fire.” She rubbed her arms and looked about. “It’s a bit chilly in here. Od
d, that. I haven’t been chilled in months.”
David did as she requested and then got away from Marisdùn as quickly as his horse would allow. If the witch would not leave the castle, as she should, he would bring her husband to fetch her home. Marisdùn, on the eve of Samhain, was no place for a witch who was liable to give birth at any moment. And to think he was willing to bet that she would deliver on Samhain. Which was well and good, if she was in her own home and not the most haunted place in all of England.
“I shall conduct myself with decorum. I shall be a paragon within the flock,” Anna muttered to herself as she neatly folded her costume for the masquerade into the bottom of a large basket before placing her mask on top of it and then filling it with foodstuffs. “After the masquerade.”
“What is it you are doing, Anna?” her uncle demanded, coming into the kitchen. “I thought I ordered you all to stay in today, in light of yesterday’s events.”
Thank goodness he’d not been there a few moments earlier or he’d know exactly what she was about. “I thought to take a basket to the Caldwells’. His wife is grieving and I’m certain she would like some company.” Such a tragedy. To think, after several years of being the smithy at Marisdùn, an accident such as his could happen.
Uncle Walter eyed her with suspicion for a moment before he nodded his head. “It’s a good thing you do. I’m glad we had our talk yesterday and you are heeding my advice.”
She nearly snorted at the word talk. More like ordered. But, it got her out of the house, without question. And she truly did wish to help the family. They’d suffered a horrible loss and her heart ached for them. The only reason her costume was hidden in the basket was because she was afraid her uncle might find it if he decided to snoop around. After she called on the Caldwells it was her intention then to go to Marisdùn. Surly Brighid’s herbarium was stocked with some form of sleeping agent she could give her uncle.
But first, she needed to call on Mrs. Caldwell. It nearly broke her heart to think of what the kind woman was going through. She had been one of the first women to befriend Anna upon her arrival in Ravenglass. She was a substitute mother during that first year when Anna couldn’t do much more than cry. She’d been mourning her parents, and so homesick for them. Not a home. She’d never really had one until coming to Ravenglass. Her parents were travelers, never staying in one place long enough to set down roots.
